Tom nods.
‘Va bene.’ He bites anxiously at his thumbnail and becomes lost in a fresh worry. ‘What we’re going to have to do is dangerous. You may have to kill to get Valentina back. Kill or be killed. Are you prepared to do that? Because if you’re not, if this woman doesn’t matter that much to you, then you’d best tell me now.’
Tom’s mind flashes back to his life in Compton. To the time he stepped into a late-night street fight and took the lives of two gangbangers who were raping a young woman. Their deaths still haunt him.
He sees the men’s faces in his sleep and often imagines whether they might have straightened out their lives if only he’d used a little less force and managed to get them jailed instead of buried.
‘Yes,’ he says reluctantly. ‘If it’s really necessary, then I’m prepared to take the life of a bad person in order to save that of a good one.’
115
‘I know what you’re thinking.’ Shooter has a cocky smile on his face. ‘And you’re right.’ He gestures towards the other cells. ‘We can’t let you go after you’ve seen this.’
He’s a few paces away from Valentina, almost at the back of the three women who’ve come down with them.
As he walks towards her, she wonders what’s happened to Trench Coat, the man someone called Attis. He must have stayed above ground for medical treatment.
‘Life down here is not so bad.’ Shooter is now so close to Valentina that all she can see of him is his piercing blue eyes. ‘Let’s put it this way, it’s much better than death down here.’
Behind her, Valentina hears the sound of someone unlocking one of the cells.
Her cell.
‘How we treat you is entirely dependent upon you.’ He takes her arm and pushes her towards the dark opening.
She resists a little. Digs in her heels. But it’s more instinct than serious resistance.
Shooter pushes her hard and she’s not strong enough to stand firm. Not unless she fights him, and now’s not the time for that.
‘We’ll let you cool down for a while, then you really do have a lot of explaining to do.’
She stares defiantly at him.
No sign of weakness.
No hint of fear.
Shooter is plainly one of the top dogs. What he says goes. The others take their lead from him and ask his permission before acting, but Valentina isn’t going to give him an inch of ground. Every second that she stands up to him increases the chance of Verdetti, Federico or even Tom bringing help.
Shooter goes through the pockets of her coat, pulling them inside out and leaving them dangling, like he’s playing some childish game. ‘So who exactly are you? And more importantly, where is Anna?’
Valentina knows her cover as Verdetti’s assistant is blown. It was exposed the moment she picked the gun up from the floor of Santa Cecilia and it evaporated completely when she shouted out that she was a police officer.
‘I’m a Carabinieri capitano,’ she says with pride and defiance.
Shooter doesn’t look impressed.
She smiles confidently. ‘You know that by now there will be troops all over Rome looking for me.’
He steps away and closes the cell door. ‘You’re right. They’ll be up and down the streets, asking questions in the shops and bars, in the houses of known criminals. They’ll be assembling roadblocks on the autoroutes and maybe even stopping people at the train stations and airports.’ He smiles back at her as he turns a big old key in a big old lock. ‘But they won’t be coming down here. This is the one place you can be sure they won’t come looking.’
116
Tom finally recognises where he is.
He’s west of the river.
Off to his left is Isola Tiberina, and the place where he found the body of the dead man. And while the murder is still a mystery to the police, it no longer is to him.
Guilio has told him everything.
They cross the Tiber at the Ponte Palatino and turn sharp right on to the Lungotevere dei Pierleoni.
The distinctive campanile of the Chiesa Santa Maria in Cosmedin, the home of the Mouth of Truth, comes into view and Tom realises for the first time how close the various crime scenes are. Being driven around by Valentina, they appeared to be much further apart.
It’s clear from his agitation that Guilio doesn’t like being out in the open, and he makes little allowance for his companion’s injured shoulder and leg. ‘Come on, we have to hurry. We can’t hang around out here like tourists.’
Tom’s body is cramped up because of his injuries. He struggles for breath as Guilio sets a blistering pace down Via dei Cerchi and along the edge of the open banked fields of Circus Maximus, where chariots once raced and crowds of almost a quarter of a million people watched.
It takes them more than half an hour to make it to the Piazza di Porta Capena. Guilio spots a pharmacy. ‘Wait here, I’ll get some things to help with the pain and make you more comfortable.’
Tom’s now sweating hard and feeling weak.
He rests against the brick wall of a shutdown clothing shop, another victim of Europe’s savage economic downturn.
A police siren breaks the heavy hum of passing traffic.
He slides into the darkness of a doorway as Carabinieri patrol cars screech around the corner and head south.
Guilio comes out of the shop with a handful of white bags, his eyes fixed on the direction where the cop cars are headed. ‘I’ve got fasciature — bandages — to make a sling, and something a little special for you.’ He looks mischievous. ‘Let’s get out of sight so I can strap you up.’
They head around a corner and down a shadowy alleyway.
The first drops of a shower fall as Tom strips to his waist so Giulio can make a sling and arrange the arm in a position that takes some pressure off his right shoulder.
‘Feels as awkward as hell,’ he complains. ‘I dread to think how I’m going to cope when I need the toilet.’
Guilio’s worrying about more important things, like how useful the guy is going to be.
Maybe taking the walking wounded into battle isn’t a good idea after all.
He pulls a small white box out of his jacket pocket and shakes it. ‘We struck lucky. Some old lady was collecting her prescription of oxycodone and I picked it out of her basket. It’s going to help you a lot more than a few Advil.’ He unscrews the bottle and passes it over. ‘No point measuring it. Take a swig now, and if you’re still hurting badly, take another.’
Tom slugs some back and feels even guiltier. The pensioner was probably given the opioid because she was in a lot of pain, and now she’s going to be without relief because of him.
‘Okay, let’s move again.’ Guilio takes the bottle back and pockets it. ‘We’ve not got much further to go.’
He’s lying.
After another fifteen minutes of hard walking, Tom feels less pain but is dizzy and drained.
He gets a brief rest while Guilio ducks into a hardware-cum-convenience store and returns with two carrier bags bulging with new purchases and a rucksack. He opens the sack and empties the bags into it. ‘There’s a sandwich shop three doors down.’ He ties the rucksack up and swings it over his shoulder. ‘Let’s get some food and see if we can build your strength up.’
Ten minutes later they’re sitting on stools, wolfing down ciabattas with prosciutto, mozzarella and tomatoes, along with several litres of cool water and enough espressos to fuel them to the moon and back.
Guilio settles the bill.