72

Climbing the stairs in the run-down building in the Pigneto district, Giulio heard his cell phone ring. He pulled it out. To Raffaele he said, “It’s Esposito.” To the Gendarme: “How did it go? Learn anything?”

“He gave me a list of shady dealers who might fence stolen art. I think they ought to be followed up but I don’t expect anything to come of it.”

“Okay, I can get someone on it. Unless you have people who can do it?” After all, it was Esposito’s find.

“They’d be me,” Esposito answered shortly.

“Fine. I’ll give my boss your number. Someone’ll call for the list. That’s all?”

“Not exactly.” Esposito’s grin came through loud and clear. “I insisted that he himself wasn’t under suspicion, oh no way. That we overworked cops only wanted the help of an upstanding citizen like himself. That we felt lucky to have him as a resource.”

“Did he buy it?”

“Of course not. In fact he tried to distract me by coming on to me.”

“Why, that old dog.”

“As you say. I pretended to pretend not to notice.”

“Esposito, you’re confusing me,” said Giulio, who wasn’t in the least confused.

“I’m sure,” Esposito said cheerfully. “Anyway, I’m hoping now he’ll tip his hand.”

“If he has one to tip.”

“He does.” The Gendarme sounded completely confident. “I’m not sure how deeply he’s involved but there’s no question he’s hiding something. I know you have a man here, but I’d like to stay on him myself. I have a feeling things could get interesting.”

It didn’t escape Giulio’s notice that the idea was phrased as a request, as though Esposito were under Giulio’s authority. They both knew that wasn’t the case, and that Esposito could stay if he wanted, or go if he wanted. “You have any experience with surveillance?”

“Not here. On the force in Naples, though.”

And I bet you’re good at it, Giulio thought. “Okay, go ahead. I’ll get my man reassigned.” Freeing up a Carabiniere—that should make the maresciallo happy. “Let me know right away if anything breaks. Hey, Esposito,” Giulio said as a thought struck him. “I don’t suppose he gave you anything I could use to get a wiretap warrant?”

“I fished for it, but no such luck. But he’s probably using a cell phone anyway.”

“True. All right, give me a call when you have something.” He was going to add, Or when you want to be relieved, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t be for a long time.

“I will. If you don’t mind my asking, what are you up to?”

Giulio wasn’t used to that question from anyone except his partner and his boss. But it had been asked deferentially enough; and the kid had earned an answer. “I had search warrants for Livia Pietro’s house and Jorge Ocampo’s flat. And through your boss, for the priest’s room in the Vatican. Pietro’s and Kelly’s places haven’t given us anything, but we got a call from the team going through Ocampo’s place. Orsini and I just got here.”

“Anything good?”

“We’re about to walk in the door. Don’t worry, Esposito, we’ll let you know.”

At the top of the stairs he handed his cell phone to an officer, telling him to get the last number that called it to the maresciallo and explaining why. The officer was clearly pleased to have a reason to bring himself to the attention of the big boss, and Giulio was equally pleased to avoid him.

Raffaele was waiting for Giulio in the hallway. “Esposito found something?”

“Not yet. He set the guy up. He’s pretty good, Raffaele. He’s wasted over there.” They’d reached the top floor, where the ceilings and the rents were lower than for the other dumps in this exhausted building. The door at the end of the hall was open. An officer standing at it waved Giulio and Raffaele in.

Dingy, rank-smelling, its chipped tile floor sticky under their shoes, Ocampo’s one room was more of a mess than even Carabinieri executing a search warrant could have made. Giulio grinned to himself as the dapper Raffaele wrinkled his nose.

“What do you have?” he asked the officer in charge.

“Over here, sir.”

Over there, indeed. Giulio would have spotted it himself as soon as he turned around. A wall of photos, a vase of fresh flowers on the shelf below. A silk scarf under the vase. The scarf, the flowers, and the blond girl in the photos were all of them far too high-class for a man who lived in a room like this.

“Who is she?”

“Her name’s Anna. That’s all we know so far.” The officer tapped one of the photos, where the margin was carefully labeled Anna en la playa.

“We’d better find her. She might be in danger. This guy just went from thief to serious nutcase.”

“Or not,” Raffaele said. “Look. The guy—Ocampo—he’s in half these pictures with her.”

Giulio looked again. It was true. Smiling, sometimes with their arms around each other, Ocampo and this Anna looked out at them from a café, from someone’s living room, from a tree-lined street. The girl seemed perfectly happy, even smug, while Ocampo himself had a grateful, puppy-dog air. Giulio’s thinking started down an entirely different path. “You know what? Find her anyway.”