The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries

by Carrie Bedford

  Rocco fired. The smell of hot metal filled my nostrils, making me gag. I felt a searing pain in my upper arm. Beside me, Falcone slumped to the ground, clutching at his shoulder. Blood, black in the lamplight, oozed between his fingers. His aura started to fade, circling more and more slowly, becoming less distinct. That could mean that he was dying, or that he was safe, but I had no time to determine which. Dante was pointing a small, black gun at Santini.

  The noise of the shot in the enclosed space had set my ears ringing. As my hearing returned, I heard Dante speak. “You’ve always been against me, Santini, but I never thought you’d betray the Custodians,” he said. “Father would have been ashamed of you.”

  “I haven’t betrayed the Custodians,” Santini argued. “I can explain all of this. Falcone and I have been collaborating on other business, importing religious relics. That’s all. I told him nothing about the vault.”

  He pointed a finger at me. “These women must have told him. They brought him here.”

  Dante lowered his gun and turned to look at me. “Is that true?”

  Before I could answer, Santini lunged at Dante and the two of them fell to the ground, flailing their fists at each other. I wondered if they’d fought like this when they were boys. Another gunshot boomed in the enclosed space. Seconds later, Dante rolled away from Santini, who lay motionless on the stone floor, his blood spilling from a wound I couldn’t see. Claire screamed and covered her mouth with her hand as the spinning of Santini’s aura slowed. Aldo fell to his knees and leaned over the cardinal. His guard down, he was no match for Rocco, who darted towards him and struck him with the butt of his gun. Aldo collapsed over the cardinal’s body.

  Rocco turned towards Falcone with his gun raised. Falcone stirred, pulling himself up into a sitting position, as his aura faded away completely. For him at least, the worst of the danger must be over.

  Dante snapped at Rocco. “Take his gun, but leave him for now. I have some questions for him.”

  After Rocco had relieved Falcone of his weapon, Dante aimed his gun at Claire.

  “Get the key,” he said.

  When she didn’t move, he wiggled the gun. She moved towards Santini and took the key, which lay in a pool of blood that had collected in his cupped hand. It glistened in the lamplight as she held it out to Dante.

  He shook his head. “You’re going to use it, but first make sure that we have the right location. Kate, get over here and do something useful.”

  I joined Claire at the wall. We counted blocks again, five down and nine from the left, checking the diagram to make sure we were starting in the right place. When we were certain we had it right, she inserted the key, its long thin shaft fitting perfectly into the hole. With a quick glance at me, she turned it. I bit my lower lip so hard I tasted blood. I knew that if we had it wrong, Dante would kill us. But then, he intended to do that anyway.

  Nothing happened. I heard only Falcone’s labored breathing and Claire’s whispered groan.

  And then there was another noise— the sound of stone grinding against stone.

  30

  The noise continued, growing louder. Claire and I stepped away from the wall. My heart pounded against my ribs. We waited.

  A thin gap opened between two courses of stone in front of us and a rectangle of the wall moved inwards. The opening expanded, emitting a loud rumble. The whole wall seemed to vibrate. I held my breath, fearing it would collapse, and took a step backwards, pulling Claire with me.

  The gap continued to widen until the opening grew big enough for a human to squeeze through and then it expanded further to the size of a standard door. Finally, everything went quiet and still.

  Dante rushed forward.

  “You want the meter, boss?” Rocco asked. Dante stopped. He still looked as though he’d just stepped out of a business meeting, his hair in place, his silk tie neatly knotted. He held his hand out to take a small yellow device that Rocco had pulled from the satchel. As Dante held it through the opening, we heard a series of beeps and then a long tone. He took a step back and looked at the readout.

  “Bene, bene,” he said. “Normal oxygen levels. Give me the light.”

  Rocco took a torch from the bag. Dante grabbed it, turned it on and aimed a bright white LED beam through the opening. “Dio mio,” he murmured. “Santini was right. The vault exists, and it’s full of artworks.”

