“I’m sorry they haven’t found your father and stepmother. I had a rather long interview with the Italian police—”
It had taken place in Rome. He had gone down there with his wife, stayed at the Savoy, and the police had come to the hotel every day to brief him. It had been more surreal than one might have expected and he had sat through the whole thing quite passively. They told him that the migrant had, in all likelihood, carjacked Jimmie and Phaine’s vehicle in southern Italy, killed them, and buried them somewhere along this route from Brindisi to Rome. That was the likeliest possibility, anyway. Now that the suspect was dead there was no one to ask and the theory had to remain suspended, as it were, in the air. It was true that the couple had made no mention to anyone of their intention to drive back that week, and when the police had asked Naomi about it she had simply told them that her father and stepmother were prone to such improvisations. Rupert himself had received an e-mail earlier in the month in which Jimmie had expressed his desire to do so—as they did every year. It was only slightly surprising that he had said nothing to Naomi.
“He did mention something,” she said quietly. “I can’t remember when, though. He was quite impulsive anyway, as you know—”
“Indeed he was. It was part of his force.”
“It didn’t do him much good,” she said sourly. “He would have been better off being a bit less impulsive.”
“I can’t disagree with that one. But you’re sure he said something to you about leaving for Italy?”
“Yes. He was getting tired of Hydra.”
“Were the two of you arguing? I mean, do you think that was part of him feeling tired of it?”
She flinched a little but didn’t turn.
“How should I know? He kept himself to himself. All I mean is that I wasn’t surprised that they left without saying anything.”
Was he really free as the wind? Rupert thought.
She wondered what her uncle knew about her, if anything; over the years they had had very little contact. Not enough contact, in fact, for him to fall into an easy suspicion of her. It occurred to her that most of what he knew might well have come from Rockhold. Would that make it close to the truth, or far away from it? He explained all the intricacies of the estate now that there was a presumption of death. It was about what she would inherit, which was in essence the house in Hydra, the house in London, and a large block in the company shares. It was a standard arrangement for an only child and nobody would contest it. Indeed, the only person who could realistically contest it was Rupert, and he had no intention of doing any such thing. It was the only compensation for such a horrifying trauma, and he knew that Jimmie would never have put such things into his will if he had not meant them. There was just the question of Phaine’s share of that same will. He had granted her the house in Italy, but since she was presumed dead as well they would have to come to an arrangement. Personally, he didn’t care much himself. Perhaps something for the nieces and nephews, then, though they were already very well provided for. She might give it a thought.
“So we’re assuming they’re dead?” was all she said.
“I’m afraid they must be at this point. The Italian police said they would carry on looking. They’re combing all the roads, but between you and me, it’s an all but impossible task. They’re not going to find them. I know it’s hard.”
“That’s the hardest part.”
“Not knowing where they are?”
“Yes. It’s obscene.”
“I would agree with you. But there’s always a chance they’ll get lucky.”
“Who was the suspect?”
Rupert felt like smoking, but it didn’t seem to be a good moment for it. He stroked his chin and wondered what to say.
“They have no idea. He had no ID. None whatsoever. One of these bloody migrants. There’s no way of knowing where he came from. Even the fingerprints led nowhere.”
“A nonperson, then?”
“Yes, you could say that. A nonperson to us, anyway. A person to someone somewhere.”
“And we can’t even guess his nationality?”
“No. No way of knowing. The police more or less said it was a closed case. Of course, they’ll run fingerprint checks for a while, but I expect it’ll go nowhere. He made a grab for the car and it got out of control. They even said it didn’t mean he was a criminal. Just desperate.”
“He didn’t have to kill them.”
“We don’t know—like I say, it might have just spun out of control. If you steal someone’s car, it usually does.”
“I can’t believe,” she said, “that no one at the ferry terminal remembered them crossing.”
“But they did. They remembered them perfectly. That’s the funny thing with people. They remember things perfectly even if they didn’t happen.”
“People are morons,” she said bitterly.
“That they are,” he said, and laughed. “It’s an undeniable fact.”
“And what did the authorities in Italy do with his body?”
Rupert was slow with his words, as deliberate as he could be. There was something odd in her tone.
“They cremated it after a week, I believe. There wasn’t much else to do. I think they did the right thing.”
So they’ve all disappeared without a trace, she thought.
It was slowly dawning on her that she was now very rich on her own account, and it was curious that this obvious fact had not occurred to her at all in the previous weeks. It was like a new fact that had suddenly dropped into her lap courtesy of Uncle Rupert. She was a millionaire now. How did nice left-wing millionaires behave?
They went on their quiet rampages, which often were conducted purely inside their own heads. But they might also burn a few barns in the real world. They might look for a little vengeance.
“Are you going to stay in London?” her uncle asked. “It’s a very nice house. It must have a few memories for you too.”
“It has a lot of memories. But anyway, I don’t know. I may go back to Greece. London drains everything out of me. I can’t stand the place.”
“Fair enough. What will you do on Hydra?”
“What I’ve always done—nothing and everything. Maybe I’ll paint the house. It would be therapeutic.”
“I daresay it might.”
Rockhold had once said to him long ago, “That girl is a piece of work. She is Jimmie’s negative image.” He smiled to remember it. But what did it mean?
They walked back to the car.
“There’s a family gathering in the restaurant at the hotel tonight, if you feel like coming. The kids will drink champagne and all that. If you don’t want to come, I’ll understand.”
“I’m a bit exhausted now. The funeral was too much.”
“Yes, pity about poor old Rockhold. He was always a bit zealous to my mind. Do you know what I mean?”
“Not really. Zealous?”