“As certain as fingerprints are unique.”
Spiro said, “We have more police officers per capita than any other country in the European Union. More police forces too. So, logically, we have more law enforcement individuals to…what is the word in English, ‘game’ the system.”
Rhyme said, “‘Game’ is a noun. I don’t accept it as a verb. But I will concede that many people use it. The Jargonites, I call them.”
Spiro chuckled. “Allora, but you understand my meaning. And do you, as well, Ercole?”
“I believe I do, sir.”
“Our colleague Signor Rossi has gamed the system. Though he is admittedly a most talented investigator and civil servant, he is somewhat more. He is active politically.”
“How do you mean, sir?”
“It is not known to the public but he’s a member of the NN.”
Rhyme recalled: the Nuovo Nazionalismo. The right-wing anti-immigrant party. The one guilty of violence against refugees…and originally suspected by the team of setting up the fake terror attacks.
“He is allied with a senior government official in Campania, Andrea Marcos, who also is a member of NN. Rossi uses his role as a police inspector to give himself credibility but in fact when the possibility arises he tries to further the goals of his brethren. Goals that I myself find unfortunate. No, reprehensible. Yes, the refugees are a burden. And some are risks, and we must be vigilant. But Italy is a country of so many different peoples: Etruscans and Germans and Albanians and Silesians and Greeks and Ottomans and North Africans and Slavs and Tyroleans. Why, we even have French here! There are northern Italians and southern and Sicilians and Sardinians. The United States is perhaps the greatest melting pan on earth but we are a mixed country, as well. We are also a nation with a heart, moved by the plight of families risking death to escape the madness of failed states.
“Inspector Rossi believes—indeed believed from the moment he realized that this serial kidnapper might be targeting refugees—that the perpetrator was doing the right thing. Oh, Massimo did his job but in his heart he wished asylum-seekers to be punished. If the killer succeeded, word might get back that Italy was as dangerous as Libya and they might think twice about coming to our shores.”
“The Burial Hour.” Sachs said these words.
They looked her way, and she explained to them about a speech in Parliament, one that Rania Tasso, of the Capodichino refugee camp, had mentioned. An Italian politician had coined the phrase to refer to the belief that citizens were being suffocated by the waves of immigrants.
Spiro said, “Yes, I have heard that. The Burial Hour. Massimo Rossi felt that way, apparently.”
Ercole said to Spiro, “Inspector Rossi fought to take over the Ali Maziq case. At the bus stop, he tricked the Carabinieri so that he could retain control of the investigation and interfere with it. And he might have, sir, had you not been the prosecutor.”
Spiro tilted his head, acknowledging the comment. Then added, “And had our American friends not come here to assist.” The prosecutor took a sip of wine and savored it. “Now, Ercole, I must deliver news more difficult than this. And that news is that Massimo Rossi invited you onto the case for the sole purpose of you being a scapegoat.”
“L’ha fatto?”
“Yes. He did. He wanted ways to limit or even dismiss the case, but he couldn’t do it himself. Nor did he want his protégé, that young officer…What is his name?”
“Silvio De Carlo.”
“Yes. He couldn’t have his protégé do so either. Silvio is destined for high places in the Police of State. Massimo wanted you, a Forestry officer, to take the blame for the case’s failure. So he assigned you to log the evidence in, arranged to have it stolen and pointed his finger at you.”
Ercole took a large sip of wine. “And now my name is on record as having ruined a major investigation. My chances of moving into regular policing are gone. Maybe even my career at the Forestry Corps is endangered.”
“Ah, Ercole. Let us pause a minute here, may we? Think. Rossi has blamed you for a mistake, not a crime. Yet he himself has committed a crime by arranging for the disappearance of physical evidence. The last thing he wants is any further examination of the matter.”
“Yes, that makes sense.”
“So, true, within the Police of State, there will be no career opportunities for you.”
Ercole finished his wine and set the glass down. “Thank you, sir. It’s kind of you to tell me that I’m not, in fact, responsible for the destruction of the case. And to have the courage to break the news to me about the consequences to my career.” He sighed. “So, buona notte. I will get home to my pigeons now.” He extended his hand.
Spiro ignored it. He muttered, “Pigeons? Are you making a joke?”
“No, sir. I am sorry. I—”
“And did I say that our conversation is over?”
“I… No. I’m…” The stammering young man dropped to his seat again.
“Now perhaps you will be silent and let me finish telling you why I have summoned you here. In addition to dining with our American friends, of course.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize I was invited to dine.”
Spiro snapped, “Why would I ask you to a restaurant, one of the best in Campania, by the way, if not to have you join us?”
“Of course. Very kind of you, sir.”
“Allora. My comment is this: I have made some inquiries. It is largely unprecedented for a Forestry Corps officer, especially one as old as you, to transfer directly into the Carabinieri training program. But, of course, interoffice politics can have a positive side as well as a negative. I have called in favors and arranged for you to be accepted into the service and will begin military and police training in one month.”
“Carabinieri?” Ercole whispered.
“As I have just said. And as you have just heard. I was told that it has been a goal of yours for some time to join them.”
The young man was breathless. “Mamma mia! Procuratore Spiro, I don’t know what to say. Grazie tante!” He took the prosecutor’s hand in both of his and Rhyme thought for a moment he was going to kiss the man’s fingers.
“Enough!” Then Spiro added, “One month should give you time to finish up any assignments that are pending at Forestry. I understand from speaking to your superior officer that your arrest of a particularly troublesome truffle counterfeiter was interrupted by the arrival of Il Compositore. I assume you wish to close that case.”
“I do indeed.” Ercole’s eyes narrowed.