“Let’s get one thing straight, Mr. Hoffer. I’m here for twenty-five thousand dollars plus expenses in advance.”
He straightened abruptly, the head went back, the eyes hardened into chips of blue glass. I expected him to argue about the terms because Burke actually looked alarmed and moved in fast.
“I’m sorry about this, Mr. Hoffer. Stacey doesn’t realise…”
Hoffer cut him off with a motion of one hand that was like a sword falling. “Never mind. I like a man who knows his own mind. So long as we all know where we stand.”
He was another man – hard, competent with the kind of ruthless edge he would have needed to get where he was. Even his physical movements were different. He snapped his fingers for another drink and Rosa Solazzo came running.
“Half in advance,” he said. “To you and Burke.”
“And if we fail to get the girl out?”
“You’re that much ahead of the game.”
“And the other two?”
“Your affair.”
Burke was frowning, mainly, I suppose, because he felt he was being cut out of things. He nodded slightly, which surprised me – or did it really?
In any event I shook my head and said to Hoffer, “Not good enough. Jaeger and Legrande get the same terms or we don’t go.”
He didn’t even argue. “All right. I’ll let you have a cheque you can draw in Palermo tomorrow, but made out to Colonel Burke. He holds the bank until the job is over one way or the other. Some insurance for me against anyone preferring a bird in the hand.”
“Fair enough.”
Burke was obviously furiously angry, but I ignored him and emptied my glass. Rosa came over to get me another. Hoffer said, “Can we get down to business now? How do you intend to tackle this thing?”
“You’re certain Serafino is in the Cammarata?” I said.
He nodded. “That definitely seems to be his home ground. Every enquiry I’ve been able to make confirms it. You know the area, I believe?”
“I’ve been there. It’s wild country.”
“You don’t need to tell me. I had to drive up there alone to make the first payment.”
“And you met him?”
“Serafino?” He nodded. “Face to face at a bridge on what passes for the main road near a village called Bellona.”
“What was he like?”
“I can show you.” He produced a wallet, took out a photo and gave it to me. “I got that through someone I know in the police. Our friend has been through their hands more than once.”
It was typical of police photography the world over, reducing the subject to a kind of Neanderthal man, capable – from his appearance – of rape or murder and most things in between.
I shook my head. “This doesn’t tell me a thing. What was he like? Describe him.”
“Twenty-five or six – medium height. Dark hair – long dark hair.” He didn’t approve of that. “One of those swarthy faces you get round here – they tell me it’s the Arab blood from Saracen days. Typical Sicilian.”
“Sounds just like me,” I said.
“If you like.” He wasn’t in the least put out. “He’s lost an eye since the photo was taken and he laughed a lot. Treated the whole thing as if it was one big joke.”
And he hadn’t liked that either. His right hand clenched into a fist and stayed that way. “I think Bellona sounds like a good place to start,” I said.
Hoffer seemed surprised. “Is that such a good idea? The impression I get is that most of the villagers in the area work hand in glove with people like Serafino.”
I looked at Burke. “You play the tourist. I’ll pass myself off as a hire-car driver.”
He nodded. “Suits me.”
I turned to Hoffer. “Not the Mercedes. Something that isn’t too ostentatious. Can you manage that?”
“Certainly. Is there anything else you’d like?”
“Yes, tell me about the girl.”
He looked slightly bewildered. “Joanna? But I thought the colonel told you all you needed to know?”
“I’d like to hear about her from you – all about her. In a thing like this it’s important to know as much as you can about people. That way you can have some idea in advance about how they might behave in a given situation.”
He was full of approval. “That makes sense. All right – where should I begin?”
“When you first met her would do for a start.”
Which was when she was twelve years old. Her father had died of leukaemia two years earlier. Hoffer had met her and the mother at St. Moritz one Christmas and the marriage had taken place shortly afterwards and had lasted until four months previously when his wife had been killed in a car crash in France.
“I understand the girl was rather a handful,” I said. “Presumably her mother’s death didn’t help.”
He seemed to slump wearily, ran a hand across his face and sighed. “Where do you begin with a thing like this? Look, Wyatt, I’ll put it in a nutshell for you. When Joanna was fourteen her mother found her in bed with the chauffeur and he wasn’t the first. She’s been nothing but trouble ever since – one rotten little scandal after another.”
“Then why are you bothering?”
He looked surprised, then frowned as if it hadn’t occurred to him before. “A good question – certainly not because of any great affection. She’s no good, she never has been and I honestly don’t think she ever will be. Maybe it isn’t her fault, but that’s the way it is. No, I suppose when it all comes down to it I owe it to my wife. She was a wonderful woman. The seven years she gave me were the best, Wyatt. Anything else can only be afters.”
He certainly sounded sincere and the presence of Rosa Solazzo didn’t alter my judgement in the slightest. I was certainly the last man in the world to hold the fact that he needed a woman around against him.
“One thing puzzles me,” I said. “I can understand you not going near the police. In Sicily they are worse than useless in a case like this, but didn’t it ever occur to you to approach Mafia?”
“What good would that do?” Burke laughed. “Stacey has this Mafia thing on the brain, Mr. Hoffer. There are reasons.”
Hoffer waved him down. “Sure I tried Mafia. They’re still behind most things here. Don’t believe all this crap you hear about Rome having stamped it out. That’s just for the tourist trade. They don’t want to scare anyone away.”
“Did you get anywhere?”
He shook his head. “It seems Serafino Lentini doesn’t like the Mafia. The impression I got was that they’d like to get their hands on him, too.”
“Stacey’s grandfather is something to do with this Mafia thing,” Burke said. “Isn’t that so, Stacey? He’s going to see him tonight.”
Hoffer frowned. “Your grandfather?”
“Vito Barbaccia,” I said, I think for effect more than anything.
Rosa Solazzo sucked in her breath and dropped her glass. Hoffer stared at me incredulously in the following silence. “You are Vito Barbaccia’s grandson?”
“You’ve heard of him, I take it?”
“Heard of him? Who hasn’t? And you are seeing him tonight?”
I nodded and he shook his head. “I can’t get over it.”
“You’ve met him?” Burke asked.
Hoffer smiled. “Twice – at parties, but never to speak to. Only royalty gets that close.”
Burke looked at me, a frown on his face and I realised that everything I had told him at the cemetery hadn’t really registered, certainly not the fundamental fact of just how important my grandfather was.
I drained my glass and got to my feet. “Well, I think I’ll take a turn round the garden before dinner.”
“Why not.” Hoffer nodded to Rosa. “Show him the sights, angel. There’s a fish pond round the back that’s quite a showpiece, Mr. Wyatt.”