“So you didn’t expect to find Coluzzi there?”
“Odds were against it. I thought I’d let them find him for me.”
“By calling to warn him that someone’s asking questions about him.”
“That and something more.”
“Oh?”
“That it was someone from the old neighborhood.”
Nikki reacted a second late, her body lurching as if she’d received a body blow. “You know Tino Coluzzi?”
“I do.”
Nikki dropped the rest of her croissant into the bag. “Strangely, I’m not surprised.”
“This StingRay’s the souped-up model,” Simon went on, eager to get over the difficult spot. “It captures all calls made within the vicinity. It can also mirror the SIM cards, which gives us the key to extract all the data a phone holds.”
“That’s illegal.”
“If you’re caught,” said Simon. “Are you going to tell on me?”
“Depends. I’m no friend of the men who tried to beat you up—”
“To kill me.”
“But I don’t like a stranger coming into my city and taking the law into his own hands. Frankly, it pisses me off. I want to know what’s going on. All of it. Who are you and why are you really here?”
As Simon tried to stand, he felt the sutures pull. He extended a hand. Nikki eyed it warily before helping him to his feet.
“Let’s get the StingRay,” he said. “Maybe there’s something on it that will help both of us.”
Chapter 34
Five hundred miles to the south, in his cliff-top hideout, Tino Coluzzi couldn’t sleep.
Rising from bed, he walked to the kitchen, made himself an espresso, and took it onto the terrace. A three-quarter moon hung low over the horizon, casting a pale stripe across the sea. He remembered that day in the yard. He’d gotten into another scrape, one he couldn’t trade his way out of, and had drawn a sentence at Les Baums. There was Ledoux, waiting, giving him the look. He knew. What other choice did he have? It was a matter of self-preservation. If he’d waited a day longer, he would have been the one on a stretcher with a blanket covering his face. There would have been no lack of takers.
And now it turned out that Ledoux wasn’t dead after all, and that somehow, someway, he knew about the letter. What else was Coluzzi supposed to think he meant by telling Falconi that Coluzzi had something that wasn’t his? Something he still had time to return? Had Ledoux become a cop? Was that it? Coluzzi dismissed the idea out of hand. It wasn’t possible. Not the Ledoux he’d known.
He picked up his phone, staring at the blank screen, wondering why Luca Falconi hadn’t called back with news that Ledoux was dead and with a picture to prove it. He paced the length of the terrace, beside himself with worry. Something had gone wrong. He could feel it. He didn’t want to betray his anxiety by calling Falconi, but finally he decided he had no choice. Swearing to make Falconi pay, he placed the call.
The phone rang and rang while Coluzzi urged him to pick up.
And then he did. “Luca, that you?” Coluzzi waited for a reply. “Luca?” He could feel the other party’s presence on the line. “Who’s there?” he asked, fearing the worst. “Ledoux, is that you?”
“No,” said a female voice. “It isn’t Mr. Ledoux. I’m his competitor.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to give us back what is ours.”
“Let me talk to Luca.”
“That won’t be possible.”
“What did you do to him?”
