Private Rome

Chapter 7

I couldn’t understand Matteo’s statement, but Inspector Esposito’s skepticism transcended language. I recognized Matteo’s defensive tone and the irritation in Gianna Bianchi’s frequent interruptions. Matteo’s account of events clearly wasn’t satisfying the abrasive inspector. After an hour, she brought the interview to a close and led us out.

“I didn’t do it,” Matteo called to us as we left the room. “You have to believe me, Jack.”

He seemed so earnest, his tone pleading. If he was guilty, he was an excellent actor, but then years of police work would have exposed him to the most convincing criminals. Proving innocence was not about observing human emotion; it was about interpreting the evidence. Gianna and Esposito spoke together as the Inspector led us back through a maze of corridors to the imposing lobby.

“Have a good day, Mr. Morgan,” Esposito said, as we stepped through the security door into the vaulted space. It was busier now, with people gathered around the reception desk and thronging the waiting area.

“You too,” I replied, before she retreated into the building and the door swung shut behind her.

Gianna muttered a curse and I looked at her quizzically.

“Signor Ricci does not have a convincing explanation of events,” she said. “He claims to have suffered a blackout — says he has no recollection of how he came to be holding the gun. He admits there was no one else in the room.”

“Apart from Father Brambilla,” I remarked.

“Exactly. How could the priest kill himself and still hand Signor Ricci the gun? Or is the more plausible explanation that Ricci shot Father Brambilla?”

She hesitated.

“Don’t answer that,” she advised. “I need to maintain a reasonable belief in his innocence.”

“I think he is innocent,” I responded.

“How did it happen then?”

“I don’t know,” I conceded. “That’s what I need to figure out, but unless I’ve become a terrible judge of character, I believe Matteo’s telling the truth.”

“I will take heart from your belief, Mr. Morgan. It will help me do my job.”

Of course, my instincts wouldn’t keep Matteo out of prison. I didn’t know the man particularly well and couldn’t vouch for him, but I knew when someone was telling the truth and Matteo was either being honest or else he was utterly deluded, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t the latter. But my hunches wouldn’t cut it.

A court would require evidence, and if Esposito was convinced she had her killer, she wouldn’t pull at any threads that might prove his innocence. But I could.

“Do you think you could see if Luna Colombo is on duty?” I asked Gianna. “She used to be Matteo’s partner before he left the force. He told me to talk to her.”

Gianna nodded and went to the reception desk where she pushed through a small crowd of people and spoke to one of the duty officers. She returned a few moments later.

“They don’t normally give out information but I’ve made some friends here. Detective Colombo telephoned sick today.”

Coincidence or evasion? I wondered.

“Thanks,” I replied.

“You’re going to work the case yourself?” Gianna asked, as we walked out through the lobby.

I nodded. “We don’t have any local detectives who’ve completed their training yet. And something doesn’t sit right with me. I can’t leave Matteo like this.”

“Then let me know what you find,” she said.

“I will,” I replied as we stepped into the shadow of the wide stone arch.

A warm breeze blew in from the street and carried with it the smell of traffic fumes.

“Good luck, Mr. Morgan,” Gianna said, turning left.

I was about to turn right toward Via Piancenza, but caught sight of a face I recognized on the other side of the street. It was the mysterious woman who had been lurking in the grounds of La Posta Vecchia. I paused to allow a slow-moving car to pass by then crossed the road to join her.

“Waiting for me?” I asked.

“Waiting to see who goes to visit your man,” she replied.

“We could compare notes,” I suggested.

She was in jeans and a white T-shirt today, looking more like a Ralph Lauren model than a journalist.

“I work alone,” she replied. “Besides you don’t have anything to compare. You’re new to Rome. I don’t think you have anything worth trading.”

I scoffed but her words hit home. I’d been an outsider in Beijing and Moscow and knew how a lack of local knowledge could hinder an investigation.

“Go to the Pleasure Hall. It’s a brothel in Tor Bella Monaca. If you’re as good as people say, you might find something there that’s worth trading.”

She eyed me closely as she walked away. It was clear she still didn’t trust me, but she was prepared to test my competence. As she crossed the street, I took out my phone and used it to snap a few surreptitious pictures of her.

I’d inhabited the shadowy world of crime and mystery for longer than I cared to remember, and this stranger was making a mistake in calling into question my honesty and ability. But some people need to learn the hard way.