Private Rome

Chapter 17

Two hours later, I found myself in the very same interview room where I’d met Matteo earlier that day, only this time I was on the wrong side of the table being held as a suspect, interviewed by Mia Esposito. A uniformed colleague lolled against the wall near the door, while an electronic recorder captured our conversation. I was aware my filthy suit smelt of churned earth and sweat, and desperately wanted to take a shower.

“And you say he jumped?” Esposito asked. There was no chance of me leaving any time soon. It seemed she was intent on going over my story one more time. I’d already told her what had happened, leaving out Luna’s presence as promised, but otherwise offering the truth: that I’d visited the location to look into the accident that had led to city prosecutor Filippo Lombardi’s death, and when I’d arrived a man had opened fire. I told Esposito I had been able to climb to the outcrop, had fought the man, and had watched him jump to his death.

“And you didn’t push him?” she asked.

I shook my head. “He jumped when he realized I’d got his gun.”

“But there was no witness,” Esposito countered. “Who can say what really happened?”

“You can see the state of the tree,” I replied. “And the number of shots fired. There’s no doubting what really happened.”

“And how did you get there? Remind me.”

“I took a taxi,” I replied. “He didn’t want to wait, and I don’t remember his number.”

I didn’t want her interviewing the driver and learning Luna had been with me. “I paid cash and let him go because I wasn’t sure how long I would be.”

“I see. And you planned to walk back to Rome?”

“Uber,” I said. “Or a phone call.”

Esposito grunted and smiled. “I don’t know who this dead man is, but he should have taught you a valuable lesson, Mr. Morgan. Rome is no place for innocents. And it is even worse for the guilty. You are shining a light into the shadows, revealing things other people want hidden. My advice would be to forget whatever it is you are doing here and go home.”

I nodded slowly. “Does that mean I’m free to leave?”

She hesitated and glanced at her colleague.

“Yes,” she said at last. “I see no reason to doubt your account. You’re free to go.”

Twenty minutes later, I walked out of police headquarters, reunited with my possessions, and breathed in warm evening air scented with rich aromas of food coming from restaurant kitchens dotted around the neighborhood. I was glad to be out. I walked away from the imposing building, took out my phone and dialed a number while looking for a cab.

“Jack,” Justine said when she answered. “Where have you been? I must have left half a dozen messages.”

My phone vibrated as notifications arrived.

“I’m just getting them now,” I replied. “My phone’s been off. I was arrested.”

She gasped.

“It’s okay. I’m out now. Some guy tried to shoot me and Luna Colombo, Matteo’s former partner.”

“Jeez, Jack. Are you alright?”

“Nothing a shower and an Old Fashioned won’t fix,” I told her. “I’ve sent Mo-bot some photos of the shooter’s tattoos. I need to know straight away if she identifies them. And I’m going to need the details of someone local who can analyze a SIM.”

“You’re borderline obsessive, Jack Morgan,” she responded. “You get shot at and your mind is still locked on the case.”

“The detective in charge thinks I should go home.”

“I think you should too,” Justine said. “Come back to me, Jack. Let someone else take care of this.”

“I can’t,” I replied. “I’ve taken on the Chief Operating Officer at the Vatican Bank as a client. He wants to know the truth about Father Brambilla’s death.”

“Don’t we have someone in Rome who can handle it?” she countered.

“Matteo was still in the process of staffing up. The people he’s hired haven’t started properly yet or had their Private training. I’m all there is.”

She sighed. “I don’t like you getting shot at.”

“Me neither. I don’t know what Matteo was into, but I might have made a mistake hiring him. I feel a little responsible for this mess and want to fix it. I underestimated the extent of corruption in Rome. Innocent or guilty, I have to find out the truth about him,” I said. “I will come home as soon as it’s done.”

“Be—”

“Careful,” I interrupted. “I know. I will. And I’ll call you later. Love you.”

“Love you, you infuriating obsessive,” she replied, before hanging up.

I pocketed my phone and made a beeline for a cab that had responded to my hail.

“Hassler Hotel,” I said, jumping in the back.