Private Rome

Chapter 18

The taxi took me to Via Bocca di Leone and I walked two blocks though the luxury shopping district, passing busy sidewalk cafés, to the Spanish Steps where tourists thronged in the evening sun. Its glow caught the tops of the old buildings and shadows gathered in the narrow alleyways beside them as the day neared its end. I climbed the ancient stone steps, picking my way past people taking selfies and photos of the church at the top, the city laid out at the base.

The doorman at the Hassler nodded a greeting as I went inside. I saw his eyes flick up and down my filthy suit, but his training meant he knew better than to remark on my dishevelment. Hotel staff saw all sorts of oddities, and a higher star rating often correlated with more outrageous guests. My dirty clothing would not be the strangest thing this man had ever seen.

I walked into the cool marble-lined lobby, looking forward to a shower, but the moment I stepped inside I knew such simple pleasures would have to wait. Faduma was seated on a chair from which she could see everyone who entered. She saw me the moment I came in. Her impassive expression gave nothing away. I still had no idea whether she was friend or foe but at least my background check had established she was probably honest.

I walked over to her. As I drew nearer, she got to her feet.

“You look like you could use a drink,” she said, leading me into the lobby bar.

She didn’t seem fazed by my appearance, and we took our seats at a table in the quiet room. A waiter came over immediately.

“Iced water, please,” I told him.

“Orange juice,” Faduma added. “You’ve had quite the day,” she said to me while the waiter walked away.

She produced an iPad from a satchel she had slung over her shoulder and put the device on the circular table between us. She switched it on and flicked through a series of photographs of Luna and me at the spot where Filippo Lombardi had driven off the road, or more likely been forced off. The photos had been taken with a long lens and showed the gunman attacking us, my ascent, our fight and his death. Faduma paused at the photo of Luna getting into the cab.

“Why did you conceal her involvement?” she asked, tapping the image of the detective being driven away.

“How did you get these?”

“I followed you, Mr. Morgan.”

I wondered just how badly I was slipping not to have noticed a tail.

“Why?” I asked. “Why are you following me?”

“You’re stirring a hornets’ nest,” Faduma replied. “That makes you interesting.”

“For a story?” I countered. “I know who you are.”

She smiled. “It took you longer than I thought it would. Maybe your reputation isn’t justified? Or perhaps you’re losing your touch. The passing years haven’t been easy for you, have they?”

I had no idea whether she was trying to goad me or if she was just upset I’d discovered her identity, but either way I didn’t rise to the bait.

“I think you know a lot more about what’s going on here,” I said. “If you’ve got information, you should share it, but if you’re mixed up in whatever this is, you need to know I will hold you to account.”

“I’m not mixed up in this,” Faduma assured me. “And I want to believe you’re a good man. I want to trust you, but you keep doing questionable things, like letting a corrupt cop leave a crime scene.”

“What makes you think she’s corrupt?” I asked.

Faduma smiled again. “You need to do more digging, Mr. Morgan. Find out who your new partner really is.”

“She’s not my partner.”

“Your associate then.”

“Why don’t you just tell me?” I asked.

“Like I said, I want to believe I can trust you,” Faduma replied, getting to her feet. “Call it a test.”

She walked away as the waiter came over with my iced water and her orange juice.

“I’ll take them both,” I told him. “It’s been a hot day.”

“Shall I charge them to your room, sir?” he asked, arranging the drinks on the table in front of me.

“Yes, please,” I replied, watching the journalist leave the bar, wondering just how much she knew and what exactly I’d have to do to get her to trust me.