For any of them.
How long Caro sat on the floor in her office she couldn’t later remember. She grew cold and stiff, and all the while her brain did its thing. The researcher in her started to put some pieces together and although she couldn’t be certain, she began to see a light at the end of the tunnel. It was fully dark before she stretched out her stiff legs and hauled herself upright.
First things first. She needed to contact Flynn. Then she needed to speak to Marianna, privately.
She glanced at the wall clock and figured Marianna would most likely be in the library – if she was even at the palazzo. The di Lucas hadn’t said either way and Caro hadn’t thought to ask. Hadn’t needed to then. Everything was different now.
She grabbed her phone and dialled Nick’s number. No time to hold petty things like trust and sharing against him now. This was way too serious.
It went to voicemail. Well, message it is.
She blurted out as much as she could without implicating anyone, hung up and shoved it in her back pocket. Now to get a drink and find Marianna. She didn’t really care in what order, but alcohol was sounding pretty fucking necessary right now.
Good, she was in swearing mode.
Anyone who knew her knew this meant business.
Chapter 24
It was a toss-up between whiskey and brandy, but despite Caro’s ability to differentiate between Irish and Scotch, she knew a touch of the medicinal was needed. Her mother swore by brandy when it came to “the nerves”, so Caro poured a large measure into a balloon glass and sipped slowly, willing herself to relax. The next few hours could reveal a lot and she wanted to be calm but aware.
The library was deserted but Marianna’s book lay open on the sofa and the cushions were stacked in a propped position. She’d be back. Marianna never left the room untidy or disrupted. She was a stickler for cleanliness and order.
Tonight, Caro was determined to find out a bit more about her closeness to Toni – one way or the other. Caro couldn’t imagine Marianna having anything to do with harming Toni, but she’d been shocked already this evening, so all bets were off.
“Oh. Excuse me. I did not realise you were here.”
Marianna’s quiet, apologetic tone grated on Caro’s already stretched nerves.
“I wasn’t. I am now.” Caro used an abrupt tone on purpose. No point trying to lull Marianna into a false sense of security – she was too blinkered to get it. This woman needed to be shocked into speaking the truth. “Did you hear about Toby’s incident in New York?”
“Sì. Yes. I am so sorry. Almost like what happened here before you went away.”
Marianna’s head bobbed up and down in evident distress.
What now? What had happened? Caro needed to tread carefully. Had Toby been hurt before? Other than the crowd thing? Shit. She swallowed and shrugged non-committally.
“Yeah, like that,” she lied. “What day was it again?”
“The Tuesday. After school. Mia said he was almost run over but Nick, he was there and grabbed him from harm. He was okay, no?”
“No! I mean yes. Yes. He was fine. Thanks. And his arm is healing nicely from his latest escapade. My boy sure gets himself into scrapes, doesn’t he?”
Caro was fuming. Absolutely fuming. Nick had saved her son from a car?
What the hell?
Heads would roll, big time. And not just Nick’s for keeping that from her, but Toby’s, too. Did they think she was an idiot? That she couldn’t handle shit? She’d handled everything thrown at them just fine, hadn’t she? Caro began to pace, the brandy almost forgotten in her hand.
“You are upset?” Marianna, not the brightest spark on the stove, seemed to understand that the pacing was more of a walk of pure fury. “I will go and leave you to . . . ” She gestured vaguely and stood from the sofa, automatically fluffing the cushions.
“Wait!” Caro took hold of her arm, stopping her. “I need you to tell me the truth.” She locked her eyes on Marianna’s startled gaze. “I need you to tell me why you and Toni got married. The real reason.”
“I was pregnant,” Marianna whispered. “It was the right thing to do.”
She pulled her arm from Caro’s grasp and, forgoing the tidying, hurried from the room.
Caro sank to the sofa, leaning back. She closed her eyes and brought the amber liquid to her lips in a long drink.
Interesting. Very interesting.
Marianna had said “I was pregnant.” She didn’t mention Toni’s part in the proceedings . . .
Caro pulled her phone from her jeans and searched for Flynn’s last text. There – the number of the policeman she was to contact locally. Striding towards her office, she dialled, grimacing at the late hour. But hell, she needed answers.
“Pronto?”
Ah, a private number, not the station. Just as well.
“Ispettore Conti? My name’s Caroline Fitzgerald. My brother Flynn suggested I call you about a series of events that have been happening to me and my son. Can we talk?”
Caro tucked her phone under her ear as she rummaged through the notes and journals she and Nick had found. Her desk looked like it had been ransacked. Piles of papers and notebooks were scattered across the surface, but it was an organised chaos, in Caro’s opinion. She knew where things were. Usually. Tonight, not so much.
“His state of mind was definitely agitated during the few months leading up to his death,” Caro explained to the patient inspector as she flipped through some of the pages of Toni’s last journal. “Listen to this. ‘The trust is all gone. I can’t believe anyone any more. Especially not M. How could she have done this to me? Why would she? What did I ever do to deserve this? And yet, little Mia, my baby girl. The darling of my life. I can’t. I just can’t.’
