She’d got right to the heart of my concerns about the new business. I now had so many operations, I couldn’t take the same level of interest in them as I had when there had just been the original office in Los Angeles. I increasingly relied on the country managers to do the right thing and follow Private’s rigorous training program and corporate ethos, but no matter how tight a ship we ran, we couldn’t plan ahead for every eventuality. In this particular case, no amount of training could ever compensate for what seemed to be a basic error of judgment on my part: hiring a killer to run the Rome office.
“Did Matteo invite you?” I asked the woman. “Are you a friend or a former colleague of his?”
“Neither,” she replied. “I never made it inside your party, Mr. Morgan. I’m a gate-crasher.”
I studied her more closely, wondering who she really was. She didn’t seem dangerous, but she wasn’t friendly either.
“I’m trying to discover the truth,” she went on. “Following a lead.”
“Not police. A rival detective? Or a journalist maybe?” Isuggested, and her eyes flashed. “Our publicity team would have arranged an invitation, Ms.…”
“Nobody. I’m Ms. Nobody. It’s not the kind of lead a publicity team can help with. I’m more interested in why a decorated Rome police inspector leaves the force to work as a private investigator.”
“I only hire the best people,” I responded.
“Perhaps. But it still feels an odd choice for Inspector Ricci to make. And sudden, too.”
“If you know something about what happened here tonight—”
“I don’t,” she interrupted. “That’s why I came here. To find out. I wasn’t expecting there to be a murder.”
“Find out what?” I tried.
“Again, you are asking me to trust you without earning it.”
“Why wouldn’t you trust me?”
“Because you appear to hire killers, Mr. Morgan.”
That stung.
“In my experience killers are more likely to lurk in the shadows,” I replied pointedly.
She scoffed. “Me, a killer? The suggestion is beneath you. Besides, there were plenty of killers and villains at your party… crooked cops, spies, corrupt politicians, vicious gangsters in suits. Your guest list wasn’t just the great and good of Rome. It also included some of the troubled and troublemakers. This is an ancient city, Mr. Morgan. One of the oldest there is. Corruption has flowed through its veins since before the days of Christ.”
“What corruption? What do you know?” I asked.
A car turned onto the driveway and drove under the stone arch.
“This is my ride,” my mysterious inquisitor said, checking her phone. “We’ll speak again, Mr. Morgan.”
She moved away from me and flagged down the approaching vehicle. Her red dress seemed to glow in its dazzling headlights.
“How? What’s your number?”
“I’m not going to tell you who I am,” she replied as the driver slowed to a halt. “Not yet, Mr. Morgan. Not until I know I can trust you.”
She opened the rear door and slid onto the back seat. Once she was settled, she closed the door and the driver turned the car around and headed back the way he’d come. After the arch he turned left, toward Rome.
I could have kicked myself for failing to suggest to the mystery woman that she should take a chance on me and let me prove how trustworthy I could be on the ride back to the city. Instead, I ambled along the country road, using my phone to summon a car of my own.
CHAPTER5
MY UBER ARRIVED forty minutes later, and I finally reached the Hotel Hassler on the Piazza della Trinità dei Monti at a little after 1 a.m. The Hassler is located at the top of the Spanish Steps and is one of Rome’s most prestigious hotels, its grand white stone façade looming over a small cobbled square. Inside there are magnificent restaurants, and suites offering some of the finest views of the Eternal City. Alessandro Calla, Private’s local corporate lawyer, had suggested the hotel because of its proximity to thecentro storicoof Rome, and it was no hardship to stay among the narrow streets, crooked alleyways and ancient buildings that were reminders of the city’s glorious past.
The hotel itself was a strange mix of old and new, the solid seven-story imperial-style building housing wood-paneled lounges and glass-and-steel suites. Gilt, marble, and fine leather mingled with contemporary furniture and abstract art, butsomehow the clash between present and past seemed to work, linked by the common value of luxury that infused every aspect of the place, from the food to the service.
A uniformed doorman held the door open and welcomed me by name as I entered the lobby, where a chalk-white marble floor met a curved onyx wall. I headed for the elevators but paused when my phone rang. I was grateful to see it was Justine returning the calls I’d made while waiting for my car to arrive.
