Private Rome

Chapter 4

I was almost at the main gates opening on to Largo della Stazione di Palo, a service road that led to the Strada Statale 1 Via Aurelia highway back to Rome. La Posta Vecchia’s manicured grounds lay behind me: half a mile of driveway flanked by lush vegetation. Parked automobiles lined the road near the ivy-covered stone archway that marked the entrance to the grounds, but none was available for hire. When I spoke to the drivers, I discovered they’d all been pre-booked by guests who were still being interviewed.

The lights of the hotel didn’t reach this far so all I had to guide my way was a half-moon up above and the occasional passing vehicle leaving the estate. Beyond the stone archway, I could see the road wasn’t the sort of place taxis touted for trade. It was a quiet country lane that connected the surrounding properties with the main artery into Rome. I resigned myself to ordering an Uber, which would involve at least a forty-minute wait. I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket and was about to open the app when a figure stepped out of the shadows beneath a tree.

“Mr. Morgan?”

It was a woman, her silhouette slim, tall, graceful. As she drew nearer, I saw a warm, open face and eyes that were spirited and bright. This was someone who didn’t miss much. She wore a long red dress that hugged her figure closely.

“Trying to find a ride?” she asked.

I nodded. She knew me, but I had no idea who she was. Her outfit suggested she was a guest from the party.

“Have we met?” I asked, certain I would have remembered her.

Her English was fluent, but there was the hint of an East African accent beneath a more noticeable Italian one. Ethiopia or Somalia maybe.

“No,” she replied. “We haven’t met. But I know who you are by reputation.”

“And you are?” I said, driven to directness since my polite invitation for her to introduce herself had been deflected.

“I’d rather not say. Not until I know whether I can trust you.”

She could be direct too it seemed.

“Trust me with what?” I asked.

“I have to trust you to tell you.”

I wasn’t in the mood for riddles. “If there’s an investigation you’d like us to undertake, you can contact—”

“Your country manager?” she asked, cutting me off. “Because I’m pretty sure he passed me a few minutes ago, sitting in the back of a police car.”

“The authorities will get to the bottom of this tragedy and Matteo will be exonerated. In the meantime, there are other members of my organization who can help you,” I said. “If that’s why you’re here.”

“Who?” she asked. “Who else do you have on the ground in Rome?”

I hesitated.

“Matteo Ricci did all the hiring. Once you’d recruited him. Do you even know who you have working for you?” she pressed me.

She’d got right to the heart of my concerns about the new business. I now had so many operations, I couldn’t take the same level of interest in them as I had when there had just been the original office in Los Angeles. I increasingly relied on the country managers to do the right thing and follow Private’s rigorous training program and corporate ethos, but no matter how tight a ship we ran, we couldn’t plan ahead for every eventuality. In this particular case, no amount of training could ever compensate for what seemed to be a basic error of judgment on my part: hiring a killer to run the Rome office.

“Did Matteo invite you?” I asked the woman. “Are you a friend or a former colleague of his?”

“Neither,” she replied. “I never made it inside your party, Mr. Morgan. I’m a gatecrasher.”

I studied her more closely, wondering who she really was. She didn’t seem dangerous, but she wasn’t friendly either.

“I’m trying to discover the truth,” she went on. “Following a lead.”

“Not police. A rival detective? Or a journalist maybe?” I suggested, and her eyes flashed. “Our publicity team would have arranged an invitation, Ms. ...”

“Nobody. I’m Ms. Nobody. It’s not the kind of lead a publicity team can help with. I’m more interested in why a decorated Rome police inspector leaves the force to work as a private investigator.”

“I only hire the best people,” I responded.

“Perhaps. But it still feels an odd choice for Inspector Ricci to make. And sudden, too.”

“If you know something about what happened here tonight—”

“I don’t,” she interrupted. “That’s why I came here. To find out. I wasn’t expecting there to be a murder.”

“Find out what?” I tried.

“Again, you are asking me to trust you without earning it.”

“Why wouldn’t you trust me?”

“Because you appear to hire killers, Mr. Morgan.”

That stung.

“In my experience killers are more likely to lurk in the shadows,” I replied pointedly.

She scoffed. “Me, a killer? The suggestion is beneath you. Besides, there were plenty of killers and villains at your party... crooked cops, spies, corrupt politicians, vicious gangsters in suits. Your guest list wasn’t just the great and good of Rome. It also included some of the troubled and troublemakers. This is an ancient city, Mr. Morgan. One of the oldest there is. Corruption has flowed through its veins since before the days of Christ.”

“What corruption? What do you know?” I asked.

A car turned onto the driveway and drove under the stone arch.

“This is my ride,” my mysterious inquisitor said, checking her phone. “We’ll speak again, Mr. Morgan.”

She moved away from me and flagged down the approaching vehicle. Her red dress seemed to glow in its dazzling headlights.

“How? What’s your number?”

“I’m not going to tell you who I am,” she replied as the driver slowed to a halt. “Not yet, Mr. Morgan. Not until I know I can trust you.”

She opened the rear door and slid onto the back seat. Once she was settled, she closed the door and the driver turned the car around and headed back the way he’d come. After the arch he turned left, toward Rome.

I could have kicked myself for failing to suggest to the mystery woman that she should take a chance on me and let me prove how trustworthy I could be on the ride back to the city. Instead, I ambled along the country road, using my phone to summon a car of my own.