It was, thought Carlo, worth a whole lifetime of freezing stake-outs at dawn when the ice was on the roads and pavements. Nobody spoke in that tone of impertinent familiarity to Bentley Horrocks and the man quite obviously didn’t know how to react. It was worth all those years of carbo-excess from fast-food outlets, the cock-ups when they’d shown out or when the Crown Prosecution Service said the evidence wasn’t tight enough to warrant charges. And Bentley Horrocks was in the process of walking out on him. He clearly couldn’t place either of them and Fred was grinning, like a fool.
Carlo said, as if he was a friend, ‘You’re wondering who I am. Fair enough. Haven’t the boys you pay all that cash to told you about us? Not sure it’s money well spent, Bent. I’m Customs and Excise, and my colleague here is from the German Federal Police, the KrimPol crowd who do stuff in the brackets of Serious and Organised. Anyway, we’re just keeping an eye on you, making sure you don’t fall foul of some serious people. A pleasure to have met you, Bent. Have a prosperous day – if you’re going to have lunch here, the squid is usually good. So, have a good day – and be careful. You’ve left a trail that my old granny could have followed.’
The lawyer, Humphrey Somebody, was in the lobby, visible through the swing doors. Bent headed through them. Carlo couldn’t see his face but had an idea it would have been creased in fury. Time to get the hell out – they might have overstayed their welcome. Fred was still grinning ear to ear.
They hadn’t noticed a City-Van, a little Fiat, which looked as though it did runs for a smallholding or a tradesman. It had waited for them because they’d blocked its way into the car park. Both nodded to the driver in apology. Time for coffee and cake, then to head on into downtown Brancaleone.
Funny thing, the City-Van came past them – an old guy driving and a young woman beside him. It kept going, went straight out of the far side of the car park and turned as if to go back onto the main road. Odd.
To Stefano it was obvious.
To Giulietta there was no doubt.
He swore, waited for a lorry to clear the way in front of him and swung onto the coast road. He drove away from the hotel, past the trattoria that would soon be opening for the day. He turned off abruptly, without indicating, and went up a side-street, then accelerated into another that ran parallel to the main drag. He took another turning and parked where he had a good view of the vehicles on the main coast road. She sat boot-faced. She had clamped her arms tight across her chest and bit her lip.
Stefano said to Giulietta, ‘The one who was talking with him, the fat one, he was police.’
She said, ‘The one who stayed by the car, a hire car from Lamezia, was another policeman.’
‘He walked away, smiling, like he’d met a contact. We were early.’
‘Looked well pleased with himself. Thank God we were early.’
He said, ‘That man, Horrocks, is a danger to the family.’
She said, ‘And a danger is never ignored, always faced.’
They saw the hire car, black, go by. Stefano edged the City-Van forward and came to the junction. It was being parked opposite a limp flag, green, white and red. A sign designated the building as the Brancaleone barracks of the carabinieri. The jacaranda flowers were still bright purple and overhung the pavement against which the hire car was being manoeuvred. The two men got out of it, crossed the street and went into the building.
Where did she want to go?
Home. The sun was fierce through the windscreen so she peeled off her jacket and tossed it behind her. She was livid.
The old woman screamed. She lifted her head every ten minutes and howled as Jago watched.
Much to observe. The fate of the tyre iron held his attention. The one with the automatic rifle had given it to another to take away.
The old woman threw her head back and vented her grief. Then she sagged on the hard chair. Jago thought her wailing biblical. He assumed that she had accepted her grandson was dead. She would never have chastised him for his criminal actions. She would not have wanted him to train as a teacher or an accountant, and move to the centre or north of the country, divorcing himself from the risk of a prison sentence. The men gave her respectful space. They were joined now by a knot of women, young and old. Then the priest arrived. The body had not been moved and the head was now hidden by a tea-towel someone had brought from the kitchen.
The priest was elderly, overweight but not obese. Jago remembered him from before the storm. He was deferential and talked quietly to the mother. He stood close to her but did not touch her. He carried a small leather bag with him and now took from it one of his vestments – Jago recognised it from his schooldays. He hung it around his neck and knelt. After the prayer, and the gesture of the cross over the chest, the priest reached behind him and was given a hand to steady him as he stood up. Then he brushed the dirt off the knees of his trousers. Jago had thought the priest would make more of a show, and was puzzled by the lack of ceremony.