Private Rome

Chapter 65

Bernardo Baggio’s building looked to be twenty or thirty years old. Modern, but with enough time elapsed since its construction to have acquired some character. The lobby had a marble tile floor, painted plaster walls and an art deco staircase that ran through the heart of the building, creating an atrium topped by a glass roof. Everything was clean and well maintained and the indoor garden of potted plants added to the impression that the residents took pride in their building. There was a sign for an elevator toward the back of the building, but Faduma and I took the stairs.

“You know we’re going to see a cop?” I asked as we climbed.

She looked blank.

“Aren’t you worried about being caught with a fugitive?”

“I’ll just tell them you took me hostage,” she said with a mischievous grin.

I chuckled as we reached the second-floor landing.

We walked through a set of ornately decorated doors into a small lobby with corridors running off it in both directions. A sign informed us apartment 23 was to our right. We walked along the carpeted corridor past apartment doors embellished with wooden details of leaves and branches, complementing the decorative cornicing. Modern buildings didn’t generally expend much effort on decorative touches like these, but here they added a sense of style.

We found apartment 23 and Faduma rang the bell. I noticed the door wasn’t fully in the frame and kicked it gently. It swung open.

“Hello?” I said.

There was no reply, just the stillness of an empty home.

I looked at Faduma, who nodded.

I went first, senses heightened, alert, and she followed. The birds chirping in the trees and cars passing in the street below were audible through the large sash windows, but there was no other sound in the apartment.

The building’s fine finish was evident here too as we walked along a corridor with high ceilings. The walls were half wood panel, half painted plaster, with molded reliefs adorning them here and there. The kitchen lay to our left and was tidy apart from some dishes in the sink. Opposite was a dining room with a long table and eight chairs, all of which looked unused. Further to our right was a sitting room, comfortably furnished with two couches before a television that stood in front of the windows overlooking the street.

Further along on the left was a bathroom, and then at the end of the corridor two bedrooms arranged opposite each other.

I took the one on the right and Faduma went into the room on the left.

There was a king-size bed, a dresser, bureau and a built-in closet with mirrored doors. I caught my reflection and removed the cap and opaque shades to reveal a mop of messy hair and tired eyes. I needed a break when this was over and promised myself I’d go somewhere with Justine.

I moved toward the closet and opened one of the sliding doors. I had seen some grotesque things in my life, but nothing could prevent the gasp of shock I released and the shiver of dismay I experienced when confronted with the body of the man I presumed to be Bernardo Baggio. It was hanging from an electrical cable rigged to a clothes rail. He wasn’t even off the ground. His knees were simply bent so that his neck took the full strain of his own weight. If he’d been conscious when he’d died, he could have stood up at any moment and chosen life.

“Faduma, I’ve found him and it’s not good. If you come in here, prepare yourself,” I said. Moments later she hurried in and joined me.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “Poor man.”

“We need to call—” I began, but cut myself off when I noticed a red target marker appear on the back of her head.

“Down!” I yelled, grabbing her and pushing her to the floor.