by Toni Parks
“Well, you can’t be telling, just a friend, where we are or
what we’re up to.”
“OK, it isn’t just a friend, it’s Terry.” Receiving a blank
look from Jessica, so she continued, “Terry Barnham”. “Shit. What have I told you about him? What attracts you
to these lame ducks?”
“I am still here, you know,” a metallic voice exclaimed. “He’s not lame. If anything, he’s as sane as we are.” “Hey, listen to me!”
“SHUT UP!” both voices exclaimed at once.
“Well it doesn’t say much about you, getting cosy again
with a policeman, no matter how dumbed down he is. He’ll
bring you down you know, but I won’t be going with you. I’m
not going to that dark place again.”
“Excuse me. Can I get a word in?”
Both girls looked at each other and giggled, and without
prompting, both said, “Be my guest.” Terry reiterated the
phone call he had received from DC Blister and told them to
stay as far away from Naples as possible. Blister and he would
be turning up there at some point in the afternoon on the
following day. And there was a strong possibility that Interpol
may become involved if a capture was to be in the offing. Jessica relented and said, “Thanks for that Barnham, but
how do you fit into all this if you’re not the law?”
There was a slight pause and then he replied proudly, “I’m
going to be a dad!”
Jessica looked at Emma and said, “You’ve told him”. Emma replied, “I’ve done a lot more than told him. I mean
how could I have got through your time in prison without
him?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Emma? But we all don’t use sex, drugs
and alcohol as a crutch at the first hurdle we come to.” “Well if you must know, it was only the sex part.” “Excuse me, again. But would you mind not washing my
dirty linen in public, or whatever the saying is. The important
thing to take away from this conversation is, ‘DON’T GO TO
SECONDIGLI’ whatsit,’ OK.”
“Right, we’ve got that love. We’ll speak again tomorrow,
there’s quite a queue building here, people with dirty hands
trying to get to the taps. Bye, love you.”
“Love you too and warmest regards to Jessica,” he threw
in for fun.
“Yeh, right back at you, smarty pants. See you in a day or
two.”
On leaving the ladies, Eduardo was updated as to the
revised status of affairs. He trusted Emma’s intuition that this
ex-cop boyfriend was not going to lead them into a trap, but
decided to make alternative arrangements anyway. After a
meal they agreed to continue on their journey with the view to
reaching Venice at some point during the night. So far the
driving had been in daylight and therefore easy, but the next
stage would be in the dark. Jessica rode shotgun for the first
stage whilst Emma slept, again.
They picked up the A5 and transferred on to the A1, and
180 miles later they arrived at the Italian border. Home sweet
home for Eduardo, and what was meant to be a refuge for
Jessica. Her only desire was to feel the comfort of Mama’s
enveloping hug. Both driver and front seat passenger were
feeling the effects of the long strenuous day and so called in at a services looking to refuel both car and bodies. Emma woke and joined in the procession to the loos and bought various refreshments whilst the other two went back to the car to rest. She came back to a sleeping Jessica and an almost sleeping Eduardo. Not quite though, as he still managed to dispatch, first his coffee and then Jessica’s as he tucked into a pepperoni
pizza.
“You’ll never sleep now after drinking that lot,” exclaimed
Emma.
“You want to bet?” and with that he reclined his chair and
was out for three hours. Emma reawoke to see Jessica
demolishing a cold margherita and finishing off a bottle of
water. Another toilet break and they were on the road again.
Next stop Venice, a mere 100 miles away via the A4, which in
their A6, they reached in just over two hours.
Having found parking on Piazzale Roma, the three headed
for St Marks Square. Sitting there, crowd watching, drinking
expensive cappuccino and eating brioche accompanied with
almonds and honey, was about the limit for three exhausted
travellers. Eduardo contacted Pernille and between them they
reverted to speaking mainly Italian; the end result was a
formulated albeit short-term solution, which should please the
two girls no end. “OK, the plan is to stay here overnight and
then travel on to Rome tomorrow where we’ll meet up with
Pernille and Mama.”
“Super,” gushed Emma, “but what about Terry? He’s
going to turn up in Italy today.”
“Yes, I think Pernille said that they were scheduled to
arrive mid afternoon. She’s organising a little welcome party
for them.” Emma looked worried at this. “No, nothing
dangerous or physical, but after all they are the law, although
one I know is dear to you and has already helped us. They will
be just given the runaround but you can let Terry know in
advance, if it makes you happier and he’s able to keep it from
the other guy. Perhaps you can text him and get him to ring
you when he’s alone?”
“What are we going to do now, then?”
“See the sights, of course. We can take a vaporetto and
relax on the Lido beach, or visit the islands of Murano or
Burano, or do all three. Or even take a leisurely stroll along
the canal sides; visit the markets, palaces and museums or if
that’s too strenuous we can take a gondola trip along the
Grand Canal and glide under the Rialto Bridge.”
