Scott Morgan went to the Palazzo di Giustizia for the judicial hearing regarding the arrest of Diana Bailey, hoping that he might be permitted to listen to the evidence, but he was told by an official that it was just the judge, the lawyers and the defendant. Still, he decided to hang around and get the news as soon as judgement was declared. He asked a clerk which courtroom it was in and sat near the entrance. A dozen other journalists were hanging around, some of whom he recognised. On the next bench along there was a bookish sort of man who looked anxious and out of place, and Scott guessed he might be a friend of Diana’s. He was dressed like an Englishman, in a shirt and tie, trousers and socks with gladiator sandals.
Sooner than he expected, the courtroom door opened and Diana was led out in handcuffs.
‘Trevor,’ she shouted, and blew a kiss at the waiting man. He half stood and spread his arms wide, obviously expecting her to run to him. When she was led off through a doorway instead, he hurried after her calling, ‘Diana! Wait! Where are you taking her?’
A lawyer emerged and summoned the man, Trevor, and they sat in a huddle, head to head. They weren’t far from Scott but their voices were lowered so he couldn’t hear anything. He seemed distraught and that’s when Scott guessed he must be Diana’s husband.
The lawyer spoke to him quietly for about ten minutes, then got up to leave, whereupon some members of the Italian press surrounded him, clamouring for information. Looking dazed, Trevor wandered towards the main doors of the building.
‘Mr Bailey,’ Scott approached him. ‘Scott Morgan. I was a friend of Helen’s and it’s possible I can help with Diana’s case. Can we talk?’
‘Who are you?’ he frowned.
‘I’m a journalist, but I knew Helen. I’m convinced your wife is innocent, and I might have some information that can help her.’
‘What paper do you work for? You’re not planning to write about this by any chance?’
‘I understand why you are suspicious, but I guarantee I won’t write about anything you tell me. I promise.’ He held out his hand. ‘Can I buy you a coffee?’
‘Alright,’ Trevor agreed, and they shook.
They went to a nearby bar, which was empty apart from the owner and a scruffy dog snuffling on the floor. Scott began by telling Trevor about his article on the drugs trade in Rome, and how he had come to know Helen.
Trevor listened carefully. When the coffee came, his hand trembled as he raised the cup, sloshing some into the saucer.
‘Want a brandy to go in that?’ Scott asked. ‘I’ll join you.’
‘Perhaps I will,’ Trevor said. He was on the verge of tears and needed something to stiffen him up.
Scott told Trevor about his encounters with Luigi, then he described his visit to Helen the night before she died when he had found her in such a distressed state.
‘She was very indiscreet about Luigi and I wonder if he had threatened her. It was pretty obvious that she was close to rock bottom but she wouldn’t tell me why. Diana was her closest friend in Rome, so I’m sure that’s why she decided to try and find her the next day. Except she didn’t quite get there.’
Trevor nodded, thinking it over. ‘But what can I do, Mr Morgan? They don’t let you out on bail in this country and I can’t have my wife spending a year in prison. It’s extraordinary! We are not this kind of people.’
‘I know you’re not,’ he soothed. ‘I can see that a mile off. I don’t know what the judge was thinking of.’
Trevor shook his head. ‘I can’t understand why a witness would claim to have seen them. She must be mistaken. And Ernesto Balboni, the man with whom Diana had an “affair”’ – he grimaced – ‘appears to be testifying that he was seeing Helen at the same time. Diana doesn’t believe it, but why is he lying? That’s another thing we need to find out.’
‘It would be difficult for you to make contact with Balboni. You’d probably feel like slugging him, but I could try if you like. I bet I can find a way to catch him off guard.’
‘Are you sure it’s not against the law to contact witnesses?’ He had finished his brandy and seemed more composed.
‘Only if we intimidate them.’ Scott pursed his lips in a half-smile. ‘Let’s trade addresses and phone numbers and keep in touch.’ He scribbled his on a sheet of paper torn from his reporter’s notebook. Trevor wrote the address of Diana’s pensione on the bottom of the page and ripped it off to hand back.
‘The telephone is out of order, I’m afraid, but you will catch me in the room after dinner every evening. I have nothing to do but go back there and read.’
Scott didn’t know what to say. ‘We’re going to solve this, Trevor. Try not to worry too much.’
Trevor tilted his head to one side. ‘“Don’t worry?” You’re not married, are you, Mr Morgan?’ Scott shook his head. ‘No, I thought not.’
When they left the bar, Scott asked if he could give him a lift anywhere but Trevor said he would rather take the bus. The Rome bus service seemed to work rather well. He shuffled off, his shoulders hunched.
Back at his office, Scott rang the Cleopatra press office. ‘One of your crew is dead and another is being investigated for murder. Do you have a comment?’
‘It’s a private matter, in police hands. We have nothing more to say.’
‘I wonder if it would be possible to talk to Ernesto Balboni?’
‘No.’
‘Do you think the threat to kill Elizabeth Taylor might have anything to do with the death of Helen Sharpe?’ He was fishing, but it didn’t get him anywhere.
‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ he was told, and the line went dead.