“I’m just waiting to be taken inside,” she told me. “You were at the party, correct?”
I nodded. “I found Matteo and Father Brambilla, the victim.”
“I’ve read the first reports,” she said, tapping her bag.
“Matteo claims innocence.”
She smiled. “That’s good. It’s hard to convince a judge if even the client doesn’t believe he’s innocent.”
A reinforced security door beside the reception desk opened and a uniformed cop stepped through.
“Signora Bianchi,” he said, signaling to my companion.
She walked over and I followed; they spoke together in Italian. He looked me up and down, before standing back to allow us to pass.
We followed him along a maze of corridors until we reached a run of interview rooms. He took us to one at the very end and used a key card to unlock the door.
When we stepped inside the whitewashed room, I saw Matteo sitting opposite the police inspector who had brought order to the crime scene the previous night. Mia Esposito, dressed in a black skirt and red blouse, didn’t bother standing as we entered.
“Mr. Morgan shouldn’t be here,” she said to Gianna.
“Mr. Morgan is assisting me. If that’s a problem, we can go before a judge.”
The lawyer stared at Esposito, who caved and nodded at theuniformed officer. He stepped out and closed the door, and Gianna crossed the small room and took a seat next to Matteo. He looked drained, haunted even, his eyes wide and ringed by shadows that looked deep enough to be bruises. Shock and exhaustion had left his handsome face looking drawn. He was still in his tux, but instead of glamour, it added an air of desperation.
I leaned against the wall and nodded to Matteo, who barely registered my presence.
“We will conduct the interview in Italian,” Esposito noted. “For the benefit of the court.”
Gianna nodded and the inspector pressed a button on a desktop device. She was about to begin her preamble when Matteo looked at me and interrupted her.
“Before we get started, I want to speak in English so Mr. Morgan can understand. I want him to know I’m innocent. I did not kill Father Brambilla.”
Maybe he could see doubt in my eyes.
“There is knowledge and then there is faith. Sometimes when all the evidence tells us something, faith compels us to a different truth. I know how it seems, but I did not shoot that man.”
“What happened then?” I asked, ignoring an irritated tut from Esposito.
Matteo hesitated. “I don’t know.” He paused again. “I understand how that must sound, but I did not kill Father Brambilla. He was my mentor once, and a friend.”
Matteo’s voice broke; he looked as though he might cry.
“I could never hurt him.”
“Faith is the preserve of the naïve,” Esposito said. “Those more experienced in life know that truth is a case of compiling facts and evidence. If you are finished with your little drama, perhaps we can begin in earnest now. Please explain to me if you can, Signor Ricci, how a man came to be dead at your feet, shot by a bullet from the gun you were holding.”
Matteo sagged back in his chair. After a few moments’ silence, he nodded.
Esposito bent closer to him and began the interview preamble in Italian.
CHAPTER7
I COULDN’T UNDERSTAND Matteo’s statement, but Inspector Esposito’s skepticism transcended language. I recognized Matteo’s defensive tone and the irritation in Gianna Bianchi’s frequent interruptions. Matteo’s account of events clearly wasn’t satisfying the abrasive inspector. After an hour, she brought the interview to a close and led us out.
“I didn’t do it,” Matteo called to us as we left the room. “You have to believe me, Jack.”
He seemed so earnest, his tone pleading. If he was guilty, he was an excellent actor, but then years of police work would have exposed him to the most convincing criminals. Proving innocence was not about observing human emotion; it was about interpreting the evidence. Gianna and Esposito spoke together as the inspector led us back through a maze of corridors to the imposing lobby.
