‘Have they come up with anything?’ Sabrina asked, as he sorted through the sheets of paper.
‘The warder at the prison was shown a picture of a Gazelle similar to the one Tommaso Francia used on Corfu. He’s positive that it’s the same make of helicopter used in the Zocchi murder.’
‘This case gets more baffling by the minute,’ Kolchinsky said with a weary sigh. ‘Zocchi and Karos hire the Francia brothers. Then they’re killed by them. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Perhaps there’s a third party involved,’ Sabrina ventured.
Paluzzi shook his head. ‘I can’t see it. I’m sure Karos would have told us if there were.’
‘But he was killed before you had a chance to question him fully,’ Sabrina said.
‘True, but he was quick to finger Zocchi. Why not finger the third party as well, if one was involved?’
‘Perhaps too quick?’ Kolchinsky mused thoughtfully.
Sabrina looked at Kolchinsky. ‘You think Karos fingered Zocchi deliberately to throw us off the scent of his real partner? It would certainly account for the murders.’
‘Fabio, what do you think?’
Paluzzi shook his head.
‘Why?’ Sabrina asked.
‘It all comes back to Ubrino. He was totally dependent on Zocchi. He never did anything without first consulting him. No, Zocchi had to be involved somewhere along the line.’
‘What else did your men come up with?’ Kolchinsky asked, breaking the sudden silence.
‘It seems Vittore Dragotti, the sales manager at Neo-Chem Industries, was in serious financial difficulty at the time of his death. That would explain why he was acting as the middleman between Karos and Wiseman.’
‘And still no sign of the money Karos paid to Wiseman ?’ Kolchinsky asked.
‘His bank accounts have been turned inside out. Both here and in America. Nothing. It’s probably stuck away in some numbered Swiss account.’
There was another knock at the door. Sabrina answered it again, this time admitting the waiter with the tray, which he deposited on the table between Kolchinsky and Paluzzi.
Sabrina poured out three cups of coffee, added a dash of milk to her own, then retreated to the bed.
‘Aren’t you eating?’ Paluzzi asked her.
‘I ate earlier. And anyway, it’s white bread. I never touch it.’ She smiled wryly. ‘I have enough trouble as it is keeping in shape.’
‘There I have to disagree,’ Paluzzi said gallantly.
‘Have you finished translating those dossiers on Boudien and the Francia brothers?’ Kolchinsky interrupted, selecting a sandwich from the pile on the plate.
She nodded and pulled the dossiers out from the bedside cabinet. She returned them to Paluzzi and handed a photocopy of her translation to Kolchinsky.
‘I’ll give Mike his when I see him again.’
‘You’ll give it to him tonight. He has to be kept up to date.’
‘Thanks,’ she replied, screwing up her face.
‘It’s your fault he stormed out in the first place. And get your act together. Both of you. There’s no room for personal squabbles at a time like this. We have to pull together as a team. If either of you can’t accept that, I’ll have you replaced.’
She nodded sombrely. ‘I’ll tell him.’
Kolchinsky finished his coffee, then looked at Paluzzi. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Paluzzi replied, scanning the reports. ‘There’s been no change in Paolo Conte’s condition. I’ll be told the moment he regains consciousness.’
‘And you contact me,’ Kolchinsky told him. ‘I don’t care what time it is.’
‘That goes without saying,’ Paluzzi assured him, then stood up and stifled a yawn. ‘I’d better be on my way. My wife hasn’t seen me for days.’ He looked down at Kolchinsky. ‘I’ll have a full report for you on the Pisani murder first thing in the morning.’
‘I’d appreciate that.’
Paluzzi said good night and left the room.
‘I’ve still got some paperwork to complete before I turn in,’ Kolchinsky announced. He crossed to the door and paused to look back at Sabrina. ‘I meant what I said about you and Michael.’
‘I’ll talk to him, Sergei, I said I would,’ she replied with a hint of irritation in her voice.
Kolchinsky disappeared out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. Sabrina waited until she was sure he had gone, then collected the photocopy from the bed and went to Graham’s room at the far end of the corridor. She knocked. No reply. She knocked harder. Still no reply.
She cursed softly to herself. Where was he?
‘Looking for me?’
She spun round, startled by Graham’s voice, then let out a deep sigh and clasped her hand to her chest.
‘God, you gave me a fright. Where did you come from?’
He indicated the stairs beside the lift, then turned back to her.
‘Sergei sent you, didn’t he?’
‘I’d have come anyway. We need to talk.’
He unlocked the door, switched on the light, then removed a cigar humidor from his suitcase and opened it to reveal a 6405 Surveillance System, standard issue for all UNACO field operatives, and used it to check that his room hadn’t been bugged in his absence. The room was clean. He replaced the humidor in his suitcase, then took a bottle of Perrier water from the fridge and opened it.
‘You want something to drink?’
‘No thanks, I’ve just had coffee.’ She sat in one of the armchairs by the window.
‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing to the paper in her hand.
She gave it to him then updated him on the points made by Paluzzi after Graham had left. He listened carefully, then put the photocopy on the bedside table to read later in more detail.
‘I didn’t mean to upset you earlier,’ she said. ‘I just felt it needed to be said.’
She tensed herself for the rebuke. It was always the same when someone tried to raise the subject of his family. He would only talk about them on his terms. It was a deep, personal grief and he had never let anyone past the barriers he had built around himself since the tragedy.
‘You’re probably right,’ he muttered at length, his hands clenched tightly around the bottle.
His reply caught her off-guard. He looked up slowly at her. The cynicism had gone from his eyes, and he suddenly looked vulnerable. It was a side of him she had never seen before. She said nothing. It was up to him to break the silence. On his terms.
‘What you said in your room hurt me,’ he said softly, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘That’s why I stormed out. I needed to go for a walk and clear my head. My anger was initially aimed at you. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was angry with myself. You’re the only person who’s ever tried to help me overcome the grief, or perhaps I should call it bitterness, that’s built up inside me since I lost Carrie and Mikey. Everyone else tiptoes around it as if it doesn’t exist. And I’ve always resented you for it. That’s why I’ve knocked you whenever I could. It was my way of getting back at you. You hurt me, I hurt you. Pretty pathetic when you think about it. Some partner I’ve turned out to be.’
Sabrina still said nothing, but her face showed her sympathetic concern.
‘There’s something I want to tell you. It might give you a better understanding of what’s going on up here,’ he said, tapping his head. ‘I’ve never told this to anybody before. Not even my mother. And I’m closer to her than I am to anyone.’ He placed the bottle on the carpet between his feet and ran his fingers through his hair, struggling to marshal his thoughts. He finally looked up at her. ‘I was going to resign my post at Delta after I got back from Libya.’
‘Did Carrie know?’ Sabrina asked softly.