“All in good time,” Falcone said. He sorted the photos in front of them, and pulled out a single shot: a beaming Filippo Mosca and Barbara naked, locked together on a thin mattress on the stone floor.
“Nice,” Peroni said.
Falcone threw another picture on the table. “This one’s even nicer.”
Peroni swore under his breath. The final shot almost looked posed: Barbara and Eleanor, dressed, standing around holding wine glasses, looking nervous, as if they didn’t know what came next but thought it might not be too great. They were wearing some kind of costume: a thin sackcloth shift, the one Eleanor Jamieson had on when she was placed in the peat. Next to them stood Randolph Kirk, Beniamino Vercillo and Toni Martelli, looking at each other expectantly, grinning guiltily.
“Jesus,” Peroni said. “So Mosca wasn’t the only one playing this game? Can you believe it? That sonofabitch Martelli was pimping his own daughter and getting off too? Look at the expression on those guys’ faces. ”Aren’t we the lucky ones?“ Assholes.”
“But they’re not,” Costa pointed out, “lucky, I mean. Three of them are dead. Martelli doesn’t look as if he’ll be around much longer either.”
Peroni picked up the picture. “Let me take this and ram it down the bastard’s throat. He’ll start squealing then.”
“Later,” Falcone said. “Martelli’s been out of the picture for years. Like I said. We’ve got to focus.”
“On what?”
“Where this happened,” Falcone said. “We’ve checked out the backgrounds. We know it wasn’t Ostia.”
Peroni’s eyes lit up. “Excuse me for pointing this out, but Toni Martelli surely knows where.”
Falcone glanced at the table. “Do you want to spend the rest of the day sitting with him in an interview room listening to nothing? I spoke to him a few minutes ago. I offered him a deal. He’s not doing a damn thing. You’ve talked to him. We can’t afford the time.”
“A deal?” Peroni looked amazed. “You offer someone who could do this kind of thing to his own daughter a deal?”
“Yes!” Falcone snapped. “Do you want to argue with the Julius girl’s mother about this? Do you want to tell her it’s wrong?”
Peroni stared at the photos. “And I thought I had a conflict of morality on vice. So what do we do?”
Falcone had already made up his mind. “We let the DIA handle the mob stuff. Watching Wallis. Going through the accounts from Vercillo’s office. We let them see what they can turn up on the Vercillo killing too. It’s theirs by rights anyway and I’m happy to unload whatever I can. And we try for the girl. Gianni—”
He looked desperate, Costa thought. It wasn’t like the Falcone they knew.
“What do you want us to do?” Peroni asked.
“Nic can get a room ready for the mother. For God’s sake see if she can remember something. There has to be a face, a name, anything. I want you to get a couple of spare men out there and run through everything we have on the Julius girl so far. See if we’ve missed anything.”
“OK,” Costa said, and headed for the door. The two older men watched him go.
“It’s a good idea, letting him talk to her on his own,” Peroni said after he’d gone. “She’s an attractive woman. He’s noticed that already. Hell, I noticed that. Not you, Leo? Just eyes for the one, huh?”
“Don’t start—” Falcone was staring at the pictures on the desk. “And don’t make assumptions either. I don’t live in the past any more than you.”
“No,” Peroni said, sounding unconvinced, watching Falcone pore over the photos. “You can ask if you like. I’m menial class for the time being. You’ve got the right to ask anything you want.”
Falcone turned over another set of prints, revealing another set of familiar faces. “What the hell do I do with these things?”
“This lot…” Peroni pushed the last pile of pictures, with Barbara and Eleanor in them, to one side, “… you guard with your life, because they may be all we’ve got between that Julius kid and the grave.”
“I know that,” Falcone replied testily.
“Oh.” Peroni placed his index finger gently on the others. “You mean these?”
He pulled away his hand and took a good look at them. “You know, I hate to place your ego in jeopardy, Leo, but it is possible for other men of your rank to come and dip their beak here. You’ve now got three murders under your belt and an abduction. Maybe there’s been some blackmail going on here too. It’s a lot for one man. Pass the goods around a little.”
“They’re linked,” Falcone insisted. “I’ve had this argument upstairs already. If I’d wanted to split these inquiries off into different teams I’d have done that. My view—their view too—is that it would be counter-productive. We don’t have the time or the resources and we could end up missing some connections too. I know it’s stretching things but we really have no option.”
“No option?” Peroni grinned. “Give me a break. I’m hearing ambition here, Leo. You bored with being inspector? After a commissioner’s badge? Or is it higher than that?”
“I want this girl found,” Falcone snapped. “Don’t judge everyone by your own standards.”
“So why are you worried about the photos? Just put them in a drawer. Wait and see if they ever become useful.”
“Useful—”
Peroni laughed. “Leo, Leo. You’re not cut out for this, are you? You can go upstairs and hard-ball your way through anything. Except—” He glanced at the photos. “This kind of stuff. It embarrasses you, doesn’t it?”
Falcone sighed. “We should be playing to our strengths here. You ought to learn from what we’re trying to do, which is make some connections. That’s why I don’t want this split up any more than it is. In return I’m asking for your advice. This must have happened to you plenty. You go in somewhere. You find the wrong people inside. What do you do?”
Peroni thought about it. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have taken a pop at you like that. You’re right. I’ve got a lot to learn from you people. I just wonder what the point is because, believe me, I am not staying in this asylum for long.”
Falcone stared at him frankly. “You seem very sure of that. If we screw up on this case…”
“You mean if you screw up. Look, here’s my advice. There’s no easy answer, Leo. It depends on the circumstances. But I’ll tell you one thing you don’t do.”
He picked up the bigger pile of pictures and flicked through them, shaking his head.
“You don’t sleep on it. Either you walk upstairs with these things now or you let it drop forever. Hesitate and you become something they hate. An unknown quantity, with a little time bomb sitting in his desk drawer. If you’re going to lay all the rest of this on them, you’ve got to do it this very moment. If not—”
He picked up one of the prints and walked over to the shredder that stood by Falcone’s office printer. Then he fed the photo into the plastic jaws and watched as it sprang to life, devoured the picture, tearing it into a million tiny, irretrievable pieces.
“Ambition’s an interesting thing,” Peroni said. “I had it once. I thought nothing could touch me. And look what happened. Tell me, Leo. If you’d been on that DIA bust, if you’d walked in and found me there with my pants down. Nothing going on except the usual. What would you have done? Looked the other way?”
Falcone didn’t even give it a moment’s thought. “No. Because there’d have to be something going on. Why else would you be there?”
“She was beautiful.” Peroni looked at him and almost pitied the man. “You really don’t get that, do you? It just couldn’t be enough?”