  I was surprised. I’d never really believed in the existence of a centuries-old vault protected by a cypher. Still, I felt a little thrill of excitement. For now, though, the priority was to get away. We had to find Ethan before it was too late. Dante was preoccupied, Falcone was still sitting on the ground, clutching his shoulder, and Rocco was looking for something else in the bag.

  “We need to go,” I whispered to Claire. “Let’s make a run for it.”

  I’d only taken one step towards the tunnel when Rocco whirled around. “Stop right there,” he said.

  We did.

  “Do you want me to shoot them, boss?” he asked. Dante turned away from the vault door to look at him.

  “That wouldn’t be a good idea,” Falcone said. His voice sounded stronger than he looked. “I have a unit of Carabinieri on its way. They will be here at any moment. The police won’t take kindly to your murdering two young women in cold blood.”

  “What do you mean, the police are coming?” Dante demanded. “Why would you bring the police? I thought you were collaborating with Santini?”

  Falcone just raised one shoulder in a shrug.

  “No one can get through the warehouse,” Rocco said, his tone mocking. “No one is coming any time soon. I have all the keys.”

  Falcone pulled himself closer to the wall so that he could lean against it. “I got in, didn’t I? And I left all the doors open and unlocked. I disabled the mechanism on the lift. Someone could walk in off the street if they were so inclined.”

  Dante stood at the entrance to the vault, one foot inside. I could almost see the battle going on in his head. He stood mere steps away from claiming the Custodians’ treasure, something he wanted badly enough to kill his own brother. But if Falcone were telling the truth, Dante would never get to see the artworks. The police would arrest him for Santini’s murder, and he’d spend the rest of his life in prison.

  It seemed that he believed Falcone. He threw the torch on the ground and dashed in the opposite direction, towards the tunnel. Rocco’s face creased up like that of a child being abandoned, and then he ran after his master.

  “They’re getting away,” I said to Falcone. “Are the police really coming?”

  He nodded. “Any minute.”

  “We should go too,” Claire said.

  “Wait here. Dante’s on the loose, which means you’re still in danger,” Falcone said.

  “And so is Ethan,” I said. “He’s sedated and being held prisoner in a room with a nurse who’ll kill him unless she hears from Dante.”

  Falcone nodded. “Patience. Help is on the way. I promise you.”

  For a few moments I stood still, feeling the muscles flexing in my calves. I wanted to run, to get away from the chamber and the blood. Just then, the din of boots on stone preceded the appearance of half a dozen uniformed police officers.

  The leader scanned the chamber, looked at Falcone on the ground and then pointed a semi-automatic gun towards us. I raised my hands.

  “Stand down,” Falcone ordered. “These women are with me. Check on the cardinal.”

  One of the men moved towards Santini, leaned over and held his finger against the cardinal’s neck. I knew Santini was dead. His aura had gone, just as it always did once the victim died.

  With the help of the senior officer, Falcone clambered to his feet and propped himself against the wall.

  “Get an ambulance here right now,” the officer told one of his men.

  “Oberto, did you see anyone on your way in?” Falcone asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Send your men to search the wa
rehouse. We need to find Dante Vanucci and his bodyguard. And take that man into custody.” Falcone pointed at Aldo, who still lay on the ground, groaning.

  “Si, colonnello.” Oberto hurled instructions at his men. One of them handcuffed Aldo and led him away.

  “We have to get to Ethan,” I said again. “He’s in serious danger.”

  Falcone nodded and spoke to Oberto. “Go with the women. They’ll explain everything.”

  I grabbed Claire’s hand and we followed Oberto at a jog along the tunnel that led back to the warehouse. “Dante left Claire’s brother with a nurse and instructions to kill him at eight o’clock,” I said, my breath coming in short gasps.

  Oberto checked his watch in mid-stride. “We have eight minutes.”

  Back in the warehouse, where all the lights were on, we saw at least a dozen officers wending their way through the aisles, searching for Dante and Rocco.

  Oberto talked to one as we hurried past. “Any sign of them?”

