Matteo was hustled toward a waiting police car, and the press pack pushed against the line of cops, shouting questions, taking pictures, calling his name.
He looked around fearfully as he was manhandled into the back of the vehicle.
“Jack,” he said when his eyes met mine. “I’m innocent. I didn’t do it!”
I tried to get closer but was held back by one of the officers in his dishonor guard.
“Talk to that woman,” Matteo called to me. “Luna Colombo—my former police partner. Speak to her!”
An officer slid in beside him, slammed the door shut, and another cop thumped the roof. The car sped away.
I hurried around the squad of cops and ran for the lawn, to see the woman called Luna still jogging barefoot toward the police cordon. She produced an identity card from a small purse and showed it to one of the officers, who stood aside and allowed her to pass into the crowd of journalists.
I tried to follow, but when I raced over to him and pleaded for admission the same officer only replied in terse Italian and waved me toward the long driveway on the other side of the lawn. I stood on the tips of my toes and tried to pick out the fleeing Luna, but she had already vanished into the trees on the far side of the lawn. She was beyond my reach for now.
Matteo had brought me to the hotel and his keys would undoubtedly be in the back of the police car with him, so I joined the handful of bemused guests walking down the driveway, heading for the main road where they hoped to find transportation back to the city.
CHAPTER4
I WAS ALMOST at the main gates opening on to Largo della Stazione di Palo, a service road that led to the Strada Statale 1 Via Aurelia highway back to Rome. La Posta Vecchia’s manicured grounds lay behind me: half a mile of driveway flanked by lush vegetation. Parked automobiles lined the road near the ivy-covered stone archway that marked the entrance to the grounds, but none was available for hire. When I spoke to the drivers, I discovered they’d all been pre-booked by guests who were still being interviewed.
The lights of the hotel didn’t reach this far so all I had to guide my way was a half-moon up above and the occasional passing vehicle leaving the estate. Beyond the stone archway, I could see the road wasn’t the sort of place taxis touted for trade. It was a quiet country lane that connected the surrounding properties with the main artery into Rome. I resigned myself to ordering anUber, which would involve at least a forty-minute wait. I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket and was about to open the app when a figure stepped out of the shadows beneath a tree.
“Mr. Morgan?”
It was a woman, her silhouette slim, tall, graceful. As she drew nearer, I saw a warm, open face and eyes that were spirited and bright. This was someone who didn’t miss much. She wore a long red dress that hugged her figure closely.
“Trying to find a ride?” she asked.
I nodded. She knew me, but I had no idea who she was. Her outfit suggested she was a guest from the party.
“Have we met?” I asked, certain I would have remembered her.
Her English was fluent, but there was the hint of an East African accent beneath a more noticeable Italian one. Ethiopia or Somalia maybe.
“No,” she replied. “We haven’t met. But I know who you are by reputation.”
“And you are?” I said, driven to directness since my polite invitation for her to introduce herself had been deflected.
“I’d rather not say. Not until I know whether I can trust you.”
She could be direct, too, it seemed.
“Trust me with what?” I asked.
“I have to trust you to tell you.”
I wasn’t in the mood for riddles. “If there’s an investigation you’d like us to undertake, you can contact—”
“Your country manager?” she asked, cutting me off. “Because I’m pretty sure he passed me a few minutes ago, sitting in the back of a police car.”
“The authorities will get to the bottom of this tragedy and Matteo will be exonerated. In the meantime, there are other members of my organization who can help you,” I said. “If that’s why you’re here.”
“Who?” she asked. “Who else do you have on the ground in Rome?”
I hesitated.
“Matteo Ricci did all the hiring. Once you’d recruited him. Do you even know who you have working for you?” she pressed me.
