Maria was still talking, but Alessandro barely paid her any attention until the doctor, putting his hand on his shoulder, said, “You might want to listen to this.”
“ . . . three of them,” Maria said. “I could tell right away they bad guys. Albania, you give me honor, give me the name Albania,” she quoted solemnly, her hand on her heart. “They dishonor my country, Albania. I spit on them and all their like. But they pay no attention to me and talk loud. No one think a blind beggar woman can hear anything. ‘Keep an eye on her for me, Maria.’ That what Alessandro said. And I do a good job. And the man with the squeaky voice say, ‘This is bad luck, kidnapping cop’s girlfriend and his cop friend. You think he pay?’ And the one with the old voice say, ‘Of course he pay, after what happened last time. Just leave damn paper and let’s go.’ You see, I remember every word, and then I follow them.”
Alessandro kept his head in his hands, but now he was hanging on to Maria’s every word.
“You getting this?” the doctor asked him quietly.
Alessandro nodded.
“I might be blind and born in Tirana, but I know Venice like old gypsy witch’s cat. So I follow them. They go into alley, knock three times on door. I sit down in alley. Man answer door and say, ‘Get in here before anyone sees you. We got her. That fool Marco upstairs too.’”
“Can you find the house again?” Alessandro asked quietly, wondering if the Marco Maria was referring to could possibly be Olivia’s cousin. Was he the missing link in all this?
“Of course. It is house across canal from Signorina Olivia. First door in Calle dello Squero.”
Move over Bruce Willis, there’s a new kid in town, Alessandro thought absurdly. Jumping up from Maria’s bed, he took her wrinkled face in his hands and kissed her.
“You make old woman blush, Alessandro,” she said with a smile.
“And you make me very happy, Maria. Thank you.”
He punched Placido’s number into the phone.
“I was about to storm the hospital to find you,” Placido said on answering.
“You might still get your chance to storm,” he said. “Find any gasoline?”
“Yes, and if I get hauled in for syphoning gas, I trust you’ll put in a good word for me. I’m at the ambulance boat entrance.”
“I’ll be right there. Be ready to go.”
Columbo answered on the first ring.
“Okay,” Alessandro said as he ran down the hospital hall toward the entrance. “It’s the Bruce Willis commando raid—and this had better go off like one.”
He filled Columbo in, and by the time he reached Placido’s boat, the square now ankle-deep in water, they had agreed on a plan.
The fog was as thick as ever, and while Placido drove his boat at a speed that defied the rules of safety and common sense, Alessandro thought the return trip to the Grand Canal was agonizingly slow.
The Customs House glowed in the fog as they passed it, and Placido gave the wooden pilings a wider berth this time. From somewhere far out on the Adriatic, the sound of a foghorn reached them, and the damp sliced through Alessandro’s jacket like a knife, but he barely noticed.
Moments later, they pulled into the old rowing club just beyond the Customs House, the meeting place he’d arranged with Columbo.
Pamela was the first to meet him, a bulletproof vest in her hand. He gave her a tight hug. “I’m sorry I thought you had anything to do with this—”
“Hush,” she said, handing him the vest. “Put this on. We have to rescue your girlfriend, so you can live happily ever after.”