  “Not yet sir, but we found a staircase.” The man pointed to the far wall. “Looks like an emergency exit in case the lift ever broke down. Some of my men went up that way, but haven’t found them yet.”

  We jogged on towards the lift that would take us up to the gallery. I tapped my foot impatiently as it creaked upwards. When we jolted to a halt, we found the place crowded with police and paramedics.

  “Where do you want us, sir?” one of the officers asked.

  “You and you come with me,” Oberto said, pointing. Two officers detached themselves from the group and saluted him.

  “The rest of you will help the colonnello down in the vault. Do we have medics?”

  “Yes, sir.” A young woman in a red jumpsuit raised her hand. “How many injured?”

  “One bullet wound downstairs and one dead. It’s the colonnello who’s hurt. Make sure you look after him.” He looked intently into the medic’s eyes. “I mean it. Make sure your people take care of him.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  “And I need one medic with me.”

  The woman gave instructions to her team, dispatching a group to the vault. She turned to Oberto. “Shall we go?”

  Oberto beckoned Claire and me to follow him. Joined by the two officers and the paramedic, we ran up the stairs to the apartment where Ethan was being held. I wondered how we’d be able to get into the apartment with no keys, but that puzzle was quickly resolved when one of the officers used the butt of his gun to hammer the lock open. The lights were on in the living room, which we rushed through to get to the room at the back. This time, the officer kicked the bedroom door open. It was dark until he felt around for the switch and turned on the lights.

  Claire gasped and grabbed my arm. The bed was empty. Ethan had gone.

  31

  Claire cried out and ran to the bed, putting her hand on the pillow. “Where’s Ethan?”

  Her face went white seconds before she fainted, sinking on to the bed and nearly slipping off until Oberto caught her by the shoulders and eased her back on to the mattress. The paramedic lifted her legs to make her comfortable on the bed. Then she took her pulse and listened to her heart.

  Oberto’s men were searching the room, but it was obvious the nurse had gone. One of them came out of the bathroom, shaking his head. “There’s a stash of sedatives in there. Enough to knock out a horse,” he said.

  Oberto was on his radio. It sounded as though he was ordering roadblocks to be set up around the city. I hoped it wasn’t too late.

  The paramedic slipped a cuff around Claire’s arm to take her blood pressure, and I guessed she wasn’t happy with the result when she frowned at the numbers on the display.

  “I need a stretcher and transport right now,” she said. Oberto passed the order on. A radio crackled into life and an officer requested urgent dispatch of a second ambulance crew.

  “I don’t understand,” I said to Oberto. “Dante told the nurse to give Ethan a lethal dose of sedatives. But he said to do that only if he hadn’t called her by eight. It’s seven-fifty-five. And Dante definitely didn’t say anything about moving him.”

  “Perhaps she panicked. Maybe she ran, not wanting anything to do with the overdose.”

  “And Ethan got away?” I felt a glimmer of hope. “Perhaps he’s out there somewhere, looking for us?”

  Claire had come round and tried to sit up. “Do you think so?” she asked. “But where would he go?”

  “I’m checking with the local police stations and hospitals,” Oberto said. “Those will be most likely places for him to aim for.”

  “And look in Dante’s apartment?” I said. “In case they moved him there.”

  Footsteps and shouts in the hallway signaled the arrival of the ambulance team. I moved away to the window to give them space and pressed my forehead against the cold glass.

  A storm raged outside. Rain fell in lines of silver against the darkness. The dome loomed overhead, briefly illuminated as a brilliant flash of lighting forked its way downward like white finger bones, jabbing and probing at the great tiled cupola.

  Was Ethan out there? Was he all right, or wandering around by himself, lost and drugged? I turned to check in with Oberto, but he was on his phone. Claire had started to argue with the paramedics, insisting that she felt fine and didn’t need to go to the hospital. Her aura raced over her head, just as I’d seen before in the hours before a victim died.