“And then a few days later, about a month before the so-called accident, he writes, ‘I’ve set things in motion. I can’t leave here myself but I’ve contacted an agency to do the searching for me. Who knows what they will find? Do I even want to know?’”
Caro paused. Reading Toni’s impassioned, tortured words was like a knife in her chest. She’d blamed him, hated him, despised him for all those years and here she was, reading about his torment, his pain, his uncertainty. He wasn’t a bad person. But he sure as hell was conflicted about something.
“I’m still searching for his last journal. This one ends about a week before he died, but he was a regular writer, so I refuse to believe there’s no more to be learned.”
She listened as Inspector Conti gave his own thoughts about the accident that had killed Toni, confirming pretty much that the evidence of brake-tampering had, indeed, been hidden. It was now a newly opened case and was being investigated by the inspector himself. He knew Flynn from a previous investigation and owed him one, he said.
“I’m going to try the attic one more time, Ispettore. I’m heading there now.”
Caro kept the phone to her ear as she climbed the stairs. All was in darkness, no sign of Tommaso or Elena. Good. That little duo gave her the shivers and until she was convinced of their innocence, she was staying well clear.
“I have one last place to check for the latest notebook and then I’ll call it a night. You’ve been so kind, keeping me company while I search,” Caro added as she put the phone down on the floor in front of the one skylight in the attic.
Of course it was dark outside now, but the night was crystal clear and a bright moon illuminated the dusty space. One remaining box lay edged tight to the wall. Something snagged at Caro’s memory about a view that Toni loved. This small window faced south, towards the city, and the view, if there was in fact a view, would be spectacular. Toni had said “There is no view like a Rome view,” and had written it out in colourful script for her to bring back to Dublin. She still had it. Somewhere.
She yanked open the lid of the cardboard box and a scattering of shredded packaging flew up in the air about her. She rummaged deep inside the slightly musty box and bingo! – she grabbed
hold of something hard. Pulling her hand free, she saw it was a notebook, just like Toni’s others.
“I think we’re in business,” she said aloud, knowing the ispettore remained on the line. “Give me a moment to flip through,” she added as she angled it towards the moonlight.
She hadn’t flicked the light switch, not wanting anyone to detect her, even from down the bottom of the steep stairway – and there was no way she was closing the attic door on herself, not after hearing Elena and Tommaso earlier.
Quickly fanning the pages open to the last entry, Caro focused on the familiar handwriting. Every time she saw the bold black-inked script her heart twisted, but each time was a little less now.
“Here. I have the last few days. Let me scan it.”
And there. There it was. The key to the whole bloody mess. DNA results written out clearly. Oh, God. This would break so many hearts. So many lives. Did she have the right to mess with this? Did she have the right not to?
She closed her eyes briefly against all the pain – past, present and the bombardment that may yet come. Flipping back a few more days, she noticed a huge underlining of several words and those words just about split her world apart – I have a son! And there, attached with a piece of tape, was the photograph of Toby, aged one year, that she’d sent.
He must have found her letters!
Oh! sweet Jesus – that’s when he knew. That was when he finally knew about Toby . . .
Heart thudding, she skimmed the words, trying to take it all in. How had he found out? She read a few more lines from the previous days, and began to put two and two together. Bloody hell! this was all too much.
“Hang on a second, Ispettore, I’ve found some pretty damaging stuff here and some fairly amazing news, too. I need to read through it all and I’ll get back to you tomorrow, first thing. Is that . . . ?”
A sudden noise behind her startled her and she swung around to bump right into a tall, very wide expanse of chest.
“Ooufh! What the . . . ”
A hard blow slammed into the side of her head and as she tumbled into darkness, she called out as loud as she could. “Help me . . . ” And then nothing.
Nick’s brows furrowed as he turned his car into the entrance of the palazzo. He hoped Caroline was home and with any luck, would actually consent to talk to him. He owed her. Big time. He’d acted like an idiot, keeping such important information from her. But, to his credit, at least he realised it. Yeah, credit. He’d screwed up and he needed to be honest now, about everything.
It wasn’t going to be easy for her to hear his news and even harder on the rest of the family. But Caroline needed to hear it first. As he steered his vehicle around the driveway, he noticed the lights. Shit. A lot of lights.
And, holy fuck. Several police cars.
Nick gunned the engine and screeched to a halt directly behind one squad car, all its lights flashing. He tore himself from the car and raced up the steps. A uniformed officer stepped in front of him as he careered in the main door.
“No, sir. You must stop. This is a police investigation, a crime scene,” he intoned gravely.
Nick barely broke stride, batting the man aside. What the hell? What crime? Caroline? Where was Caroline? Shouting her name, he raced for the stairs, bounding up several at a time, the junior officer trotting behind, calling him back. Three officers came into sight, hurrying down, and all three halted as Nick almost ran into them.
“Where’s Caroline?” Nick barked. “What the hell is going on? Are the di Lucas here? Are they hurt?”
One question fired after another as the three policemen just stared at him, saying nothing. A cough from below had Nick turn and an older man in plain clothes stepped forwards, hand outstretched.
