Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) by J Robert Kennedy Page A

in what appeared to be receipts.
    She eyed
him suspiciously, though with little fear.
    He
doubted any man actually scared her, and felt a moment of pity for the hard working
baker outside.
    He held
out the photo. “I am led to believe you met with this man earlier today?”
    She took
a quick glance at the photo then shook her head. “No.”
    “No?” Heidrich
frowned. “Your husband says you did.”
    “He’s an
idiot.” She shouted an insult in Italian through the beads, it was greeted with
a shouted, “Yes, dear, I know.” She looked at Heidrich then shook her head. “He
was here, but he didn’t meet with me . There were two police officers
here that were expecting him. I don’t know their business, just that when the
police ask me to do something, I’m smart enough to do it.”
    Heidrich
had to admit this was a surprising development, and a quick glance at the two
officers accompanying him suggested they felt the same, along with a bit of
fear at how he might react. “Police officers?”
    She
nodded. “I’ve never seen them before, but then again I don’t really pay the
police any mind. They came here in the morning with another man, asked if they
could wait here, said that a young man would be coming later asking for a deal
on a ridiculous amount of some bread and I was to have my husband send him back
here.” She glared at the door and raised her voice. “I’m amazed the idiot
didn’t screw that up and send him away.”
    “I heard
that!”
    “Of
course you heard that, you were meant to, you inbred alcoholic!”
    A curse
was returned that even Heidrich’s excellent Italian couldn’t fully comprehend. “Who
was the other man?”
    She
shrugged. “No idea. He wasn’t in uniform. Never seen him before.”
    “And
what was said when he arrived?”
    “Not
much. He handed over a drawing of some sort, then was told to go to his aunt’s.
Then they all left.”
    “And
that’s all.”
    “Yes.”
    Heidrich
frowned. “If you’re lying to me—”
    “Then
you can shoot me.” She waved a hand at the pile of receipts. “The way my
husband gives away food, we’ll be bankrupt and begging on the streets ourselves
before long. Shoot me now and you’ll save me that disgrace.” She pointed out
the door. “Shoot him and you’ll be doing me a favor.”
    Heidrich
stifled a chuckle. “Is there anything you can tell me about the three men that
might help identify them?”
    She
shook her head. “Two were in uniform, like I said. I didn’t see much beyond
their guns. The third was dressed like a laborer, maybe your age.” Her eyes
widened and she raised a finger. “And he had a tattoo. It seemed to be of some
significance. He showed some of it to the young man and it seemed to calm him
down quite a bit, as if he were expecting it.”
    Heidrich’s
eyes narrowed. There was no doubt the woman was telling the truth and wasn’t
involved. Mentioning the tattoo could serve no purpose. She had helped these
people out of a sense of duty or fear, which, it didn’t matter. That in itself
was enough to have her put in prison if he wanted, though he saw no need for
it. He got the sense however that she had been told to cooperate fully, any
information she might have of no use.
    These
three men were shadows, at least to people like her.
    She’d
never see them again.
    “Could
you draw the tattoo?”
    “No
need. It was the cross of Saint Peter.”
    His
eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”
    “Upside
down cross with two keys? The cross of Saint Peter?” She frowned. “You’re not
religious, are you?”
    He
didn’t answer, he the one asking the questions. He glanced over at his liaison
officer, Captain Luzzatto, and noticed he seemed nervous.
    Interesting.
    Heidrich
bowed, clicking his heels. “Thank you for your time, signora.”
    He
quickly exited the room, shoving the beads out of his way as he marched outside
and into the early evening sunshine. Climbing into the back seat of his car, he
turned to