The Fallen Angel

PART EIGHT
ONE

Costa wasn’t ready to listen to Falcone’s orders. There were too many questions buzzing around his head. So he went back to the Questura for a few hours, checking to see if forensic had picked up anything new, and whether there was any more information about the missing brother. It was early evening by the time he’d finished, none the wiser. Falcone’s determination to pin everything on searches and formal interviews with Cecilia and Mina Gabriel the following day was starting to make sense. There seemed no other way forward.

Around six thirty he went outside and perched on the scooter, checking the messages on his personal phone, looking forward to some time at home. Someone prodded him on the shoulder. It was Rosa Prabakaran, looking glamorous in her evening uniform: short dress, skimpy T-shirt, gaudy jewellery. She sashayed in front of him and said, ‘Oh my, Nic. A Vespa. You need me on the back, don’t you? Complete the look.’

‘I’m a little old for that,’ he replied.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She was smiling in a way she hadn’t when they’d met earlier, with Gino Riggi. Costa had always liked this smart, difficult woman, and was aware his feelings had, on occasion, been reciprocated, perhaps more than he wanted. ‘We’d make a good pair together down the Campo. You’ve never worked that beat, have you?’

He had, back when he was a young agente, and said so.

‘Ten years ago? It’s different now.’ The smile disappeared and she looked like the pretty young Indian woman he first got to know a few years before. ‘Lots of things are different. It’s important to notice.’

He still didn’t understand why she’d wound up in narcotics. Rosa was back studying for her legal degree in her spare time. She had all the makings of an ambitious officer, one who’d rise swiftly up the ranks. The drugs squad was an important unit in the Questura, but a career in itself, one that usually excluded other areas. It seemed a sideways move.

‘Have a nice night with your friend,’ he said.

‘Gino Riggi is not my friend,’ she replied straight away.

Costa became aware that there was a side to this conversation.

‘Colleague, then.’

She didn’t reply. There was an awkward look in her deep brown eyes, one he thought he recognized. Costa tried to remember the circumstances of Rosa’s departure from Falcone’s unit. It had happened quickly, with no fuss, no recriminations. And she didn’t turn up in narcotics straight away either.

‘I would really appreciate it if you came with me tonight,’ she said with a sudden, earnest intent. ‘It could be in your interest, just as much as mine.’

He looked around. They were outside the Questura, in the Piazza San Michele, beyond the tiny crowd of demonstrators still waving banners in support of Mina Gabriel and women’s rights.

‘Are you looking for Riggi?’ he asked straight out.

She raised her trim shoulders slightly and frowned.

‘Him. And Robert Gabriel.’ He watched as she tried to stifle the briefest moment of embarrassment. ‘Why do I tell you things I’m not supposed to? Things I don’t tell anyone else?’

‘I imagine because you want to.’

‘Yes,’ she said, exasperated. ‘But why?’

He shrugged and waved the phone.

‘Got to make a call. Private. Where do you start and when?’

‘The Coyote. Seven. You know it?’

‘Oh yes. I’ll be there.’

‘Thanks.’

She started to walk away. He caught her arm gently.

‘Does Riggi have any idea he’s under investigation?’ Costa asked. ‘And that you’re the one who’s trying to nail him?’

Rosa looked worried, uncertain of herself, and that was rare.

‘I wish I knew. He’s a slippery bastard. I’ve been with him for a month now. I don’t know half the people he deals with. What he does most of the time.’

He thought about this and asked, ‘What about Robert Gabriel? Have you met him?’

‘Met him? I haven’t even seen him. Riggi insists he deals with the English kid alone. No one else goes near.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, and watched her go.

He looked at the phone. There was a missed call from a number he recognized. He returned it, heard Agata answer, and the relief in her voice, followed quickly by indignation.

‘You never called,’ she said.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the battered stone wall of the Questura.

‘It’s only been a day. Also, I seem to be back at work. Sorry.’

He didn’t say what was in his head: this wasn’t a good idea, she was better off if he stayed out of her life.

‘Can you come round, please? Now?’

He felt tired and grubby. His head ached. Costa checked his watch, calculated he had forty minutes before the appointment with Rosa at the Coyote, took a deep breath and said, ‘Of course.’