27

THEY HAD ARRANGED to meet the Italian couple at a café across from the restaurant. Once he’d calmed down properly, Genovesi made it clear that he wanted to regain control of the interviews, insisting that he be the one to make the introductions. Scamarcio hadn’t the energy to fight, feeling too troubled by what was happening down in the Capital.

They were an interesting couple — intellectuals, artistic types, from Rome. The young man had shoulder-length dark hair and a strong nose and jaw, but his eyes were too small, almost rat-like.

The girlfriend was petite, blonde, and blue-eyed, with a delicate, round face. He worked for the press department of a political party that Scamarcio had recently lost patience with. She was finishing a PhD in global migration patterns. Scamarcio never ceased to wonder at the range of obscure subjects you could study these days. He considered whether, as a student in Palermo, he would have chosen differently had these choices been available to him then. He could be working for the UN, getting involved in international politics, changing history. It would have made more sense than chasing around after the dead. But he reminded himself that Stacey Baker might still be alive. Even though she wasn’t the focus of his investigation, if they found her in time this would be one of those rare occasions when his job actually made a difference, when he could feel that he was on the right path. He didn’t want to leave this inquiry just yet, and wondered how long it would be before the chief put pressure on him to return.

The girlfriend downed her espresso. Zanini was watching her, a venal absence in his eyes.

Scamarcio watched the boyfriend watch Zanini.

Genovesi cleared his throat, resting a hairy arm on the table.

‘The American family told us that there was an ice-cream seller on the beach.’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said the boy matter-of-factly.

‘Why didn’t anyone mention this before?’ the chief asked, averting his eyes from Scamarcio.

The couple exchanged glances. ‘We didn’t think of it,’ said the girl. ‘It was all such a rush when we spoke to you at the beach.’

Genovesi rubbed a hand across his balding pate. ‘What did he look like, this man?’

‘Black, tall,’ said the boy.

‘He was wearing African robes,’ said the girl. ‘With one of those hats. And he seemed dignified. He had a handsome face — strong bones.’

‘What else?’ Genovesi sounded bored, exasperated. He wanted them to know that they weren’t giving him what he wanted.

‘The Americans bought something from him, I think,’ said the girl.

Genovesi had shifted his gaze, and was now watching the young barista serve drinks to a group of teenagers who were obviously underage. The girl seemed confused by the drift in his attention.

‘Was there anything that struck you as unusual, out of place, that day?’ asked Scamarcio from his standing position.

She threw a searching look at her boyfriend. He looked away for a moment.

‘He was swimming with her in the water,’ he said, finally meeting Scamarcio’s eye.

‘Who?’

‘The ice-cream guy. I remember seeing them both in the water.’

‘What? Together?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re telling me the ice-cream guy was with the little girl in the water?’

‘Yes.’

‘Didn’t you find that odd? Where were the parents at that point?’

‘I think they were asleep.’

The young man scratched at the base of his skull. ‘And, yes, it was a bit strange, but then he kind of swam away from her, and I realised they weren’t swimming together. He’d just been swimming near her.’

‘And then what happened?’

‘He just kept swimming away. And then she got out and went back to her parents.’

‘You’re sure about that?’

‘Very sure, because I remember being relieved somehow to see her get out. I felt that I could continue with my book, that I didn’t need to watch her anymore — if you know what I mean.’ He looked into his lap awkwardly.

‘But you didn’t mention this before?’

He scratched again — his chin this time. ‘When I first spoke to you guys on the beach, I did remember it, but because he swam away from her and she got out, I kind of thought that was that, that was the end to it, and it wasn’t worth mentioning.’ He paused. ‘I guess I’ve been stupid.’

Genovesi tut-tutted, shaking his head now.

‘No,’ said Scamarcio. He could see Genovesi’s shoulder blades tighten beneath his shirt.

‘When the man swam away from her, what direction did he take?’

‘He went around the rocks at the end of the beach.’ He paused. ‘To the left of where the family was sitting.

‘So he went out of sight?’

‘Yes.’

‘And did you see him again after that?’

‘No, that was it. And not long after that, the mother started to scream.’

‘How long after?’

‘No more than half an hour, I’d say.’