“And who is that?” Peppo eyed Alessandro suspiciously. “Is he here to write a report? Tell him I didn’t see anything.”
“This is Captain Santini,” I explained. “He was the one who saved you, remember? If it wasn’t for him, you’d still be… in a lot of pain.”
“Huh.” Peppo was not ready to quit his belligerent mood just yet. “I’ve seen him before. He’s a Salimbeni. Didn’t I tell you to stay away from those people?”
“Shh! Please!” I tried to hush him up as best I could, but I knew Alessandro had heard every word. “You need to rest.”
“No, I don’t! I need to speak with Salvatore. We must find out who did this. There were many treasures in that safe.”
“I fear the thief was after the cencio and the dagger,” I said. “If I hadn’t brought those to you, none of this would have happened.”
Peppo looked perplexed. “But who would-oh!” His eyes became oddly distant as he stared into some nebulous past. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of this? But would he really do that?”
“Who are you talking about?” I squeezed his hand, trying to make him stay focused. “Do you know who did this to you?”
Peppo grabbed my wrist and looked at me with feverish intensity. “He always said that he would come back. Patrizio, your father. He always said that one day, Romeo would return and take it all back… his life… his love… everything we took from him.”
“Peppo,” I said, stroking his arm, “I think you should try to sleep.” Out of the corner of my eye I could see Alessandro weighing Romeo’s dagger in his hand, frowning as if he could sense its hidden powers.
“Romeo,” Peppo went on, more drowsily now as the sedative finally began to take effect, “Romeo Marescotti. Well, you can’t be a ghost forever. Maybe this is his revenge. On all of us. For how we treated his mother. He was-how do you say-un figlio illegittimo?… Capitano?”
“Born outside of marriage,” said Alessandro, joining us at last.
“Sì, sì!” nodded Peppo. “Born outside of marriage! It was a big scandal. Oh, she was such a beautiful girl-so, he threw them out-”
“Who?” I asked.
“Marescotti. The grandfather. He was a very old-fashioned man. But very handsome. I still remember the comparsa of ’65-it was Aceto’s first victory you know-ah, Topolone, a fine horse. They don’t make them like that anymore-back then, they didn’t twist their ankles and get disqualified, and we didn’t need all sorts of veterinarians and mayors to tell us we couldn’t run… oof!” He shook his head in disgust.
“Peppo?” I patted his hand. “You were talking about the Marescottis. Romeo, remember?”
“Oh, yes! They said the boy had evil hands. Everything he touched… it broke. The horses lost. People died. That’s what they say. Because he was named after Romeo, you see. He came from that line. It’s in the blood… trouble. Everything had to be fast and noisy-he couldn’t sit still. Always scooters, always motorcycles-”
“You knew him?”
“No, I just know what people say. They never came back. Him and his mother. Nobody ever saw them again. They say he grew up wild, in Rome, and that he became a criminal and killed people. They say-they say he died. In Nassiriyah. With a different name.”
I turned to glance at Alessandro, and he met my stare, his eyes unusually dark. “Where is Nassiriyah?” I whispered. “Do you know?” For some reason, the question made him glower, but he did not have time to reply before Peppo sighed deeply and went on, “In my opinion, it’s just a legend. People like legends. And tragedies. And conspiracies. It’s very quiet here in the winter.”
“So, you don’t believe it?”
Peppo sighed again, his eyelids getting heavy. “How do I know what I believe anymore? Oh, why do they not send a doctor?”
Just then, the door burst open, and the entire Tolomei family came pouring into the room to surround their fallen hero with wails and lamentations. They had obviously been given an overview of the situation by the doctor, for Peppo’s wife, Pia, gave me the hairy eyeball as she pushed me aside and took my place next to her husband, and no one expressed anything that could possibly be construed as gratitude. To complete my humiliation, old Nonna Tolomei doddered through the door just as I was eyeing my escape, and there was no doubt in her mind that the perpetrator in this whole business was not the thief, but me.
“Tu!” she growled, aiming an accusatory finger at my heart, “Bastarda!”
She said plenty more, but I did not understand it. Transfixed by her fury like a deer before an oncoming train, I just stood there, unable to move, until Alessandro-fed up with the family fun-grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me through the door to safety.
“Phew!” I gasped. “That’s one angry lady. Can you believe she’s my aunt? What did she say?”
“Never mind,” said Alessandro, walking down the hospital hallway with the expression of someone who wished he had a spare hand grenade.
“She called you a Salimbeni!” I said, proud to have understood that much.
“She did. And it was not a compliment.”
“What did she call me? I didn’t catch that one.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.” I stopped in the middle of the hallway. “What did she call me?”
Alessandro looked at me, his eyes suddenly tender. “She said, ‘Bastard child. You’re not one of us.’”
“Oh.” I paused to swallow the words. “I guess nobody believes I am really Giulietta Tolomei. Maybe I deserve this. Maybe this is some special kind of hell reserved for people like me.”
“I believe you.”
I looked at him, surprised. “Really? That’s new. When did that happen?”
He shrugged and started walking. “When I saw you standing in my door.”
I did not know how to respond to his sudden kindness, and so we walked the rest of the way in silence, down the stairs and out the front door of the hospital, to emerge in that smooth, golden light that marks the end of day and the beginning of something far less predictable.
“So, Giulietta,” said Alessandro, turning towards me, hands on his hips, “anything else I should know?”
“Well,” I said, squinting against the light, “there’s also a guy on a motorcycle-”
“Santa Maria!”
“But he’s different. He just… follows me around. I don’t know what he wants-”
Alessandro rolled his eyes. “You don’t know what he wants! Do you want me to tell you what he wants?”
“No, it’s okay.” I adjusted my dress. “It’s not really an issue. But this other guy-tracksuit guy-he broke into my hotel room. And so… I think maybe I should change hotels.”
“You think so?” Alessandro was not impressed. “I’ll tell you what, the first thing we’re going to do is go to the police-”
“No, not the police!”
“They’re the only ones who can tell you who did that to Peppo. I don’t have access to the crime register from Monte dei Paschi. Don’t worry, I’ll come with you. I know these guys.”
“Yeah, right!” I all but poked him in the chest. “This is just a cunning way of having me end up in jail.”
He held out his hands. “If I wanted you in jail, I wouldn’t really have to be cunning about it, would I?”
“Hey, listen!” I stood as tall as I could. “I still don’t appreciate your power games!”
My posture made him smile. “Then why do you keep playing?”
THE SIENA POLICE headquarters was a very quiet place. At ten to seven at some point in the past, the clock on the wall had run down its battery, and as I sat there that evening, dutifully scrolling through page after page of digitized bad guys, I began to feel the same way myself. The more I looked at the faces on the computer screen, the more I realized that, to be honest, I had no idea what my stalker looked like up close. The first time I had seen the creep, he had been wearing sunglasses. The second time it had been too bloody dark to see much, and the third time-this very afternoon-I had been too focused on the gun in his hand to dwell on the finer details of his mug.