“The woman who died in the Pantheon?” Falcone asked.
“What about her?” Leapman asked.
“She knew. She must have known. You brought her here.”
“Yeah,” he snarled. “So we screwed up. I had five men watching her. How Kaspar got past them sure beats me.”
Falcone wasn’t letting go. “And she came here because…?”
“Because, Inspector, I didn’t give her any choice. She was a criminal. I could have snapped my fingers and she’d be gone for good anyway. She knew nothing. She got shot by accident after Deacon and Kaspar went in and scarcely knew what happened. So I gave her a chance to make up. Had it worked, she could have walked free.”
“Generous,” Peroni observed. “Why didn’t you just try talking to him direct?”
Leapman reached over the table and scattered Costa’s papers.
“We’ve been trying! What do you think all these messages are about? If I could just get him on the phone… I’d apologize. Then I’d tell him it’s time to end this crap and throw himself on our mercy. Except now…”
They waited. It had to come from him.
“Now he’s killed again,” Leapman muttered. “Which shouldn’t have happened. He’d killed everyone who’d gone into Iraq with him and betrayed him. The only one still standing is him. There’s no reason he should take out someone who had nothing to do with this. But Bill Kaspar always had a pretty old-fashioned view about patriotism. He came out of some Iraqi prison thinking he’d be home and free with everyone telling him he was a hero. Instead, he walked into all this crap. Us treating him as if he was a turncoat. If he feels his country’s abandoned him-written him off as a traitor-I suppose he thinks anything goes these days.”
“I suppose he’s right,” Peroni grumbled.
“Finally,” Leapman said, with a long, pained sigh, “we agree on something.”
COSTA MET TERESA where they’d arranged by phone, close to Largo Argentina, and briefed her on what he’d discovered. Then the two of them walked the short distance to the cafe where Emily had said she’d be waiting for them. He didn’t recognize her at first. She was standing at the counter of an empty Tazza d’Oro, close by the Pantheon, anonymous inside a too-big khaki winter parka with the hood still up. He nodded at her, got a couple of coffees, and the three of them retreated to a table.
Emily Deacon looked a little frightened, but a little excited too. Costa reached forward and gently pulled the hood down to her neckline, revealing her face. She managed the ghost of a smile and shook her long blonde hair automatically. It seemed lank and dirty.
Emily glanced at Teresa. “I thought perhaps it would be you and Gianni.”
“Gianni’s tied up,” Teresa said instantly. “I’m the best you’ve got.”
“No.” There was a flash of a smile. “I didn’t mean that. Sorry. You’ve got something out?”
Costa nodded at Teresa. “We think so. But put us in the picture first, Emily. What the hell happened last night? How did you find Kaspar?”
“I didn’t. He found me. You fell asleep.” She felt awkward with Teresa there, Costa guessed. “I went outside… I’m sorry. It’s the last thing I wanted, believe me. But maybe…” She bit her lip. “This could be the one chance we get. It’s important you understand the situation. Look.”
She flipped down the collar of the jacket and pointed to a tiny black plastic square. “It’s a mike. Kaspar’s listening somewhere. He can hear every word I say. He’ll be able to do that all the time until this is over, so please don’t get any smart ideas. And if the mike goes dead, so do I. Kaspar knows what he’s doing. You’ve both got to understand that. We can’t mess with him.”
Instinctively, Costa scanned the bar.
Emily put her hand to his chin and pulled his attention back to her. “He could be anywhere. Don’t even think about it. There’s a deal on the table, Nic. Let’s focus on that. We mustn’t screw it up.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
“Good.”
Teresa was staring at a mark on the other woman’s neck. “Are you hurt, Emily?” she asked.
“I must have faIlen,” she replied. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.”
Then Costa gently pulled down the first few inches of the zipper on the front of the parka.
“No, Nic,” Emily ordered. She pulled his hand away, then jerked the zip back up. “Not here. Not now. That’s not what matters. Don’t think about that part. We don’t even get that far.”
Teresa said quietly, “That’s what we all want, Emily. But can we stop him?”
“Yes!”
“You’re sure?” Teresa reiterated.
“I’m sure!” she snapped. Then, more quietly, “And I’m not in a position to argue. OK?”
Costa found it hard to work out whether she was saying what she did for Kaspar’s benefit or because she really believed it.
“He killed your father, Emily,” Teresa pointed out. “He killed all those other people. How can we trust him?”
Emily Deacon frowned. “I know that. But he talked to me last night. We went over a lot of things. He had his reasons. He feels he had some justification. That there was no other way. I don’t agree with that for one moment. I don’t imagine he’d expect me to. But…”
Nic took out a pen from his jacket pocket, slipped it onto the table next to a napkin.
“He just wants to know justice-his definition of justice-has been done,” she finished, looking at the pen without moving to pick it up.
Then she scribbled two words on the paper.
You know?
Costa nodded and wrote a name next to the question.
She closed her eyes. She looked a little faint. Then she picked up the napkin, stared at the writing there, fixed him with those sharp, incisive blue eyes and mouthed, “Sure?”
Costa cupped his hand over the mike, leaned close into her left ear, smelled the trace of shampoo on her hair, a familiar scent, one from his own home, and murmured, “I’m sure he lived in an American-owned house in the Piazza Mattei in 1990. And that he was the only one there. Is that enough?”
Her cheek pressed into his, her lips briefly kissed his neck.
“Oh yes,” Emily whispered into his ear.
She took his hand off the mike, brushed her lips against his fingers and smiled broadly, just for a moment.
“If Kaspar wants justice,” Nic said, “all he’s got to do is walk into any Questura. That’s why we’re there.”
“He will. I promise.”
She scribbled out an address and a time, then gave it to Teresa.
“That’s where he wants the evidence delivered and when. No one but you two know that. He might want to test you. I’d be surprised if he didn’t. And”-she paused, making sure they understood this last point-“make it good evidence. Please.”
Nic Costa wanted a magic wand at that moment. Something that could just spirit them out of there, take away all the trappings of death and violence, put them back into a world that was whole and warm and human.
“What if something goes wrong?” he asked. “If there’s a delay… how do we get in touch with him?”