31

FIAMMETTA WAS DOING BREATHING exercises when he walked in, the enormous bulk of his child resting on her thighs. There was something almost obscene about it; it didn’t even look natural anymore.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, wondering for the thousandth time how women could put up with this.

She stopped the strange breathing and shifted around on the parquet to face him. ‘It’s getting a bit much. It’s starting to feel too heavy, now. My ribs are killing me.’

He bent down and kissed her forehead. ‘I’m sorry, Fiammetta. I wish there was something I could do to help.’

‘You could get me some fries and a burger.’

‘Do we have any?’

‘Would you mind popping out?’

‘I’ve only just got in.’

‘You just said you’d do anything to help.’

Scamarcio supressed a sigh. He just wanted to flop down on the sofa and relax. ‘What kind of burger?’

‘Double cheese with extra-large fries and ketchup.’

‘Isn’t that a bit greasy?’

‘I’m the one carrying our child, so I’m the one who decides what I eat.’

Scamarcio put his jacket back on and cast his eyes to the ceiling so he didn’t have to look at her. Sometimes he noticed a new imperiousness to Fiammetta, a hardness he didn’t recognise. He hoped it would pass once the baby was born.

The air was bitingly cold as he stepped back out onto the street. He felt a wetness against his cheek and realised too late that it was raining, but he couldn’t be bothered going back inside for an umbrella. The nearest burger joint was fifteen minutes’ walk, but on the plus side, at least it would give him the chance to smoke. The traffic on Via Venti Settembre sounded like it was tuning up for a fight. The rain was making people impatient. He watched as a rusty white truck rear-ended a black people-carrier. The drivers poured out onto the pavement and an ‘in your face’ argument ensued. He looked the other way.

He felt his mobile vibrate, and, through the raindrops, he saw Katia Borghese’s name appear on the screen.

‘Detective, you’ve got to help.’ She sounded choked, as if she was fighting back tears.

‘Has something happened?’ He stepped into a small alleyway, where several pigeons were rooting around in an overturned dustbin. The arrival of two stray cats quickly saw them off.

‘It’s Gennaro — he came home briefly last night, but then he disappeared again.’

‘You haven’t seen him since?’

‘He said he was going to work — he said he wanted to go to the office because he needed the distraction. But I called him there as I couldn’t reach him on his mobile, and they said he hadn’t been in all day.’

Scamarcio cleared his throat then swallowed. ‘Katia, I don’t know how to put this, but …’

‘Oh, save yourself the trouble. I already called her, and she hasn’t seen him either.’

‘Was she expecting to?’

‘She claims that he hasn’t been answering her calls and that she hasn’t heard from him in hours.’ She paused for a beat. ‘Unusual, apparently,’ she added bitterly.

‘And his mother?’

‘She phoned me about an hour ago, wondering where he was — he’d promised to pop in on his way back from work.’

Scamarcio let out a quiet sigh. He noticed that one of the cats was making good progress with a chicken carcass. For a moment, Scamarcio felt like the one being mercilessly picked over.

‘Where do you think he might be, Katia?’

‘I’ve no idea, but I’ve got an awful feeling that it could be connected with this secret plan of his. I think he might be in trouble.’

Scamarcio held the phone away from his ear for a moment and tried to ease out a sudden crick in his neck. ‘Listen, Katia, try to stay calm. One of my detectives is going to call you — you’re going to need to give him Gennaro’s mobile phone number and the service provider he uses.’

‘Don’t you have his number?’

‘We do, but we need to double-check it with you, and we need the provider — do you know it off the top of your head?’

‘I think it’s TIM, same as me, but I’ll find a bill so I’m sure.’

‘Good. Once we have that information, we’ll triangulate his phone — that means we’ll try to identify the phone masts his cell most recently checked in with.’

‘OK.’

Scamarcio thought for a moment, then said, ‘I’m going to stop by your place. It might be best not to buzz anyone in until I arrive.’

‘You think I’m at risk?’

‘No, but it costs nothing to take a few precautions. There’s something I need to do first — I should be with you in about an hour.’

‘All right, I’ll be waiting.’

Scamarcio hung up and exited the fetid alleyway. He was sorely tempted to ditch the trip to the burger bar, but he knew there’d be hell to pay if he did. He hurried up Via Venti Settembre, pushing past groups of confused-looking tourists, then swung a right onto Via Goito towards Termini, where he knew there was a McDonald’s.

His heart sank when he saw the queue inside. Desperate times: he pulled out his badge and pushed his way to the front.

‘What’s going on?’ asked an acne-ridden boy on the till.

‘We think an armed criminal might have come in here — you seen anyone acting strangely?’

The boy looked terrified and started scanning the faces in the queue. ‘No, I mean, I don’t think so, but you know …’

‘Listen, stay calm — we don’t want to worry the customers. Just let me stand here a moment so I can survey the scene. To make things less conspicuous, could you fetch me a double cheeseburger and extra-large fries — I don’t want to be noticed.’

‘Sure, got you.’ The boy hurried off, and Scamarcio saw him whisper something to a tall guy with a headset. He was wearing a shirt and tie and looked like the manager. After a moment, they both glanced furtively in Scamarcio’s direction. Scamarcio turned away and cast his gaze around the restaurant, pulling out his mobile as he did so.

The boy was soon back with the food, the manager beside him. Scamarcio produced his wallet, half-expecting trouble.

‘No, officer — it’s on the house. Thank you for your service. We greatly appreciate it,’ said the manager, handing him the big brown bag.

‘That’s kind.’ Scamarcio waved the bag in the air. ‘I’ll remember this. The place is secure — he must have headed somewhere else. Sorry for the inconvenience.’

‘No, we’re just glad you checked.’

Scamarcio threw them a wave and hurried out, ignoring the angry stares from the other customers.

The strange thing was that, as he headed home, he thought he spotted a figure, or the shadow of a figure, darting down a side street: a ghost gone as quickly as it had appeared. Once again, he felt a chill hit his spine — it was almost as if his armed criminal had become real and was on his tail.