'Probably the change of diet, good food can be a shock to the system.' Finelli did his best to sound understanding. 'When did you get in from the United States?'
'You could be right,' said Jack. 'I've been here a while but probably not made the full adjustment yet.'
A tray of coffee and water arrived, courtesy of a young woman in a black dress that fell modestly to below her knees. She never spoke, except for the obligatory prego as they took their drinks and thanked her. She left without having looked directly at anyone. The air was thick with discretion. The kind of well-practised, silver-service discretion that always prevailed in the homes of the monstrously corrupt.
'This is an incredible house,' said Sylvia, balancing an espresso on her lap. 'You live here alone, or with the whole family?'
'My wife died some years ago, but I still live here. As you said, it is our family home, and I cannot see myself living anywhere else.'
'And your daughter, Gina, she lives here too?' added Jack.
Finelli read the depth of the question. He answered cautiously. 'At the moment, yes. She and her family come to stay sometimes. It is nice for us all to be together.'
The bedrooms Jack had just looked in had told a fuller story. Bruno Valsi was certainly not staying in the house. There was clearly a rift in the family. But was it between Gina and her husband, or between her husband and her father?
'Why do you ask?' the Don added, defensively.
Jack put on half a smile. 'Guess I'm missing my wife and child. Seeing your daughter and grandson here made me think of my own family.'
Finelli looked across at the door and worked out how Jack might have spotted them. 'Forgive me, but I am quite busy tonight. Is there anything more I can help you with?' He put his coffee cup down and gave out all the signals that he wanted them to leave.
They rose and Finelli shook hands with Sylvia, Lorenzo and finally Jack. 'I hope you feel better very soon.'
'Thank you, I think I already do. Before we go, I'm interested to know how you get on with your son-in-law?'
Finelli smiled. 'Signore, I've been very generous in my hospitality, please don't abuse it.' He motioned an open hand to the doorway.
Jack stood his ground. He leaned towards Finelli and spoke in a confidential tone. 'From what little I know of Bruno Valsi, he is not the type of man I would want my daughter sharing her life with. And not the kind of man I would consider good for my own health.'
Finelli looked amused. 'Thank you for your opinion. Now, it really is time for you to go.'
A gym monster in a black suit appeared from nowhere. Jack guessed he was six-two, late thirties and no doubt tooled up. Nothing would have delighted him more than demonstrating how quickly he could disarm a monkey that big, but he didn't have to. Lorenzo stepped forward and quietly said something in Italian that stopped the guy in his tracks. It gave Jack a final chance to speak to Finelli. 'Signore, your charm doesn't disguise the fact that you're a very worried man – and you have a right to be. If there is anything you can tell us about your son-in-law, then you may well be helping yourself and your daughter and grandchild as much as you help us.'
The Don said nothing but, just before he walked away and left them, the look on his face told Jack, Lorenzo and Sylvia that he'd probably rather die than offer them any help.
80
Campeggio Castellani, Pompeii Antonio Castellani had become desperately worried about Franco. So much so, that he was actually pleased to get a knock on the door from two new carabinieri officers who wanted to go over everything again with him.
Once more the old man faithfully retold it all – leaving out only the private arrangement he'd made with the big lieutenant. Antonio was old enough and smart enough to know that you only told such import ant secrets to one person. Apart from that, he did as they asked. He went right back to the very beginning. Started from the moment the people on Lot 45 had reported their daughter and her boyfriend missing. Went right up to his recent brushes with the Camorra and the order from the Finelli clan that he leave his home and surrender his business.
The woman seemed genuinely moved, sympathetic and kind. The male officer apparently didn't care that much. They were quite a pair. Chalk and cheese, he thought. The man, Mario or Marco something, he couldn't remember the name, was intense and wiry, maybe even a little rude and disrespectful, while she – Cassie – was beautiful, polite and intelligent. He even liked her name. She was everything that he'd hoped his own daughter would have turned out to be. Cassie was one of those bright girls who would go far, he could tell. For a start she'd written everything down, had been careful not to miss anything. Her male partner had seemed happy just to fire off the questions. In fact, he'd only really become interested when Antonio had mentioned that Franco was missing. He still believed the police were the best hope of finding him. His grandson wasn't well. Sometimes he got really sick, they had to find him, look after him, bring him back home. She said they would. She promised they would. Good girl, that Cassie, you could tell. She even took away some pictures of Franco. Promised again she'd find him.
Antonio settled down in his chair and knew he'd fall asleep. He was tired of it all. These days just living exhausted him. If he'd known that the two carabinieri officers he'd spent so much time with were actually Luciano Creed and a female journalist called Cassandra Morrietti, then it may well have been the death of him.
81
Via Caprese Michelangelo, centro citta, Napoli Ricardo Mazerelli's visitor parked more than two blocks away and insisted that at the end of their meeting he was given the footage from the surveillance cameras that he was sure would be running.
Lieutenant Pietro Raimondi settled down in a chair in the penthouse conservatory, overlooking the streaming firefly lights of cars heading along the Bay of Naples. Ice tinkled in the two highball glasses of vodka and Coke that Mazerelli placed on a stone-topped coffee table beside the trickling waters of the Japanese garden. 'So, what have you got that is so valuable you wish to see me at such short notice and under such unusual conditions?'
Raimondi told him. And he told him his price for ensuring that the information never crossed another investigator's desk. 'I have Antonio Castellani's dossier, with its diary entries and photographs. I also have details of where Signor Castellani stashed weapons given to him by Fredo Finelli and his Family members. And, I have detailed accounts of money extorted from Antonio Castellani over more than a decade.'
Mazerelli picked up his drink and looked unperturbed. 'Ramblings of an old man. Not enough to raise a warrant, let alone bring a case to trial. And even if you got that far, you would be gambling that Signor Castellani's health held out. He is, after all, quite aged and could die at any moment.'
'I also have video-taped testimony – made by myself – of Signor Castellani. Should it ever be needed,' he lied.