'Sort of.' Jack checked the temperature of the bottle. 'You want to risk it?'
'Yes, please,' she answered, settling into a chair beside the bed and weighing up the room.
He uncorked the wine and poured two glasses.
'Salute,' she said, clinking her glass against his.
'Salute,' replied Jack, thinking how different Italian policewomen looked in comparison to some of the gun-slinging, 200-pound dames he'd worked with back in the States.
As Orsetta sipped her drink she looked across the top of the glass at the man she'd heard and read so much about. In profiling circles Jack King's published theories, lectures and criminal case studies were as legendary as his burnout. His specialism had been serial sexual offences and she'd read that during his career he'd been directly involved in the investigation and conviction of fifteen serial rapists and five serial child molesters. His hit rate on serial murder cases was even more impressive: twenty-nine successful clear-ups out of thirty cases that he'd worked. Only one had defeated him, and it was in connection with that single case that she now sat opposite him.
'We have a murder,' she began, gently placing the wine glass down on a nearby coffee table stacked with magazines about Florence, 'which has some disturbing similarities to the Black River case.'
Nothing registered on Jack's face but he felt his heart jump. He swirled the wine in his glass and asked, 'How similar?'
'Very,' said Orsetta. 'I have a case outline here.' She tapped the document bag at her side. There is also a confidential briefing that Massimo Albonetti has prepared for you.' She went to draw out the file but he held up his hand.
'No, please, not tonight. I've had a long day, and to be honest, I'm really in no state to dive into that kind of stuff right now.'
His hesitancy made Orsetta wonder if it really was just the lateness of the hour, or whether Jack simply wasn't yet over the burnout and all the emotional baggage that no doubt came with it. 'Breakfast in the morning?' she suggested, shooting a smile while studying his face for signs of stress. 'We could do it then.'
'Fine by me,' said Jack topping their glasses up. 'You want some olives? I've got a jar in the fridge.'
The smile vanished. 'Really, Mr King, you should know better than to offer an Italian lady olives from some hotel-room jar.'
If looks could kill, Jack was already having earth dropped on his coffin. He tossed a room service menu on to the bed next to her. 'You want to choose some food, and help me finish off this wine? I'm going to grab a steak sandwich and some salad, then crash out. We could eat and talk for a while.'
One half of Orsetta just wanted to go to her own room, fall in a bath, and then catch an earlyish night. But her less responsible half always won. 'That sounds fine to me,' she said, handing back the menu. 'I need my steak medium-rare, please.'
Orsetta watched him dial in the order. His hair was jet black and cut fashionably short, but not so short that she couldn't run her fingers through it and hang on to a good handful if the need arose. He had strong cheekbones but looked as though he could do with a shave to banish an end-of-day shadow that some women would find rugged but she regarded as scruffy. He was plainly dressed in a white shirt and black trousers. The white showed off a healthy, light tan, the type picked up naturally, rather than one baked on through lounging around on some blanket on a beach. From the outline of his shoulders she could tell he was muscular, and she also liked that he wasn't showing off his physique. His shirt was a loose fit and was fastened all the way up, except for the collar button.
'Twenty minutes,' said Jack, putting the phone down and turning towards her. Orsetta looked away, a little embarrassed at the thought that he might notice she'd been sizing him up.
Jack seemed oblivious to her attentions, but had missed nothing. He picked up his wine glass again, settled into a chair opposite her, and went on: 'I guess Massimo sent you for three reasons. Firstly, you're no doubt a very good police officer and he respects your judgement. Secondly, he wants you to find out whether I'm up to the job that you need help on, or whether I'm really just a cabbage and it would be a waste of time asking me.'
Orsetta looked confused. 'How could you be a cabbage? This is a vegetable, no?'
Jack laughed. 'Yes, it is. It's a figure of speech, an expression we use. Not a very kind one actually; it means someone's mentally no more use than a vegetable.'
'Aaah,' said Orsetta, deciding to use the humour of the moment to be honest. 'Then yes, I suspect you are right. But I think my boss has also your best interests at heart. He wanted me to make sure that a case like this wouldn't be too unpleasant for you. He knows what you've been through, and he has only the greatest of respect for you.'
Jack gave her a thin smile of acknowledgement. He knew Massimo had to be careful about asking for his help, and guessed he would have been similarly cautious if their roles had been reversed. 'And I suspect the third reason is that, if you think I'm up to it, then he knows you will have to persuade me to help out, because let's face it, I need this kind of gig about as much as a reformed alcoholic needs a free crate of bourbon.'
'And are you persuadable?' asked Orsetta.
Jack didn't reply. He took another hit of wine and felt himself unwinding. He was glad to have company tonight, even if it was dangerously charming company.
'Maybe not?' continued Orsetta. 'That pause tells me you're a think first, reflect a while and then speak kind of person. Text-book introvert, with detached objective reasoning and logic. Am I right?'
Jack nearly spat out his drink. He couldn't believe it; the damn woman was profiling him. 'You running a Myers Briggs on me?' he asked, smiling playfully.
She sipped her wine and felt her pulse quicken. 'I bet an MBTI would place you more in the Perceiving category than the Judging one.'
'How so?' He sat down on the bed deliberately close to her, close enough to make most women shuffle back and claim some space. Orsetta didn't budge an inch.
'You switched your plans at the last minute, decided to stay in town. Perceivers are – let me remember – "comfortable moving into action, able to plan on the go." Am I right?'
This was home turf for Jack and he effortlessly took control of the conversation. 'Personality tests are never entirely accurate. Rorschach can help in some cases, Holland Codes has a value, as do the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory and all the rest of them, but they're not much fun and don't really open up the secrets of your imagination.'
'Imagination,' Orsetta echoed flirtatiously. 'Now I'm fascinated. Tell me what you believe goes on in my imagination.'
Jack put his glass down. 'Indulge me for a moment. Close your eyes and clear your head. You're walking somewhere nice, in some woods somewhere, on your own -'
'I wouldn't be,' she interrupted. 'I've worked too many cases to walk in woods on my own.'
'These are safe woods. Trust me, you can go there.' He waited for her to close her eyes. 'Now, picture yourself walking through them. Look around you, what season of the year do you think it is?'
'I can see tall trees,' she said, her never still hands shaping them in the space in front of her. 'It's summer, they're big evergreens stretching to the sky. There's light shining through the leaves and branches, a strong smell of pine. I can hear animals scurrying around and there's a small bird flying in and out of the trees. It feels lovely, I like it here.'
Jack studied her; he noticed the way she relaxed, happy to escape from the horrors of the case files that he was sure had gradually hardened her. 'Are you following a path or is the wood too dense for paths?'
She answered quickly, 'There is a path, it's a public walkway, but I'm not following it, I'm wandering away. I'm drawn to something, I think I hear a waterfall, but I can't see it. Yes, I can hear running water. As I'm searching, I see red-spotted mushrooms near some small logs that have been cut up; they're those fairy-tale mushrooms.'