Spider

31

Rome Benedetta Albonetti was by no means the only love in Massimo's life. As well as his wife, he had another great passion: a very sexy young model.

His blue'97 Maserati Ghibli coupe had been a surprise gift. It had been left to him in the will of a Roman banker whom, almost two decades earlier, Massimo had saved during an armed robbery that ended in a very public and bloody shoot-out. Mass had picked up the classic car just six days after his fiftieth birthday and he intended to keep it until his dying day; which, Benedetta joked, would be sooner rather than later, judging by the way he drove it.

Today, despite leaving the office early, it had taken him almost an hour to get out of the centre of Rome and another twenty minutes before he had a chance to ease the manual gearbox into sixth and open up the twin turbo. While Massimo could clearly see the irony of enduring a two-hour journey in a car that could hit 100 kph in less than six seconds, instead of catching a sluggish metro train that would have got him home in less than thirty minutes, he couldn't care less. He loved every minute he spent in the Maserati, and, for him, the daily drive home to the seaside village of Ostia wasn't an ordeal, it was 'therapy'. It was his way of leaving work behind, both geographically and mentally. Usually, by the time he pulled up outside his modest three-bedroomed house, he was a completely different person from the police Direttore who immersed himself in a world of blood spatters, body swabs and bullet entry wounds.

Fifteen minutes from Ostia, his in-car telephone rang. When he answered, the voice of Jack King immediately made him slow down.

'Where are you?' asked Jack, acutely aware of the engine noise as the Maserati growled its reluctance to be shifted from sixth into fourth.

'On my way home,' shouted Mass, fiddling with the awkward blue-tooth ear attachment that he hated wearing. 'Benedetta and the children are flying to Nice, to be with her sister and some friends of hers. I have promised to take them to the airport, so I left the office early.'

'I hope they're well,' said Jack. 'Nancy was asking after them.'

'Grazie,' said Massimo. 'So, do I understand then that you have told your charming wife everything about our conversation?'

'Most of it,' answered Jack. 'Though of course I spared her some of the details. There's no need for her to know too much, you understand how they all worry.'

'Indeed,' said Massimo. 'And after talking with her, you are still willing to help?'

'Would I be calling if I wasn't? Where and when do you need me?'

'Rome. As soon as you can make it.'

'Okay. Fine.'

'When will that be, Jack?'

He thought for a moment. 'Not tomorrow. I need a day at home to sort things out, make sure Nancy is going to be okay running the hotel without me. How long do you think you'll need me?'

Massimo swore in Italian and sounded his horn at a big old Ford that seemed to extract great delight from undertaking and then cutting in front of the Maserati. 'Scusi, some idiots on the road here,' he explained, then added, 'It's hard to imagine you as an hotelier, Jack. You should think of being away a week. Maybe a couple of days here in Rome, then I'm sure you'll want to go to the scene in Livorno.'

Jack ran the dates through his head. 'Sounds about right, but I don't have much leeway, I have to be back for the eighth, it's our wedding anniversary. I'm dead as Parma ham if I don't make that.'

'Non c'e problema,' said Massimo, fighting an urge to chase the old Ford, fill its bonnet with his exhaust fumes, then pull the guy over and show him his badge.

'You got a translator for me? You know my Italian is non-existent.'

'Orsetta will go with you. Her English is good enough, no?'

Jack hesitated. Really, he would rather she wasn't there, but it would be impossible to explain why. 'Sure, her English is just fine.'

'She is bellissima, no?' said Massimo, mischievously. 'Una bella donna.'

'Leave it out, Mass, you know me better than that. I'm a one-woman man, always have been, hope I always will be.'

'Perfetto,' answered Massimo. 'Me too, but Orsetta, she would drive even the Holy Father to sin.'

'Well, it's not a complication I need in my life,' said Jack. 'The documents she gave me were useful, but I could do with more details.'

'We will prepare a full brief for you when you arrive.'

'Great, but I need the complete autopsy report as well. No disrespect, but your Medical Examiners are not US standard. Maybe we should have whoever did Cristina Barbuggiani's examination on standby for interview? Will you please check he isn't on holiday, and can see me sometime soon?'

'The pathologist you ask for is a she,' answered Mass. 'I will make sure she is available for interview while you are here.' Hesitantly, he added, 'There are – how should we say – some other post-mortem details that were not in the report that I sent you.'

Jack remembered that the papers he'd seen had been a top-level report, sent to the Prime Minister's private office. 'Mass, the documents I saw had gone to the Prime Minister himself. Are you saying there's something you are keeping from him, or is it something that you are keeping just from me?'

Massimo Albonetti screwed up his face. 'I'm afraid it's something I have had to keep from both of you. Only a few people know what I refer to, and I am sorry but I cannot go into it on a phone line like this one. I promise though, I will tell you the very minute you get here.'

Massimo said 'Ciao' and hung up before Jack could press the subject. And in that split second, Jack was sure he heard the Maserati growl down a gear and then let out a loud roar of hard acceleration.