The Few (36 page)

‘Yeah, they've been putting the pressure on, but nobody's giving up anything.'

‘I had the sense that one of them, goes by the name of Pety, knew a bit more than he was letting on. He seemed to be the spokesman for them all. It might be worth them putting the heat on him.'

‘I think they've been turning the heat up under all of them, but I'll pass that on. In the meantime, listen to this other recording.'

Scamarcio saw that Garramone had lined up a second file on the iPhone. He pressed ‘Play' again.

It was the same angry Sicilian, who he now presumed was Luca Moltisanti. ‘Don't write this down. You're going to Monticiano, south-south-west of Siena. As you head into the village, take a left at the first roundabout. Follow that road along for five minutes. Eventually on the right you'll see a sign for the Tre Santi vineyard. Go up that track, and then turn left. At the end of that road you'll find a villa. They'll be waiting for you — 7.00pm.'

‘Got it,' said Ymeri.

‘We'll have your money ready. You take it, and then you leave immediately. Understood?'

‘Understood.'

‘And, Ymeri, you'd better get this right — otherwise there won't be a next time.'

‘OK.'

‘You don't sound confident, Ymeri.'

‘It will work out, I assure you.'

The Sicilian just hung up.

Scamarcio pulled out the headphones. ‘Are we going to raid the villa?'

‘It's in discussion.'

‘What does Nepi think? Have they said enough for the magistrates there?'

‘He's happy enough with the evidence so far, but less happy about the raid — he wants to give Ymeri more rope to hang the brothers with so we can get a fix on their location. He doesn't expect to find the brothers at the villa — just a few minions and, obviously, Ymeri when he shows up with the girl. He still doesn't reckon the Moltisanti would have left Sicily. They're in hiding like all the rest, and run their operations from the different basements they move to every twenty-four hours.'

‘What put them in hiding? What does he have on them so far?'

‘I'm not sure he does — nothing concrete, anyway. They're naughty boys, in hiding more from their masters than from the squad. Nepi wants them to open up about their former employers. I guess he's on a fishing expedition for a few names and burial sites. He needs something to reel them in with, that he can use to cut a deal.'

‘And that's where the parties come in?'

‘I guess so.'

Scamarcio nodded. ‘So what now?'

‘We wait. Like they say, Ymeri is supposed to be bringing the girl tomorrow.'

‘And the Moltisanti?'

‘Nepi is working hard through his contacts to fix a location for them — he thinks somewhere in central Sicily, but he still needs to narrow it down.'

‘What about Gela?'

‘Why do you say that?'

‘You mentioned before that you'd known the PM from there.'

‘So?'

‘It's just an idea — the place just popped into my head.'

‘The Moltisanti are Gela boys.'

‘Really?'

The chief just nodded.

‘Did you know them, too?'

He shook his head, but Scamarcio wasn't quite sure he believed him.

‘They are Gela boys, Scamarcio — it would be too obvious for them to be there.'

‘Sometimes obvious is best.'

Garramone leaned back in his seat. ‘I actually put that one to Nepi, but he says not in this case.'

‘But it could be days, if not weeks, before he gets a location on them. I presume Nepi had been trying for a long time before we came along.'

‘Maybe. Maybe not. Not if he didn't have anything concrete on them. He keeps his cards close — I'm not in the loop.'

‘We need that raid. We need to get to the girl.'

‘We'll get it. Don't worry about Nepi.'

Scamarcio thought for a moment. They needed to make it easier for Nepi to let the raid go ahead.

‘Listen, boss, I've got a call to make. Mind if I step outside for a moment?'

‘Take the time you need.'

Scamarcio pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit up, leaving the jacket hanging over his chair. He stepped out into the dusty chaos of Via Nazionale. It was forecast to reach 34 degrees today: it was turning into one of those tropical Junes, hot and dry with the odd afternoon monsoon. Usually, they heralded a disappointing August.

He didn't have the number on speed-dial, and didn't have it written down anywhere. That had been drummed into him from an early age. The old guy had said to call when he felt the need. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, but desperate times and all that. Principles were all well and good, but they only worked on paper. Reality often called for something different, didn't it?

‘Yes,' croaked the old man. Scamarcio pictured him sitting up at the bar, his blue beret tilted to the right, the eyes black and beady behind thick lenses, scanning every hapless visitor that came in.

‘It's Leo.'

There was a pause down the line. Then: ‘Ah, Leo, my boy. What a nice surprise.'

‘Listen, I need a favour.'

‘A favour? Well, you know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I promised your father that much.'

Scamarcio took a breath. ‘Can we meet?'

It was just as he'd pictured it when they'd spoken on the phone. He was sitting at the bar when Scamarcio came in, his blue beret inclined to the right. The old man hugged and kissed him on both cheeks, and then ushered him out back.

A huge table was laid out with spaghetti and ragù, prosciutto and cheeses, bruschetta — the works.

‘You hungry?' The old man didn't wait for an answer. He just started loading food on a paper plate and set it down in front of him.

Two of his lieutenants were eating at the end of the table, giving Scamarcio a nod as he sat down.

‘It's Lucio's boy,' explained the old man. The two lieutenants nodded again, placing their fists on their hearts, as was the way.

‘Eat, eat — you don't look like you get enough to eat.'

Scamarcio started on the ragù. It was one of the best he'd tasted. The old man pulled out a seat next to him, and leaned in. ‘Good, huh? You can't fault Chiara — she's the best.' Scamarcio remembered that Chiara was his sister, and murmured in agreement.

‘So, Leo, what is this favour you need from us?'

