Bring Him Back

10

Ben stood very still, staring at the gun.

‘Not so tough now, are we?’ Barberini chuckled.

‘You can’t shoot me,’ Ben said.

‘Want a bet? Self defence. The cops will drag you to the morgue and give me a medal. One less scumbag in the world.’

‘No, I mean you can’t shoot me because the safety’s on,’ Ben said, pointing. ‘Let me show you how it works.’ In two steps, he’d walked up to the gaping Barberini and twisted the gun sharply out of his hand.

‘Aagh! You son of a whore! You broke my finger!’

‘You’re a doctor,’ Ben said. ‘You should know it’s not broken. Now this,’ he went on, holding up the tiny pistol, ‘is what we call a mouse gun. Probably wouldn’t have pierced my jacket. Not very accurate, either. I’ll bet I couldn’t even hit that signed Ayrton Senna poster from here. Let’s have a try.’ He flicked off the safety catch and took careful aim.

‘Please!’ Barberini cried out. ‘Not that! It’s irreplaceable!’

‘I imagine so,’ Ben said. ‘All right, then let’s see if we can put a dent in a Ferrari flat-twelve cylinder head. I doubt it, personally.’ He pointed the gun at the engine on the stand.

‘No! I beg you!’ Barberini was virtually crying.

Ben lowered the pistol. ‘Not that either? Then tell me, doctor. How was the Grand Prix?’

There was a moment’s dead silence in the room. Then Barberini, ashen-faced and trembling, said, ‘I know who you are now.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes, I do. You’re not searching for any missing kid. You’re a fucking private eye. Germana hired you, didn’t she? My darling wife. And I suppose you know all about Claudia?’

Ben shook his head. ‘I’m not interested in some pretty young thing you ran off to meet when you were pretending to be in Milan and getting one of your doctor buddies to cover up for you. The hotel bill — that was a nice touch, by the way. Fooled the police, at any rate.’

‘Then what do you want?’ Barberini moaned, nursing his twisted finger.

‘Not all your story was a lie, I’ll give you that,’ Ben said. ‘I believe that you were in a café. I believe you turned your back for a moment, and that the boy happened to be there and took the opportunity to use your phone. But you weren’t there by yourself, and you weren’t at any conference. While the boy was calling on your phone, there was a noise outside. Hard to tell what it was at first. It was a car crash, and no ordinary car, either. Sounded like quite a smash. Was the driver badly hurt?’

Barberini knew there was no longer any point in pretending. ‘He walked away from it,’ he muttered. ‘A few cuts and bruises. He was lucky.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Ben said. ‘Now, I can easily find out what Grand Prix took place this afternoon within driving distance of here. But you’re going to save me the trouble. Aren’t you, doctor?’

‘Monaco,’ Barberini groaned, shoulders sagging. The admission was obviously a lot more painful than his twisted finger.

‘You were in Monaco this afternoon?’

‘Yeah, yeah. You got me. I wasn’t in Milan. I never went to the conference. You were right, I got my pal Davide to cover up for me so I could spend some time with Claudia and catch the GP. We were at medical school together. I cover for him, sometimes.’

‘So he’s another one who cheats on his wife,’ Ben said.

‘Look, you don’t know Germana,’ Barberini protested. ‘She makes my life a misery.’

‘I suppose Davide says the same about Mrs Gagliardo,’ Ben replied. ‘The fact is, I really don’t give a shit about your domestic affairs. But I’m betting Germana would be interested to know what you’ve been up to. I know she’s at home, because I saw her at the bedroom window earlier. So unless you want me to go and wake her up and have a little chat with her, you’re going to tell me exactly where you were when the crash happened this afternoon in Monaco.’