lot?”
“They got along. At least when I saw them. But … who knows what goes on underneath the surface between two people?”
“Had anything changed between them recently?”
“Not that I could tell.”
“Was Vincente planning to leave Stefano?”
“I wouldn’t know. Mr. Vincente went out sometimes. With other men. They fought about it once when I was there.”
“You cleaned the locked room where Vincente kept his collection?”
“He liked to be present when I did it—to be sure I didn’t break anything.”
“Do you know what a
lupara
is?”
“
Certo
. Sure I do.”
“Did Vincente have one in his collection of war memorabilia?”
“I didn’t see one, no. He only had a military pistol in his collection. No rifle. No shotgun.”
It had only been days since her partner had come aboard, but already Angelina had scrubbed and tidied their office and revived the nearly dead African violets abandoned when Pino left. A rare flowering plant with particularly luminous petals, more delicate and sensitive than ordinary blooms. Like Pino himself.
Angelina had also commandeered two new chairs. “Ergonomic,” she announced.
“We don’t have the budget for ergonomic,” Natalia said. “Where did you get these?”
“Don’t ask,” Angelina said—all mischievous grin—and picked a small Buddha figure from the shelf above her desk.
“Jade, isn’t it? Yours?”
“My partner’s—former partner, that is.”
“Uh oh. Your partner-partner? Maybe you’re not as smart as you look.”
“Carabiniere Cavatelli.”
“Sorry, Capitano,” Angelina said, chagrined. “None of my business. Let’s get to work.”
“I was teasing, I was teasing.”
Angelina spread a map of Naples open across her desk.
“I’m learning my way around,” she explained.
“Good. How’s it coming?”
“Okay,” she said and tapped a spot. “What’s with the Castel Dell’Ovo? Such a weird name.”
“Castle of the Egg? According to legend, Virgil placed an egg beneath the castle.”
“What?”
“He was big into sorcery.”
“Oh.”
“As long as the supernatural egg survived, Naples would as well.”
“Ah, Naples,” Angelina sighed. “So romantic. One of ours did the Teatro San Carlo.”
“Giovanni Antonio Medrano,” Natalia pronounced.
“You do know your stuff,” Angelina said.
“About Naples, yeah. ‘A peak of hell rising out of paradise,’ ” quoted Natalia.
“Virgil?”
“Goethe, according to Pino.”
“Maybe that’s why San Gennaro only worked his miracles in Naples. Though we could have used him in Palermo. Last report: crime rate is ten times higher in Sicily than anywhere else in our fair country.”
“Are you adjusting to our Neopolitan haven?” Natalia said.
Angelina laughed. “I like it. I like not being known by anyone.”
“Good. I have a task for you. Run a background check on Vincente Lattaruzzo and on the Countess Antonella Cavazza. Talk to Carlo Busto in the Municipal Building. He knows the archives like no one.”
A call summoned them to the colonel’s office. Fabio was standing when they entered, a copy of the day’s tabloid edition spread across his desk. He pointed to it.
“We can’t have this,” he said. “Any idea how they got a photo like that?”
“Not our photographer,” said Natalia. “Not Raffi.”
Fabio pressed his index finger to the bridge of his nose. “The mortuary men?”
“Possibly,” said Natalia.
“Her servants?”
“I doubt it.”
“That scandal rag must have paid a small fortune for it. Damn. We’ll tighten security here, and I’ll look into the mortuary boys at the scene. If one of them leaked it, he’ll wish he was his own client.”
The man who wanted to claim Carlo Bagnatti’s body wore a dark suit and lavender tie. A matching handkerchief peeped from the breast pocket. His shoes came to a point long after they should have ended.
“And you are?” Natalia asked as he took the chair alongside her
“They got along. At least when I saw them. But … who knows what goes on underneath the surface between two people?”
“Had anything changed between them recently?”
“Not that I could tell.”
“Was Vincente planning to leave Stefano?”
“I wouldn’t know. Mr. Vincente went out sometimes. With other men. They fought about it once when I was there.”
“You cleaned the locked room where Vincente kept his collection?”
“He liked to be present when I did it—to be sure I didn’t break anything.”
“Do you know what a
lupara
is?”
“
Certo
. Sure I do.”
“Did Vincente have one in his collection of war memorabilia?”
“I didn’t see one, no. He only had a military pistol in his collection. No rifle. No shotgun.”
It had only been days since her partner had come aboard, but already Angelina had scrubbed and tidied their office and revived the nearly dead African violets abandoned when Pino left. A rare flowering plant with particularly luminous petals, more delicate and sensitive than ordinary blooms. Like Pino himself.
Angelina had also commandeered two new chairs. “Ergonomic,” she announced.
“We don’t have the budget for ergonomic,” Natalia said. “Where did you get these?”
“Don’t ask,” Angelina said—all mischievous grin—and picked a small Buddha figure from the shelf above her desk.
“Jade, isn’t it? Yours?”
“My partner’s—former partner, that is.”
“Uh oh. Your partner-partner? Maybe you’re not as smart as you look.”
“Carabiniere Cavatelli.”
“Sorry, Capitano,” Angelina said, chagrined. “None of my business. Let’s get to work.”
“I was teasing, I was teasing.”
Angelina spread a map of Naples open across her desk.
“I’m learning my way around,” she explained.
“Good. How’s it coming?”
“Okay,” she said and tapped a spot. “What’s with the Castel Dell’Ovo? Such a weird name.”
“Castle of the Egg? According to legend, Virgil placed an egg beneath the castle.”
“What?”
“He was big into sorcery.”
“Oh.”
“As long as the supernatural egg survived, Naples would as well.”
“Ah, Naples,” Angelina sighed. “So romantic. One of ours did the Teatro San Carlo.”
“Giovanni Antonio Medrano,” Natalia pronounced.
“You do know your stuff,” Angelina said.
“About Naples, yeah. ‘A peak of hell rising out of paradise,’ ” quoted Natalia.
“Virgil?”
“Goethe, according to Pino.”
“Maybe that’s why San Gennaro only worked his miracles in Naples. Though we could have used him in Palermo. Last report: crime rate is ten times higher in Sicily than anywhere else in our fair country.”
“Are you adjusting to our Neopolitan haven?” Natalia said.
Angelina laughed. “I like it. I like not being known by anyone.”
“Good. I have a task for you. Run a background check on Vincente Lattaruzzo and on the Countess Antonella Cavazza. Talk to Carlo Busto in the Municipal Building. He knows the archives like no one.”
A call summoned them to the colonel’s office. Fabio was standing when they entered, a copy of the day’s tabloid edition spread across his desk. He pointed to it.
“We can’t have this,” he said. “Any idea how they got a photo like that?”
“Not our photographer,” said Natalia. “Not Raffi.”
Fabio pressed his index finger to the bridge of his nose. “The mortuary men?”
“Possibly,” said Natalia.
“Her servants?”
“I doubt it.”
“That scandal rag must have paid a small fortune for it. Damn. We’ll tighten security here, and I’ll look into the mortuary boys at the scene. If one of them leaked it, he’ll wish he was his own client.”
The man who wanted to claim Carlo Bagnatti’s body wore a dark suit and lavender tie. A matching handkerchief peeped from the breast pocket. His shoes came to a point long after they should have ended.
“And you are?” Natalia asked as he took the chair alongside her
Similar Books
