She’s in another room. It smells of decorators. Fresh paint. Wet plaster.
There’s the click of a latch.
A cold draught.
‘You’re going down some stairs; be careful or you’ll fall.’ It’s the kind woman again.
Valentina stretches out her foot like a ballet dancer starting a movement.
It’s steeper than she anticipated.
A hand steadies her from the front.
At least one of them is ahead of her. The others must be following behind.
Is this the point at which she should strike out? A heavy kick would drop whoever is in front of her down the stairs. A sharp turn and rush up the stairs would flatten whoever is directly behind her.
But what if there are two or more people behind her?
Valentina knows she’s only going to get one chance.
And it’s not yet come.
She concentrates on what’s happening. Her feet are touching stone. She reaches out a hand and the wall feels like stone too. She’s sure she’s descending some old steps into a cellar or basement.
They even out.
She hears the door above her close.
She’s trapped.
The atmosphere down here is different. There are many people in this room. They smell of smoke.
Smell of men.
‘Take her through.’ Shooter again.
Something buzzes. A short, sharp noise. Electronic.
There’s a clunk of metal.
A squeak, like the oil-thirsty hinges of a heavy gate.
Unseen hands push her forward.
Someone grabs a clump of clothing around her shoulder and takes a tight grip.
‘More stairs,’ warns Shooter.
There’s a hint of laughter in his voice.
‘Lots more stairs.’
110
The paraffin lamp has almost burned out by the time Guilio finishes his story.
Now Tom has the full and unmitigated account of Anna Fratelli’s fateful night in Cosmedin.
The truth is even more difficult to stomach than the lies Guilio was trying to fob him off with.
The eunuch looks through the yellow light into the face of the ex-priest. There’s one more thing he has to admit to — and he’s uncertain how he’ll take it. ‘The fire. The one at the policewoman’s apartment. I started it.’
Tom tries not to show his shock and anger. ‘Why? Why did you do it?’
Guilio fiddles nervously with his hands. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt her. Or you. I didn’t even know you were there until I saw you coming out and being treated by the ambulance people.’
‘You could have killed both of us.’
‘No. Not true,’ he protests strongly. ‘I’d seen her leave. I thought the place was empty. I just wanted to scare her away from Anna, frighten her off the case.’
Tom’s not letting him off that lightly. ‘What about neighbours? They could have died.’
Guilio plays with the lamp to hide his awkwardness. ‘It was a small fire. I’d rung the emergency services before I’d even started it.’ He looks up at Tom. ‘Believe me, if I’d wanted to kill either of you, I could have done. I’m sorry, really sorry.’
‘I believe you are,’ says Tom. ‘I can’t speak for Valentina, but I forgive you, and I’m sure God forgives you. Your desperation is understandable.’
‘Grazie.’ Guilio leans into the light. ‘I need you to help me get to Anna. I have to see her, make sure she is all right.’ He looks close to tears. ‘Anna means everything in the world to me.’
Tom knows she does.
Guilio’s love for her is probably all that’s kept him sane. Without that, and his role as her protector, he’d have gone mad long ago. ‘I have to be outside,’ says Tom. ‘I need to get a signal to call Valentina. And I have to speak to Louisa, Anna’s doctor. They’ll be able to tell you about Anna.’
Guilio squints through the patchy light at his watch. ‘We’ve been down here more than an hour. It’ll be safe to go now, but not the way we came in.’
Tom looks surprised. ‘There are other ways?’
‘Of course.’ Guilio points towards where the black rat ran off. ‘There’s a thin passage through there. It will bring us out about half a kilometre away.’ He picks up the lantern and inspects it as he starts to walk. ‘We’ve probably got just about enough paraffin to get us there.’
Tom trudges along after him. ‘I still need to know why you were at Santa Cecilia, and why did you help me?’
‘I’ve been following you. Ever since I was released. I watched you with that priest having coffee near St Peter’s and I watched that other policeman, the one who questioned me.’
‘Federico.’
‘Si, the lieutenant.’
‘Why?’
‘Simple. You didn’t want to hurt Anna, you wanted to protect her, and I was trying to think of a way to reach out to you.’
Guilio swings the lamp low to shine it on a nest of black rats. ‘Unusual. You don’t normally get this many black ones underground. The excavations must have disturbed them.’
The rodents don’t bother Tom; his church in LA was infested with them.
They turn a corner and they’re both pleased to see daylight filtering through a sloping tunnel straight ahead.
As they get closer, it’s clear that the light is being diced through an old gateway.
All around there is rubble and broken rock.
Guilio extinguishes the lamp and hides it away before opening the gate.
The sky is dull, but it still makes them squint.
They’ve emerged at the bottom of a hillside near a quiet road north of Santa Cecilia, but Tom has no real idea where he is as he phones Valentina’s number.
Please God, let her be all right.
It trips to her voicemail message. ‘This is Valentina Morassi, I can’t take your call at the moment …’
He cuts it off.
She’s probably busy calling him. Maybe she’s already left messages for him. He checks his own voicemail.
Nothing.
That seems strange.
He’s sure she would have rung him. Especially in light of the fact that she sent him after Louisa and hasn’t heard from him since.
The silence gives him a bad feeling.
He dials again, lets the answerphone play through, and then leaves a message. ‘Valentina, it’s Tom …’ He checks his watch. ‘It’s almost one o’clock. Please call me when you get this.’ He clicks off and looks at Guilio sitting on the kerb lighting the stub of a cigarette that he’s found in the gutter.
The guy looks as grey as the pavement, almost as though he’s a chameleon blending in with his new surroundings.
Tom scrolls through his phone’s memory and finds Valentina’s office number. He knows she’s not there but figures it’s the only way he’s going to get Federico’s cell phone number.
He just hopes his Italian is good enough to charm someone into giving it to him.
111
Lorenzo Silvestri sits in his office, staring at Federico Assante and Louisa Verdetti.
His chair creaks under his two hundred pounds of battle-trained muscle, as he rocks on the back two legs and sizes the pair of them up.
They don’t seem hysterical and they don’t seem jerk-offs. But the story they’ve been telling is incredible.
His number two, Captain Pasquale Conti, has a reputation for double-checking everything, and so he’s far from done with them. ‘Doctor Verdetti, please tell me again, are you sure that the place these people held you was further below ground than just a basement or old wine cellar?’
Louisa’s hands are still trembling, but that doesn’t stop her being annoyed. ‘They scared me, not turned me stupid. I know where they held me. I took as much notice as I could, and it was way below ground level. They had some kind of cells there.’