"I can't do that, Captain. If this matter involves one of my students, it involves me."
Now he was concerned. Arturo could feel the blood pressure rising. "Why was McCabe in Lazio?"
"No idea," Chip said.
"Why was McCabe at Signor Carsella's villa?"
"Who's Signor Carsella?"
"The man who owns Cucina da Pietro, the restaurant you walk out the gate is one hundred meters down Via Trionfale."
"I didn't know his last name," Chip Tallenger said.
"You know his villa?"
"That he has one in the country somewhere in Lazio, that's all. McCabe mentioned it. Pietro said he could use it. I've never been there. Never seen it. Why don't you ask the man who owns it?"
As it happened, Signor Carsella had contacted the carabinieri after seeing a live broadcast from the crime scene. Police were looking for an American student named William McCabe. Two days before McCabe had asked if he could use Signor Carsella's villa, saying he was with a woman, making the situation all the more intriguing. Arturo had asked Chip Tallenger who this mysterious woman might be. Chip had no idea. She was not a girl from the school or they would know. Now McCabe was in trouble or worse and Arturo had no motive, and no evidence beyond the rental vehicle. It was a coincidence Arturo was involved at all. He had gone to his office that morning to finish filing a report. He was planning to take the day off, his first in some time, months.
Luciano had seen him and said, "Captain, you remember the American student who was kidnapped?"
Of course he remembered. His name was McCabe.
"Someone tried to kill him."
And just like that Arturo was phoning his wife to cancel plans to spend the afternoon and evening, first shopping with her, which he did not care about missing, and then dinner at Colline Emiliane, which he did.
Luciano drove and they arrived at the scene on Viale Fiume, two kilometers east of Viterbo, at 3:15. There were four state police, and a television news crew from Rome already there, a reporter broadcasting live. How did they hear about it so quickly? Arturo was surprised the local police had been so careless. It was a crime scene after all.
Luciano told everyone to move back away from the vehicle until they had time to complete their investigation. Arturo studied the damaged Fiat resting at the edge of the woods. There was blood on the airbag that had deployed, and blood on the gray-and-blue cloth front seats, and bloody fingerprints on the passenger side door.
"Captain, you believe someone could walk away from this?"
"I don't know that someone did." He glanced up the hill past the tree line and saw a house. "Stay here, I'm going to check something."
He walked through the woods, looking for McCabe on the way, breathing hard, feeling the climb in his fifty-year-old legs. A man came out of the house as Arturo appeared coming out of the woods, crossing the yard, Arturo in jeans and a black tee-shirt under a sport jacket, his carabinieri badge on a lanyard around his neck.
The man's face was brown and wrinkled from the sun, and he wore a dark-blue beret. Arturo asked if he had seen what happened earlier and the man said no, but his wife had. The man called her name and she emerged from the house, a plump round woman wearing dark stockings and a black dress with an apron over it.
She told Arturo she was outside hanging laundry, right there, she said, pointing to a rope strung between two trees. There was a noise like an engine backfiring, and she looked down at the road, telling him about the car spinning out of control. Telling him about the men with guns getting out of another car, and about the man coming up the hill through the woods.
Arturo showed her the photograph of McCabe taken the night he was arrested.
The wife nodded. "It is him."
"Was there a woman with him?"
She shook her head. "No, but there was a man with a shotgun following him."
Later they had gone to investigate Signor Carsella's villa a few kilometers from the crime scene. On the way Arturo said, "So how is everything with Carmen?"
"Don't ask, Captain," Luciano said.
"Another argument?"
"This might be the end. We have not spoken for two days."
"If you were married you would have to work things out," Arturo said. "This is what I have been trying to tell you."
They drove up the steep hill toward the villa.
"I don't want to work things out."
Arturo said, "What do you want?"
"If I knew that," Luciano said, "it would be a lot easier."
Luciano parked next to the main house. "Have a look," Arturo said, pointing at the outbuildings.
Arturo got out of the car and entered the villa, walking into the kitchen. Yes, clearly someone had been here. There were wine glasses on the counter with wine still in them, and food in the refrigerator. There was a bloodstained towel in the sink, evidence of a possible crime, but not much to go on.
He checked the cellar, well stocked with wine but nothing else. He checked the main room and the salon and the toilet room. Went outside, stood on the portico, gazing at the lush countryside.
He went back inside and up the stairs. In one room a bed was unmade, sheet and blanket folded back. There was a backpack on the floor. Arturo opened the compartments and found clothes and a pocketknife. In the bathroom there was a shaving kit and a toothbrush next to the sink, signs McCabe had been there, but no sign of McCabe. He heard Luciano come up the stairs and said, "Did you find something?" "Nothing. Now what, Captain?" Arturo was wondering the same thing.
Chapter Thirty-four
"It's over," Angela said, relief in her voice. She was stretched out on one side of the queen-size bed. "I can't believe it."
They were in a small hotel on the outskirts of Soriano. It had been two hours since they had escaped from Pietro's villa. McCabe felt relieved too until he dumped the money out next to her, and counted it twice, getting?437,000 both times. "Sixty-three thousand's missing."
"You really thought you were going to get it all back?" Angela said. "I'm surprised they didn't spend more. Only three thousand."
"What're you talking about?"
"Mazara gave sixty thousand to my father. He was supposed to give him thirty per cent, 150,000, and thought he could get away with it. So my father will be looking for him if he isn't already."
She explained how it worked, how Don Gennaro received a share of everything, all of the criminal activity in Rome. McCabe had busted his ass to get the money and now this. "Where's he live?"
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," McCabe said.
"You think my father is going to give you the money? Are you crazy?"
McCabe said, "I tell him I've got you. He wants you back, he gives me the sixty thousand euros."
"I think he would prefer the money," Angela said. "You know I want you to have it, but listen to me, this is not going to work. I am trying to help you, give you some advice. Don't go anywhere near my father. Listen, I don't want anything to happen to you."
That's how they left it. He put the money back in the bag, and ordered room service, appetizers and a couple bottles of Peroni. They'd spend the night in Soriano, and try to get a ride in the morning. He took out Angela's cell phone and dialed Chip's number, heard it ring and heard Chip say hello.
"I need you to do me a favor," McCabe said.
"I don't believe it," Chip said. "Spartacus, you're a popular guy. I saw you on TV, your yearbook picture, and the car you rented that looked like somebody had taken a sledgehammer to it. Captain Ferrara stopped by school a little while ago and asked me what I knew."
It was good to hear his voice. McCabe said, "What'd you tell him?"
"My roommate's lost his mind and disappeared."
"That's probably not too far from the truth." McCabe told him what happened, what he'd done.