Private Rome

Chapter 26

The thumping techno music was turned up just after midnight and its rapid rhythm seemed to rise through the wooden frame of my double bed and set every spring in the mattress dancing. I didn’t mind. I was just grateful to have a safe place to stay. Somewhere I could crash without fear of attack. I checked local TV and Internet news for stories of Luna’s abduction. I’d reported the incident to the police and couldn’t imagine the loss of an inspector would go unremarked, but there was nothing. As far as the world was concerned, Luna Colombo wasn’t worth worrying about. Either that or someone had spiked the report. Given the myriad connections of the key players in this investigation, the possibility wasn’t far-fetched. Brambilla was linked to the highest levels of Vatican authority, and Matteo and Luna had ties to organized crime — Matteo through the Filippo Lombardi investigation and Luna thanks to her father. Any of these interest groups could apply pressure to the police to get them to sit on a missing persons report.

I fell into a restless sleep shortly after 1 a.m. Dreams and reality seemed to merge and fragmentary, disjointed recollections of the past few days filled my mind to a dance-beat soundtrack.

The thumping grew louder, although I woke to silence. Morning light edged the drapes and filled the room with a warm glow. There was more thumping, and I realized someone was knocking at the door. Groggy and slow, I staggered from bed fully clothed. I peered through the peephole to see a young man with a shaved head. He was casually dressed in shorts, a T-shirt and slides.

I opened the door slowly and kept one foot behind it.

“Buongiorno,” the man said. “Valentina asked me to give you this.”

He handed me a cell phone.

“Ciao,” he said, hurrying away down the stairs.

“Grazie,” I called after him, before shutting the door.

The phone was on and fully charged. As I made my way into the living room, it rang.

“Hello?” I said.

“Mr. Morgan,” Valentina replied. “It seems we will have to be even more careful than I imagined. Meet me at Ponte Sant’Angelo at eleven.”

She didn’t wait for a reply but hung up. Her increased precautions could only mean she had learnt something worrying about Luna’s abduction, and I was eager to know what it was. I checked my watch to find it was almost 9 a.m.

I showered and caught a cab into the center of Rome, where I picked up new clothes. I wore a pair of black jeans, a black T-shirt and matching sneakers out of the boutique, and left my dirty, bloody blue suit in the changing room. I walked out of the store carrying a couple of replacement suits and some casual clothes in a large bag.

I reached Ponte Sant’Angelo ten minutes early and scanned my surroundings before setting foot on the historic bridge linking the north and south banks of the Tiber, just before a bend in the river. Constructed of stone and marble, the ancient crossing displayed statues of angels above its five arches,

When I was finally satisfied there was no obvious danger, I walked across and saw Valentina coming the other way. She wore a beautiful yellow shift dress and, to untrained eyes, we might have looked like lovers meeting for a date. When we finally reached the center of the bridge we were surrounded by crowds of tourists.

“I found out who owns the van used to take the cop,” she told me. “It belongs to an orange-juice manufacturer located in Poli that is a subsidiary of a chain of companies ultimately owned by Elia Antonelli.”

“Why would he abduct his own daughter?” I asked.

Valentina was surprised by the revelation. “His daughter?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Mo-bot told me last night.”

“Wow,” Valentina remarked. “That I wasn’t expecting. I have no idea why he would take his own family, but I do know this is a very dangerous man and his people are not to be toyed with.”

I nodded. “I understand. Where can I find him?”

“Antonelli lives on a big estate near San Vittorino to the east of Rome,” she said, handing me a piece of paper. “Here’s the address.”

“Thank you,” I responded.

“You have my number if you need anything,” she said. “Only use the phone I sent you. Everything else must be considered compromised.”

She turned abruptly and walked away. I watched her go before unfolding the piece of paper she’d given me. As I gazed at the unfamiliar address, I wondered what dangers I would encounter there.