Both girls took their cue and rushed off in search of more
summery clothing, underwear, towels and cosmetics. Eduardo
did the same excluding the cosmetics, as his holdall had been
left behind, too. And Jessica was now thankful that she had
retained the floppy hat and sunglasses she so despised when
leaving Edinburgh. Within the hour they were fully equipped
and crossing the lagoon en route to the Lido beach area. They
were not disappointed. Here they stripped down to their
modesty minimum, enabling them to keep cool, relax on the
warm sand, and snooze whilst sheltering under a brolly from
the fiercest of the sun’s rays.
The present DC and the former DI landed just after 14.50, and once they had cleared customs the DC toured the booking desks, which catered for UK arrivals. He showed his warrant card and asked each desk in turn whether there had been bookings and arrivals under the names, Jessica Lambert and Emma Flynn. One desk gave them a hit; the two names had booked flights but not shown. DC blister asked whether anyone else had missed that particular flight? The answer was Eduardo Martini. They both left the airport, contented with a result and jumped in the first available taxi where DC Blister requested the driver to take them to Secondigliano. The name took three repetitions before the driver understood, but then he set off at pace and in a northerly direction.
Their arrival contrasted significantly with the two girls’ previous departure. The editorial picture Denny held out in front of him was the same scene but without the cas
t of extras. The whole square was devoid of humans, but the Meccano like scaffolding climbing up various buildings revealed that renovation was well in progress. But not at the moment. The two wandered aimlessly until they came across Francescane Missionarie Del Coure Immacolato Di Maria on Via Vittorio Veneto; the church where the whole merry-go-round had begun just a mere three months ago. One of the parishioners was wielding a broom and picking up wind-swept litter whilst braving the afternoon sun. Dressed in her ubiquitous black she could have passed for a ninja warrior if her age and weight had not been fighting against her. They eyed each other suspiciously and then the two officers made a play to cross her path and head for the church door.
On entering, they savoured the cool, relieving welcome of such a lofty building and gratefully spied the priest fussing around the altar. He looked up, smiled, approached, and spoke in English, “May I help you?”
“Eh, yes Father,” replied Denny Blister.
“Are you looking for consolation or for someone?” “Try the ‘for someone’,” said Denny, shocked at the
priest’s forthright question. “We’re looking for two girls, Jessica Lambert and Emma Flynn. Do you know them?” “Yes, I know them very well. They have been very good for the village and we cannot thank them enough for their generosity.”
“That’s all well and good, but have you seen either within the last day or so?”
“No. I can honestly say not. Are they coming back to visit us?”
“What about Eduardo Martini?”
“What about Eduardo Martini?”
“Have you seen him, yesterday or today?”
“No, he’s a busy man. He is the Mayor and a very busy man.”
“OK. Well thank you for your time,” replied a frustrated Denny, who could not decide if it was the priest’s lack of understanding or his obstructiveness, which was getting in the way.
“It is not a problem. I am Sacerdote Cristiano Abatangelo by the way, and if you do need any form of consolation you will come back, won’t you,” he said looking at both of them quizzically.
The two left quickly and a little embarrassed at having been tagged for something they were not. But if they thought things could not get any worse they were surely wrong. The only bar in the square remained barred, the shops remained closed and the streets remained empty. The one small hotel, although displaying, ‘Camere disponibili’ (Rooms available), had an adjacent sign saying, ‘Fuori per 2 settimane’ (Away for 2 weeks). Neither could read either but got the impression they were not welcome or wanted in this village. Barnham found it highly amusing but had to ensure his joy was taken surreptitiously.
So Blister reverted to type. He knocked on doors, expecting the occupants to be both cowed and scared by his UK warrant badge. But of the few doors opening to his protestations of injustice, none of the openers spoke a word and most just bared a toothless grin by way of saying, ‘me no understand’. Seeing as public transport was out of the question and no other taxi had entered this time-warp of a place; it could not be classed as ‘God forsaken’ though, as there was the church, Blister was all for hiking on, bag in tow, to find somewhere else to stay called ‘civilisation’. Barnham felt sorry for him and for his own feet, and said, “Why don’t we go back to the Sacerdote guy and get him to ring for a taxi that can take us to a B&B?” And they did.
They returned early the next morning, with a view to catching the locals unaware and getting at least some answers to take back to HQ. Barnham already had been given all the answers he required the night before via a tête-à-tête with Emma. But he was interested to see how an up and coming detective operated when under pressure. The answer was, not very well. Their taxi on entering the square converged with a car driving out and that was the only semblance of life they saw in the whole day. Correction, at one point three old ladies ganged up together and visited two of the open shops en masse. Once inside, being so tightly knit, it was impossible for Blister to break them up and he could not fit in the shops whilst they were there. And on exiting the proprietors closed and locked the doors behind them. Barnham tagged along, prepared for the frustrations of the day. He carried his bottle of water and kept taking a crafty swig at every available opportunity. DC Blister spied him and by now was wishing he could turn it into wine, and then he would have had a hefty swig too.
