Rhyme said, “There’s only one thing that matters to me. The truth.”
A cold smile. “Do I suspect an excuse is about to wing my way? That’s something else Americans love: excuses. They can do anything, then excuse away their behavior. We kill thousands wrongly, but it was because we were blinded by a higher cause. How your country must feel shame. Day and night.”
“Not an excuse, Prosecutor. A fact. There is absolutely nothing I will not do to arrive at the truth. And that includes going behind your back and anyone else’s if I need to. What we did here, I knew it was against procedure, if not against the law.”
“Which it is,” Spiro reminded.
“Garry Soames could very likely be guilty of raping Frieda S. I don’t care. I honestly don’t. If my line of inquiry proves him guilty, I’ll give those details to you as happily as if I found exculpatory evidence. I told Garry’s lawyer as much. But what I can’t do is allow any uncertainty to remain. Has this piece of evidence told us everything it possibly can? Is it being coy? Is it being duplicitous? Is it pretending to be something else entirely?”
“Very clever, Mr. Rhyme. Do you use that personification in your courses, to charm your students?”
He did, as a matter of fact.
“I found your investigation into the rape case well done—”
“Condescension! Yet another quality you Americans so excel in.”
“No. I mean it. You and Inspector Martelli have done a fine job. But it’s also true that your case is lacking. I identified threads of investigation that I thought it was a good idea to pursue.”
“Ach, these are just words. You have my ultimatum. Leave the country at once or face the consequences.”
Again he turned.
“Did you know about the break-in at Garry’s apartment?”
He paused.
“Someone wearing latex gloves broke the window of his bedroom and hid the break-in, covering the cut-out window with dirt. And it was the room where the date-rape drug traces were found on his clothing. And the window frame and sill—outside the building—contain traces of the drug too.”
Rhyme nodded to Thom, who found the yellow pad, the mini chart. He handed it toward Spiro, who waved his hand dismissively.
He continued to the door.
“Please. Just take one look.”
Sighing loudly, the prosecutor returned and snatched the pad. He read for a moment. “And you found evidence linking someone at the, as you say, smoking station with the scene where the victim was attacked. The trace, the detersivo per il bucato—the soap—and the spices.”
So he recognized the ingredients in the detergent. Impressive.
In a firm voice, he said, “But that proves nothing. The source for that trace would be the hostess, Natalia. She went to the victim’s aid. And her boyfriend, Dev, is Indian. Explaining the curry.” The prosecutor’s face softened. He cocked his head as he said to Rhyme, “I myself was suspicious of him at first. I took his statement at the school and while doing so I observed that he frequently would look over women students as they passed. His eyes seemed hungry. And he was seen talking to the victim, Frieda, earlier that evening. But every minute of the party he was accounted for. And his DNA did not match that which was inside the victim.”
Rhyme added, “And a CCTV at a nearby hotel had malfunctioned.”
“As they will do.”
“Yes, you’re right: The evidence at Natalia’s isn’t helpful. But what we discovered at Garry’s is. The footprint at the scene.”
Spiro’s eyes now revealed curiosity. He read. “Small man size, or woman’s. And it was a woman who called to report that Garry was seen adulterating Frieda’s wine.”
“Ercole collected soil from where the perp walked. It’s being analyzed now. By Beatrice. That might be helpful.” Rhyme added, “It might have been the actual rapist. But it might have been someone just wishing to get him into trouble—the woman who called. Garry’s lawyer told us that he was quite the ladies’ man. A player, you know?”
“I know.”
“And maybe didn’t treat them the way they would like to have been treated. There’s a woman in Florence who might—”
Spiro said, “Valentina Morelli. Yes. I am trying to locate her myself.”
Silence for a moment. Then Spiro’s face took on an expression that said: Against my better judgment. “Allora, Capitano Rhyme. I will pursue this aspect of the investigation. And will temporarily put on hold my complaint against you and Forestry Officer Benelli for misuse of police facilities and interference with procedures. Temporarily.”
He took a cheroot from his breast pocket and lifted it to his nose, smelled the dark tube, then replaced it.
“My reaction to your presence, you might have perceived, was perhaps out of proportion to your, if I may, crime. You came here at great risk to your personal safety—one in your condition cannot have an easy time traveling. There are dangers.”
“That’s true for everyone.”
He continued without comment, “And there is no guarantee that even if the Composer is captured you would be successful in your attempt to extradite him back to America. Remember—”
“The Wolf Tits Rule.”
“Indeed. But here you came anyway in pursuit of your quarry.” He tilted his head. “In pursuit of the truth. And I resisted at every turn.”
A pause as Spiro regarded the Composer evidence pads. Slowly he said, “There was a reason for my resistance. A personal reason, which is, by its very definition, unacceptable in our endeavors.”
Rhyme said nothing. He was pleased for any chance to continue to pursue the two cases—not to mention pleased to remain out of an Italian prison—so he let the man talk.
The prosecutor said, “The answer goes back a long time—to the days of the Second World War, when your country and mine were sworn enemies…” Spiro’s voice softened. “…and yet were not.”
Chapter 43
You will not have heard of the Esercito Cobelligerante Italiano.”
“No,” Rhyme told Spiro.
“The Italian Co-Belligerent Army. A complex name for a simple concept. Another fact most Americans do not know: Italy and the Allies were antagonists only at the start of the war. Both sides signed an armistice in nineteen forty-three, ending their hostilities long before Germany fell. True, some fascist soldiers fought on, in league with the Nazis, but our king and prime minister joined with the Americans and British and fought against the Germans. The Co-Belligerent Army was the Italian wing of the Allies.