“Wow!” Hutchinson said, “So much history.”
“Indeed there is. Now shall we go inside the Vatican museum?”
De Luca and Ferrara jumped out of the Lancia and ducked straight under the police cordon tape stretched across the street. They each flashed police I.D. at the uniformed Carabinieri officers who, due to the blue flashing light on the roof of the Lancia, would have let them through anyway. The officers stepped out of their way. The street ahead had been evacuated and they approached a larger group of police standing a couple of hundred metres ahead. As they got nearer Sonnenburg turned and strode towards them. He shook hands with them both then almost instantly began leading them towards another line of police tape. They passed under this cordon and now De Luca and Ferrara could see the Carabinieri Alfa Romeo parked amongst other cars at the side of the street.
“Balotelli’s car was discovered by a parking ticket officer. She was doing a routine inspection of parked vehicles. That’s her over there,” Sonnenburg pointed towards a small woman in a police uniform giving a statement to a detective.
“She noticed that the back of the police car seemed to be considerably lower than the front. She called in its registration number unaware it was reported missing.”
De Luca nodded.
“And the car’s tracker?” he asked.
“Disabled. We are unable to trace its whereabouts even though we know it’s parked right there.”
“I see. And the reason for the suspension appearing low?”
“That’s why we called you,” Sonnenburg said, “Although the car is within Vatican city. It belongs to the Carabinieri and it’s your jurisdiction. Your call.”
They passed the last line of uniformed police and now the street was empty.
“We’re keeping the public back for a block in each direction,” Sonnenburg said.
“And the Vatican?”
“As normal for the moment. There’s no need to cause unnecessary alarm.”
“What do you think is in the trunk of Balotelli’s car?”
“I’m guessing Balotelli himself.”
“That’s what I’m fearing.”
They got to the police car and De Luca walked around it, slowly, looking for clues. There was clearly something heavy in the boot. De Luca called out twice. There was no answer.
“Do we have a spare set of keys?”
“No. Balotelli has, had, the only set.”
“We’re going to have to get it open,” De Luca said tapping the black paintwork with his forefinger, “Get someone who can open it.”
Sonnenburg turned to a group of police nearby.
“Get a crowbar.”
Ferrara’s phone started ringing. He moved away from the group to answer it. A policeman ran up with a crowbar. Sonnenburg and De Luca moved aside for him.
“Open that,” Sonnenburg ordered pointing to the Alfa Romeo’s boot.
“Si commandant.”
The officer tried gently to enter the crowbar into the gap in the boot. The metal of the bar being too thick for it to enter. De Luca watched with impatience.
“Here let me try.”
He snatched the crowbar and began attacking the boot with gusto. He was unconcerned as to the damage he was causing to both the bodywork and paint.
“You know if you were to smash one of the windows, particularly the driver’s or front passenger’s side you could reach in and pull the switch for the boot,” the officer who’d brought the crowbar volunteered.
De Luca stopped what he was doing and looked at the policeman openmouthed.
“What?”
“This model has a switch which opens the boot from the front.”
“Well why didn’t you say,” De Luca replied, irritated.
Sonnenburg turned at the sound of a siren approaching. The police tape was lowered and an ambulance came slowly up the street. The siren was switched off but the blue lights remained.
De Luca approached the driver’s window of the Alfa, kept close to the car to avoid any flying glass and swung the crowbar with all his might. The first blow bounced off the toughened glass but the second shattered it in a shower of green cubes. De Luca reached into the car and found the small switch he was looking for. He heard the click as the boot opened and he quickly rushed round as Sonnenburg lifted the boot and stepped back. They both looked down at the dead police officer. The body was starting to smell. Early stages of decay and De Luca noted the congealed blood on the black uniform jacket.
Sonnenburg clicked his fingers at the paramedics who both rushed forward with their medi-packs. The first of them instantly reached for a pulse on the neck. Then he tried the wrist. He shook his head at the two policemen and closed his medical kit and stood up.
“Thank you,” Sonnenburg said, dismissing the paramedics.
“Well I guess we now have a murder case on our hands,” De Luca said. He turned to look for his assistant just as Ferrara finished the phone call.
“Mario we need forensics here as soon as possible. We now have a murdered cop on our hands.”
“Sir I’ve just got off the phone to Ezio. Those tyre marks you told me to photograph, they’ve come back as a match. The one’s at the roadside and the abandoned airfield are the same. They are identical to tyres supplied to the Carabinieri Alfa Romeo’s. Sir this proves that Balotelli was at that airfield.”
“But you and I investigated that airfield. There was nothing there.”
“Who would want to murder a policeman at an abandoned airfield and dump his body here?” Sonnenburg asked.
They turned at the sound of approaching foot steps. Bauer had just flashed his I.D. and was now hurrying towards them.
“I’ve just heard from my office. German police have been monitoring Von Werner’s bank accounts and guess what? You’ll never believe this. Von Werner has purchased an old abandoned airfield just North of Rome.”
De Luca met Sonnenburg’s gaze.
“I think we just found our suspect.”
“I should say,” Bauer continued, “And that’s not all. Interpol have upgraded the notice on Von Werner to red.”
De Luca was confused.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Sonnenburg answered, “That they’ve issued an international arrest warrant for him. Red is the highest notice that they can issue to all member forces. It also includes the power to extradite persons or individuals to the warrant issuing authority.”
“So this means that the German’s want him.”
“As well as the Americans and Austrians,” Sonnenburg added.
“Actually you’re both wrong. It is Tunisia who have requested his extradition.”
“Not a chance,” De Luca shook his head, “If he’s killed or is responsible for the death of one of my officers then I want him.”
“Yes,” Sonnenburg agreed, “If he’s still in Italy.”
“And if he is. I intend to catch him.”
Dennis, Natalie, Hutchinson and Alberto, their guide, all stepped back out into the late afternoon sunshine. They thanked their guide for a wonderful tour which had culminated in the viewing of the sistine chapel.
Despite signs everywhere telling visitors to switch off mobile phones Dennis had kept the one Sonnenburg had given him on. It now began to ring incessantly.
“Excuse me,” he said reaching into his jeans pocket for it.
Hutchinson was busy passing a large tip to Alberto. Natalie took her eyes off the transaction to look at her boyfriend. He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece to speak to her.
“It’s Bauer.”
He turned his attention back to the phonecall. He couldn’t hear over the large crowds of visitors and he apologised and asked the Austrian to speak up. He tried putting a finger in his other ear to drown out surrounding noise but it was still no use.