Two days in, saw them no nearer gaining any information of note. DC Blister was on the point of throwing in the towel. But first he had to pass it by Barnham to see how he reacted, as with all his experience he may see it through different eyes. However, he still got the answer he expected. “Flogging a dead horse, springs to mind, Denny. You can only waste so much time getting nowhere. According to the Sacerdote guy, the two girls are revered here and Eduardo Martini, ‘shaken not stirred’, is the mayor. So who would say anything against them, even if they wanted to? And Jessica Lambert has not committed any crimes here, in fact the exact opposite.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right, but it feels so wrong. She could be hiding behind any of these doors.” He swept his arms around hoping to catch a shutter twitching. “We had best pack up and go then. Interpol will have to be informed and then they will get all the glory.”
“Perhaps they will, but we don’t do it for the glory. It’s to make our streets safer for the more civilised, those who uphold the law.”
“Come on then, off we go.”
“Does that mean I’m out of a job again?” questioned Barnham with a smirk.
“Well I reckon it does. Unless we see her coming out of
the airport.”
“In that case I won’t be returning with you. I may as well
stay and make a holiday of it. You know, see some sights,
soak up the rays and all that.”
“But aren’t you going to accompany me back to
Edinburgh?”
“No. What’s the point? It doesn’t take two of us to tell
your DCI that we got nowhere. And if I’m being honest, I
don’t fancy that bit much, anyway. So, like I say, I’ll spend
some time living it up. Already packed my cozzie. This
retirement lark’s OK. Gives you chance to chop and change
your plans. A bit like the Scottish weather, hey Denny?” With that they returned to their B&B. Blister depressed
and Barnham exhilarated. The owner arranged a taxi to take
the young detective back to the airport; he was so down he had
not even checked on flight availability but Barnham was not
going to worry about that. He, himself, sat out in the sunshine
on the patio, watching vehicles trundling up and down quite a
busy road but he was happy. A Nastro Azzurro in one hand
and his mobile in the other. “Hi, Em. Are you OK, Love?” “Hi, Tel. Yes, I’m fine thanks. You’re OK to talk, are
you?”
“Yes, our friend has thrown in the towel and is heading off
back to the airport. He might have an uncomfortable night
there as he’s not yet booked on a flight, but that’s his problem.
How was your night?”
“Fabulous. We arrived in Venice yesterday. Oh it was
wonderful, I’ll have to let you take me back there! Lazed on a
beach all afternoon and then had a quiet meal in Harry’s Bar,
just to say we’d done it. Then an early start today and we’re
….,” Emma broke off to ask how far from Rome, “… about
75 miles from Rome.”
“It sounds like you had a better time than me. Pizza and a
couple of beers was my fayre. And a constant drone of a onesided conversation from Denny boy, do you know I nearly
faked my memory loss to shut him up. That boy is so
ambitious, he could have my job if I still had it.”
“So you’re not going back?”
“No way. We’d always planned that I would come out to
<
br /> Naples, so now I’m going to check out the trains to Rome
instead”
“Oh, Tel. That will be great. We can’t wait to see you.” Terry paused slightly and then questioned, “Who’s we?” “Well, you already know that Jess knows about you, she
found it a bit strange at first me with the guy I nearly killed,
but she’s happy for us now. And there’s obviously Eduardo,
and you’ll be able to meet Mama and Pernille, they’re driving
up from Secondigliano, in fact you could have got a lift.” “Never mind, the train’s fine. Talking about meeting
people, we met the priest guy. Sacerdote, is it? He thought we
were a couple, Blister and I, very uncomfortable, although
maybe not unusual even in such a small village?”
“It’s alright Tel. I’ll put him straight. I know which team
you’re batting for. In fact, shall we ask him to marry us?” “Well, if you’re accepting my tentative Starbucks
proposal, then why not? It would clear up that misconception,
now wouldn’t it,” laughed Barnham as Emma joined in at the
other end.
“I think you’ll find I require a more romantic proposal
than that! But that’s for later, I better go now Tel, the battery’s
going. All my love and I’ll charge it up so you can let me
know which train you’re on.”
Thirsty work called for drastic action, so Barnham gulped down his beer and ordered another. He made use of the Internet access and reserved a seat on the following morning’s 10.00 train from Naples to Rome. A taxi to the station probably needed booking for around 9.00, allowing for Italian traffic hold ups and no doubt pantomime gesticulations and horn honking, my horn’s louder than yours, so he set that in motion too. Which all pointed to just one glass of wine plus a simple pasta dish for evening meal, and an early night.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE Eduardo had no such luck. Although delighted to meet up with Pernille and Mama: the girls’ Nonna; he had to quickly say his ‘buona seras’ as he rushed off clutching Jessica’s passport and a strip of photo booth mugshots. His Camorristi contacts had directed him to one of the best forgers in Italy, certainly the best in Rome, who had promised a twenty-four hours turnaround too. That job once put to bed; he was able to contemplate his more than happy return to accommodate Pernille in like manner. But first, Mama had to again shower both her grandchildren with hugs and kisses before they all set off to explore some of the night’s delights of Rome.