Private Rome

Chapter 3

“And you found Signor Ricci holding the gun?” Chief Inspector Mia Esposito asked me.

I nodded.

“For the recording, please,” she said, gesturing at her phone.

“Yes,” I replied. “I found Signor Ricci with the gun.”

It seemed Esposito was leading the investigation into the priest’s death. There were several senior Polizia di Stato officers at the party, and more junior ranks outside, providing security, so measures had been taken promptly to secure the crime scene, prevent guests from leaving, and ensure Matteo was taken into custody. The situation hadn’t come fully under control though until Esposito had arrived, striding into the grand function room in gray trousers and a blue shirt, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She’d deployed her team to interview every single one of the guests, staff and security personnel, as well as the officers who’d been on duty outside and her superiors who had been inside with us. As the person who’d discovered Matteo with the victim, she interviewed me herself, and so far had made me recount my story twice.

I was familiar with the tactic. It was a fairly basic way of trying to get a witness to reveal inconsistencies or holes in their version of events by comparing one with another, but she could find none in mine as I stuck rigidly to the facts.

Matteo had said nothing while two uniformed officers from Esposito’s team had cuffed him and taken him into custody. I wondered if he knew them as former colleagues. Maybe he couldn’t quite believe the way his evening had turned from attending a mundane corporate launch party into a full-blown murder investigation, with himself as the prime suspect.

But why would Matteo kill a priest? And even if he’d wanted the man dead, why would a former police inspector with a reputation as a highly effective investigator choose to murder someone at a public event while surrounded by friends and colleagues? A crime of passion, perhaps? Matteo and Father Brambilla seemed to know one another. Matteo’s resumé said he’d trained as a priest at a seminary for a time before joining the police force, but there was nothing in the background checks our Rome attorney had conducted to suggest he was in a relationship of any kind, and certainly not with a priest. And what about Father Brambilla’s dramatic announcement? He’d prophesied his own death, but if he’d known it was coming, why would he choose to be alone with his killer? Was the priest mentally ill or had he genuinely known he was in mortal danger? Something here didn’t add up.

“I think I have everything I need,” Esposito said, switching off her phone’s voice recorder.

She signaled the officer near the door that led to the main entrance, pointed at me and nodded. It was the sign all her colleagues were using to tell the man that an interviewee could be released. There were dozens of others currently being questioned and many more waiting for their turn.

“Thank you, Inspector,” I replied, heading for the door.

“One more thing, Mr. Morgan,” Esposito said, and I paused. “Why do you think he did it?”

“I’m not sure he did,” I replied. “Doesn’t fit with what I know of him.”

She nodded. “I never worked with Inspector Ricci, but I know his reputation. Normally I would agree, based on what colleagues have said about his character, but the evidence in this case is overwhelming.”

I couldn’t argue with that and made for the door. The uniformed officer let me pass, and I walked through the empty stone antechamber to the open double doors where I caught the scent of the sea on the evening air. There were more police outside, some gathered near a side entrance, about a dozen others holding back journalists in a cordon on the lawn some fifty feet away. A handful of guests were waiting for their cars in a nearby semi-circular parking lot, while others were walking down the driveway leading to the main road. I guessed they were looking for their chauffeur-driven cars or taxis, moved on by the police whose own vehicles now surrounded the building.

It was a chaotic end to the evening and not at all the one I’d hoped for. I was about to call Justine Smith, my colleague and girlfriend, but the press pack suddenly became agitated and I saw movement at a side door not far from me. The group of police officers standing nearby expanded like a lung taking in air, and the door opened to reveal Matteo being frogmarched by a couple of cops in uniform.

I hurried over.

“Matteo,” I said, but my voice didn’t carry above the hubbub, and his attention was elsewhere.

“Luna!” he yelled. “Luna!”

His attention was fixed on a tall, dark-haired woman in a tight black cocktail dress and heels. She stood at the edge of the semi-circular driveway, staring at him with pity in her eyes.

“Luna!” he yelled to her one last time before she kicked off her heels and started across the lawn toward the police cordon.

Matteo was hustled toward a waiting police car, and the press pack pushed against the line of cops, shouting questions, taking pictures, calling his name.

He looked around fearfully as he was manhandled into the back of the vehicle.

“Jack,” he said when his eyes met mine. “I’m innocent. I didn’t do it!”

I tried to get closer but was held back by one of the officers in his dishonor guard.

“Talk to that woman,” Matteo called to me. “Luna Colombo — my former police partner. Speak to her!”

An officer slid in beside him, slammed the door shut, and another cop thumped the roof. The car sped away.

I hurried around the squad of cops and ran for the lawn, to see the woman called Luna still jogging barefoot toward the police cordon. She produced an identity card from a small purse and showed it to one of the officers, who stood aside and allowed her to pass into the crowd of journalists.

I tried to follow, but when I raced over to him and pleaded for admission the same officer only replied in terse Italian and waved me toward the long driveway on the other side of the lawn. I stood on the tips of my toes and tried to pick out the fleeing Luna, but she had already vanished into the trees on the far side of the lawn. She was beyond my reach for now.

Matteo had brought me to the hotel and his keys would undoubtedly be in the back of the police car with him, so I joined the handful of bemused guests walking down the driveway, heading for the main road where they hoped to find transportation back to the city.