D’Amore accompanied Colomba and Santini to their car, leaving Di Marco behind to lecture the prime minister about the urgent necessity of full and wholehearted cooperation. Santini made a pit stop in the men’s bathroom and D’Amore took advantage of the opportunity to talk to Colomba confidentially.
“We don’t know anything more about Bonaccorso than what we said during the meeting, but maybe we’ve figured out why he killed Romero: the port.”
“The port?” Colomba asked in some surprise.
“The area around the yacht club where the Chourmo was tied up is notorious as a hotbed of male prostitution,” D’Amore explained. “Romero was identified a couple of days before the Palasport attack in the intimate company of a rent boy. We think that, before leaving Venice again, he returned to the site, just as Bonaccorso was boarding the sailboat with Torre thrown over his shoulder. Maybe Romero offered to help.”
Colomba imagined the scene. “Poor sucker … But didn’t anybody think to look for him?”
“He’d already checked out from the hotel. Is there anything particular that you find surprising?”
Colomba shook her head. Leo had told her on the phone that Romero had been easy to hook up with, but he hadn’t actually and explicitly said that he’d hooked up with him. “Well, if you include him, we have a nice round number,” she said grimly. “Fifty. Without counting the collateral victims like the Melases.”
“The investigation into their murder is going to be handed off to the attorney general, who’ll operate in close coordination with you. But for the work that needs to be done on the ground around Portico, we’d like to have someone we know, someone who understands what’s at stake.”
“Ask Santini. You’ve already got him on retainer.”
Just then Santini showed up, his mustache dripping wet. “I’m going to get some sleep,” he said as he limped toward the car. “You two take all the time you want. Ciao, D’Amore, it’s been indescribably delightful.”
D’Amore watched him go. “He’s already got his hands full. I was referring to you. You found Torre all by yourself, Colomba.” He called her by her given name for the first time.
“Dumb luck.”
“No, it was because you’re one of the people who knows Bonaccorso best.”
Colomba wanted to shout at him, but she lacked the strength. “I don’t know him, all right? He made a fool of me, the same way he’s making fools of you all.”
“Don’t let your dislike of Di Marco lead you astray. He’s always put duty above all else.”
“Unlike the rest of you.” Colomba climbed into the car and put an end to the conversation by slamming the door behind her. Inside, the usual two nonbrothers awaited her, along with Santini, who was already snoring and wafting out clouds of alcoholic fumes. When they arrived in Rimini, the eastern sky was brightening with the onset of dawn. In the hospital, Colomba looked in on Dante behind the plate-glass window, and then stretched out on the single bed for guests, outside the sterile zone, and fell asleep without even taking off her combat boots.
Santini, on the other hand, continued to Rome, dreaming of shirtless barefoot fight scenes.