‘You know the Moltisanti brothers?'

‘Sicilians?'

‘Yes.'

The old man exchanged glances with his two lieutenants. They all seem surprised by the question. ‘I know of them, yes, but have never had the pleasure.' The sarcasm was acidic.

‘What do you know of them?'

‘I heard they fell out with their commanders, have become loose cannons, got a few backs up — that kind of thing.'

‘Would you know where to find them?'

The old man clapped his hands together and laughed. His lieutenants laughed with him. ‘Would
I
know where to find them? Ah, Leo!'

Scamarcio said nothing, and just stared him out. Eventually, the old man said: ‘We're Calabrians, Leo, not Sicilians.'

‘Come on, I wasn't born yesterday,' said Scamarcio. ‘You know people who know people. I need this, Piero, and I need it fast.'

Piero Piocosta nodded slowly, as if weighing it up.

‘And?'

‘And you know I'd make it worth your while.'

54

HE DECIDED TO TAKE
a walk along the Tiber. He felt sick. It wasn't the quantity of food he'd eaten, but the thought of what he'd just done. In terms of his personal development, he'd probably set himself back five years. He couldn't tell Doctor Salvai about this — he mustn't allow it to come tumbling out when he next had a confessional moment. And what would they want in return? He kicked an old shoe lying by the wall, and then kicked it again. Oh, who gave a shit? It was a girl's life at stake, and they needed that raid to go ahead — it mustn't be headed off by Nepi and his squad. This was how it worked, how their damaged little world turned. He couldn't beat himself up if he strayed to the dark to get back to the light. Could he? Once again, he felt the need for someone or something to ground him, to help him make sense of it all.

His mobile was ringing. He flipped it open, but for some reason decided not to say anything.

‘Scamarcio, is that you?' It was Garramone. He sounded beaten.

‘What's up?'

‘Still no progress on Elba, and I'm having trouble getting the green light on that raid.' He could tell that Garramone just needed to let off steam to someone, and that Scamarcio was the only person he could talk to right now.

‘Great.'

Scamarcio kicked the wall. Some slimy moss attached to his shoe. Were they just going to stand back and allow Stacey Baker to be ruined? Were they so calculating that they were willing to sacrifice a child? And there might be other children being delivered to tomorrow's get-together. If the raid went ahead, there was also a chance of reaching them.

‘Scamarcio, you've gone quiet.'

‘I can't believe that it's actually come to this: that the squad is just going to turn a blind eye to a little girl getting led to the slaughter. Is their greater good so fucking important? We need that raid, Garramone.'

The chief sighed down the line. ‘The Antimafia guys are the gods, you know that. If there's a major conviction in the offing, the chiefs will back a delaying strategy. They'll just put it on the slate for next time.'

‘But next time will be too late.'

‘My hands are tied — I can't see a way around it, as hard as I try.'

The call-waiting signal kicked in on Scamarcio's phone. ‘Listen, I'm going to have to call you back.'

He switched to the new caller. ‘Scamarcio.'

‘It's Ms Santa, Arthur's friend from upstairs. Do you remember me?'

‘Yes, of course.' He took a deep breath. ‘How can I help?'

‘You said to call any time, so I thought I should let you know that Arthur's father and brother have arrived here from Argentina. I think you should speak to them — it might be useful for your investigation.'

Something about the way she said it had him turning right immediately over the Ponte Garibaldi towards Trastevere.

Along Arthur's staircase a slight tang of iron still tainted the air, but the police ribbons had gone, and there was nothing to suggest that just a few days before this had been a murder scene. He knocked on the door to Arthur's apartment, and Ms Santa opened up. She seemed battered and drawn, and wasn't wearing any make-up. ‘Good afternoon, Detective,' she said, keeping her voice low, and gesturing to two men standing looking lost to the right of the trashed living room. They were both lean and tall: the older one was slightly stooped, with greying hair, clutching a white handkerchief; the other, maybe thirty years younger, was resting a hand on his back. ‘They wanted to see her place,' she explained. ‘I'm not sure it was such a good idea.' Scamarcio said nothing. He just smiled gently and raised an eyebrow.

‘Anyway, I shall leave you to it, Detective. I will be upstairs if you need anything.'

He thanked her and took a few steps into the room. The men turned as he did so, so he gave them a nod and pulled out his card. He quickly showed it to each of them, and then shook hands with them both.

In English, he said: ‘Detective Scamarcio, Rome police. I'm deeply sorry for your loss.'

The younger man nodded. ‘Thank you. My father speaks no English, and mine is not so good, so do you mind if we go slowly?'

‘Not a problem,' said Scamarcio. ‘Would you like to stay here, or would you prefer somewhere …' he looked around him, ‘… more comfortable?'

The younger man, who he put in his early forties, shook his head. ‘My father prefers to stay here. He wants to be close to José. You understand?'

For a moment, Scamarcio was confused, and then remembered that Arthur had started life as José. He was glad the man had mentioned the name — it cleared up the diplomatic issue of how to refer to him. ‘You and José were brothers?'

‘Yes. José was my younger brother. We are, we were, four boys, and he was the youngest, the baby.' He looked to his father for a moment. ‘My parents are very, very sad about this — destroyed. I worry for them. It was such a bad way to die.'

‘How old was José?'

‘He just turned 18. One month ago.'

Scamarcio swallowed, feeling suddenly down. ‘When did you last see your brother?'

The man shook his head. ‘A long time ago, I don't know the years — maybe two, maybe three — José left La Quiaca. He had always imagined a better life for himself. After that, we didn't see him so much.'