“I fear I’ve done her no favors by bringing her on this cruise. She’s lonely and in need of a proper carer…and friends her own age. We’re eager to get underway.”
“You’re still in Naples?”
“Regrettably, yes,” he said. “Still entangled in this unfortunate business with Claire. We’re doing our best to be patient, but it’s unsettling. Are you certain I can’t tempt you with the nanny position? Audrey would benefit from someone of your caliber.”
“I’m flattered,” she said. “But caring for children isn’t for me.”
—
As she put her phone away, a text from Sonia appeared:British police have Kevin Walker in custody.
Nikki called. Voicemail. Sonia texted again:Busy.
—
Nikki stopped by the shops for some vegetables to sauté for lunch. She’d returned home and was unpacking groceries when Sonia called.
“Teddy Sexton hasn’t reached out to you, has he?”
“No,” Nikki said. “Why?”
“Sexton’s lawyers got him released from custody a few hours ago. Now he’s missing. We need to find him. Kevin Walker was just stabbed in jail.”
“Fuck. How bad?”
“He’s at the hospital, and it doesn’t look good. I need all the help I can get.”
“Did they interview Kevin?”
“Yes. He swore he didn’t kill Claire. Said he saw the stabbing, panicked, and ran.”
Twenty-Five
Weak rays of early-morning sunlight kissed the hilltops as Valerio drove south along the E45. The road was still dark and he accelerated carefully, the moan and clank and rattle of the small engine asserting its speed limitations. He’d borrowed Federico’s little Ape, the three-wheeled truck he used to make countryside deliveries. It was a rickety, flimsy thing, reeking of diesel, and he worried it might not make it all the way to Sorrento as they’d planned.
—
“If you want to be an idiot and throw your life away, that’s your business,” Federico said when he’d returned his call last night.
“You told me you had an idea,” Valerio urged. “What is it?”
“Not on the phone,” Federico grunted. “Come here, and I’ll tell you.”
—
In his apartment, the old man had said, “My brother’s a careful man. Splits hairs in four. If he wasn’t a psychopathic killer, he’d be an accountant.”
“So?” said Valerio.
“So, he keeps good records,” said Federico. “Can’t help himself. Luca’s got every detail of his operations documented: distributions, clients, routes. It’s a business to him, see? He’s proud. He thinks he’s some sort of CEO. Believe me, he’s hoarding all the evidence you’ll ever need.”
“Even if that’s true,” Valerio said, “I don’t have enough for a warrant, and I doubt my witnesses will testify. Besides, building a criminal case would take months. And you yourself told me that there’s corruption in the police. They could warn him—he’ll clean everything before we have a chance to search.”
“I’ve been thinking about this Silvestri fellow,” said Federico, tapping a broad hand against his leg. “Luca doesn’t like partnerships. He thinks other people are sloppy.”
“That’s probably why Luca sends his security team to visit Silvestri,” Valerio said. “To keep things tidy.”
“I’m sure,” agreed Federico. “But do you think Silvestri likes that arrangement? He’s rich. Important. He lives a comfortable life. Do you think he likes Luca’s thugs at his place? No. Believe me, he blocks them—pushes them out whenever he can. Your best chance for evidence is there. At Silvestri’s house. Papers…documents.”