  The chief paramedic looked somber. “Elevated blood pressure,” she said. “Tightness in the chest. Labored breathing.” That was a surprise. I’d assumed the threat to Claire came from the same source as the threat to Ethan, not a medical condition. Was Claire really ill enough to die? Did the paramedics realize she was close to death?

  Of course they did. They could see her physical symptoms. They didn’t need a supernatural phenomenon like an aura to tell them she was in danger. Still, I couldn’t help myself. I went to stand next to the chief paramedic, who watched as the team gently transferred Claire to the stretcher.

  “Is she having a heart attack?” I asked.

  “No, it’s possible it’s a panic attack, so we’re sending her to the hospital for observation.”

  “She’s going to die very soon,” I said. “You have to do something.”

  The paramedic’s eyes were soft when she looked over at me. “It’ll be all right.”

  I shook my head. “No, it won’t. I don’t think she’s going to make it.”

  “Are you a nurse? A doctor?”

  “No.” I couldn’t tell her about the aura.

  “We’re taking her to the Ospedale Santa Maria Nuova as a precaution, and we’ve alerted the emergency room staff. Try not to worry.” She patted me on the arm.

  Her eyes narrowed when she saw me wince at her touch. “You’re hurt?”

  “It’s nothing, really.”

  “Maybe not, but you should come to the hospital too.”

  When Claire had been strapped to the stretcher, still murmuring that she was okay, the crew lifted her up and began the trek down the narrow stairs with us all following behind. I was impressed at how deftly they handled their unwieldy load through tight turns and cramped spaces. But they were used to navigating Florence’s small apartments, labyrinthine house layouts, and palazzi with lots of stairs and few lifts.

  Oberto and I followed them outside, where the blue lights of an ambulance cast an eerie glow on the old stones of the buildings that lined the narrow street. Just as the medics closed the ambulance doors, a blue and white Carabinieri car pulled up with its siren blaring and lights flashing. Oberto shepherded me into the back seat, and we set off for the hospital.

  While Oberto talked on his phone, I slumped in my seat. The car reeked of cigarette smoke, my eyes burned and my throat hurt. The adrenaline rush caused by the events in the vault was wearing off. After a few minutes, lulled by the warmth of the heater and the dull thrum of the rain on the car roof, I dozed off.

  A cold draft jolted me from my semi-comatose
state. Oberto held the door open for me to get out under torrential rain that sent rivers of water across the grey asphalt in front of the hospital. I hesitated, reluctant to leave the protection of the car, but then I followed him into the turbulent night. Before we reached the shelter of the portico that fronted the hospital, a bolt of lightning cracked the sky in half. For a second, the rooftops of Florence and the red-tiled dome of the cathedral appeared like magic from the darkness. Then all turned black again.

  Once we were inside, Oberto made sure I registered for a check-up although I still thought it was a waste of time. “As soon as you’re patched up, I’d like you to come to the Carabinieri station to make a statement,” he said. “I’m leaving an officer with you, and he’ll call for a driver when you’re ready.”

  “I want to make sure Claire’s okay.”

  He nodded. “Of course. You can do that. Wait here until you’re called.”

  I took a seat in the waiting area. The officer stood at the entrance, where he was able to see me and keep an eye on people passing through. I’d been in this hospital with Claire on Sunday morning, I realized. Now it was Tuesday night. I must have dozed off until something disturbed me. When I opened my eyes, a nurse stood over me. She confirmed my name and led me to a cubicle where she cut away the sleeve of my cream blouse. The bullet had only grazed my arm, leaving a slug trail of raw skin that stung badly and leaked a little blood. After she’d splattered some antiseptic on it and wrapped it in pristine white bandages, I shrugged my jacket back on, the sleeve feeling tight around the extra fabric.

  “Have it looked at again in a couple of days. For now, you’re free to go,” she said, holding the curtain open.

  The officer who’d waited with me spoke into his radio and confirmed that a car was on its way, but I wasn’t going anywhere without seeing Claire. We stopped at the lobby desk, where a dour clerk pecked away on her computer keyboard for a very long time before telling me that Claire was still with the doctor.