“Nick Sullivan?” he asked. At Nick’s abrupt nod, he continued, “Come into the study with me, please. My name’s Inspector Nero Conti and I’ve been expecting you.”
Without waiting to see if Nick was following, he turned on his heel and strode down the hall. Nick followed. Shoving a frustrated hand through his hair, he braced his shoulders against the closed door when the inspector took a seat.
“What’s happening?” he asked again. “Where’s Caroline? My aunt and uncle?”
“Please, sit.” Conti gestured to the vacant leather chair. “Please,” he insisted as Nick just stared him down. “I want you to listen to this and then tell me everything you know about where Miss Fitzgerald may be.”
Nick sat in the chair, acid spitting in his stomach with terrified anticipation. The inspector fiddled with his phone and turning the screen to Nick, pressed Play. Caroline’s voice came through clearly if a little distantly.
Conti let the whole conversation play, his eyes never leaving Nick’s, and when she mentioned about finding something new, Nick let his eyes fall closed briefly. They flashed open again, however, when a disturbance of some kind was heard and Caroline’s faint “Help me . . . ” followed.
“What the hell? What happened? How did you get this? Why aren’t you doing something?” he demanded hoarsely.
“Calm yourself, Mr Sullivan. We’ve located her phone in the attic. We’re now searching the entire grounds for Miss Fitzgerald. This is the recording of just an hour ago. Unfortunately.” At Nick’s puzzled look, Conti continued, “If she’d had the phone on her we could track her movements. As it is . . . ” He let his words hang.
As it is. What did that even mean?
Conti began speaking, telling Nick all about the earlier calls regarding Toni’s accident and how Caroline was sure there was more evidence.
“Did she not telephone you?” the inspector asked.
Damn. His blasted phone was on silent. In his pocket.
He reached for it, illuminating the screen. Yes – a missed call and, thankfully, a message. They listened together to Caroline’s hurried explanation of what she thought she overheard in the attic earlier. It sounded pretty damning for Tommaso and especially Elena. With Nick’s information from the stash of Toni’s papers in New York, he had a pretty good idea why.
Had Caroline figured it out? Was that what she was reading when she was . . . taken? God. They had to find her.
“What can I do?” he asked, focusing his mind to the present. To the problem facing them now. He was the problem-solver and he would figure it out. “Where are my relatives?”
“The di Lucas are out for the evening, thankfully, and when we located them at a friend’s house, they seemed fine. I did not tell them what was going on but asked them to return. I expect them shortly.” He raised a hand as Nick was about to interrupt. “Your little cousin left a short time ago with her mother, apparently having forgotten an appointment. Elena Rossi is not in residence at the moment. Neither,” the Ispettore intoned, “is Tommaso. And . . . ” He glared at Nick, who’d reared from the seat in frustration. “We have a troop of officers combing the property looking for Miss Fitzgerald.”
“But what if she’s been taken away from here?”
The anger he was feeling made the question sharp and accusatory.
“I understand your frustration, but we look here first. The gate was not activated since the time of the phone call and our arrival. Therefore, it is our opinion they are still on the grounds. There are several outhouses and living quarters that must be searched.”
Nick let out a string of curses and then took a deep breath.
“I apologise. I’ll help in any way I can. I know all the nooks and crannies of the property, even the less obvious ones. Tell me where you’ve looked so far.” He strode over to an old armoire and pulled open several drawers, one after the other. “Antonio has a large detailed map of the house and grounds – I drew it myself and I know it’s here somewhere,” he said over his shoulder. “Here.”
He pulled out a rolled scroll and sweeping the large study desk clear, he unravelled it, securing the edges with various photo frames, a paper weight and an old-fashioned pen stand.
“These are the obvious spots . .
. ” He pointed. “Here and here. But both have cellars that may be hidden, so make sure the officers check them.”
Conti nodded and spoke into his walkie-talkie, alerting his crew to the information.
“However, there’s another building – so well disguised most people, even in broad daylight, would miss it. I’m not sure who else knows about it, but Toni and I used it when we were kids.” He indicted the farthest northern boundary of the property, to what appeared like a copse of umbrella pines. “This,” he told the inspector, “is camouflaged to look like trees, but there’s a hidden door in the centre leading down to a series of tunnels and a large, open cave-like area.
“It was there when my uncle and aunt bought the property – maybe centuries old – but I know Tommaso knows of it. He used to threaten to tell on Toni and me when we played there. It’s damp and dark – the perfect hiding spot.”
Conti wasted no time. He gathered his phone and walkie-talkie, spoke briefly again to several of those searching, reached into his jacket and produced a gun. Nick raised his brows and on instinct walked to his uncle’s locked desk, rummaged underneath the old leather-covered drawer and produced a key.
With the drawer open, he fished out another key and quickly unlocked the glass cabinet behind the desk. He took down an AF1 semi-automatic pistol and shoved it into the waistband of his trousers. He met and held Conti’s interested look for a second before jerking his head in the direction of the garden.
“Let’s go, and yeah, I know how to use it.”
Caro peeled her eyes open, every tiny movement sending pain directly to her brain and bouncing back to her skin.
Roman Holiday Page 33