CHAPTER FIVE

It was cool in the whitewashed, crypt-like building that held several raised stone slabs only one of which was dressed in a white sheet. Angela shivered. The small, plump man who had shown them inside came forward and drew back the sheet revealing the body beneath.

Angela gazed at the face of the man and her stomach turned over. She turned into Jack’s shoulder trying desperately to check the nausea rushing up her throat. He threw a hiss of unintelligible Italian at the little man before bustling her from the building and out into the clear air.

‘It was him,’ she confirmed later as Jack drove them back to her apartment.

‘The man who followed you?’

‘Yes. I just thought he was a neighbour. He played dominoes at a café where I often went for my lunch. Sometimes he would be standing in the square talking to others. I never paid him any real attention. He was just always around.’

‘Was he always in company?’

‘Yes.’

She had recovered her composure and was thinking more clearly.

‘Except for once when I saw him going into an old building then shortly afterwards a big car drew up and two smartly-dressed younger men followed him inside.’

‘Can you take me to the building?’

‘Yes, it’s not far from the apartment, down on the riverbank. I was throwing bread for the birds from the bridge at the time.’

Jack parked the car in the lane and stuck a police sign in the window, in case some wandering warden tried to have him arrested for illegal parking, he explained. They walked together down the hill to the old, roofed, wooden bridge that crossed the river. Out of the old town and turning sharp left, they made their way along the riverside. The ruined mill stood alone on the stony bank, its thick walls pitted with bullet holes from the last war.

‘I’m going inside. You stay here,’ he said pushing the old door open and disappearing into the darker interior.

Angela hung about until her curiosity could be contained no longer and she followed him into the building.

‘Don’t come any farther. This is a murder scene.’

His tone was dark but he was not surprised at her appearance. He came forward out of the dim light and taking hold of her arm led her from the building.

‘They killed him in there?’

‘Yes.’

‘While I was standing there on the bridge? Why would they do that if he was working for them?’

Jack shrugged.

‘Perhaps he missed something he should have reported. It doesn’t take much to upset them. You are tired. I’m sorry.’

Angela pushed herself away from the wall and started to walk stiffly back towards the town.

‘Do you know who these criminals are?’ she asked.

‘We have our suspicions. Now, thanks to your identification, we will know for certain.’

‘Will you arrest them then?’

‘Ah, no, that is a little difficult. To arrest them we must have proof of some crime they have committed. For them to plan a crime is not enough.’

‘So you are going to wait until they kill my stepfather or me, is that it?’

‘Not at all. We will catch them before that happens.’

‘But you won’t try to prevent it happening, will you?’

‘How?’

He took hold of her free arm to help her up the steep, cobbled lane back to her apartment.

‘The one man who could have led us back to them is dead. What do I say to this criminal? That we think he sent a man out to watch Hugo Pagelli’s step-daughter. He will laugh in my face. By the way, your father is staying at the Hotel Garibaldi. He has hired a car and drives out into the countryside each day, just like a tourist.’

They had come to a halt outside her apartment. She unlocked the door and glanced nervously up and down the lane but there was no-one in sight. An elderly neighbour passed them on the doorstep. Angela acknowledged her then turned to shut the door in Jack Linnel’s face. She heard the engine of his car roar angrily then the sound moved away and died in the drone of muted traffic in the distance. Tears slid down her cheeks as she sank down into the chair. She was hot and weary. Her legs ached intolerably and her head throbbed.

The ringing of the doorbell woke her. She had fallen into a light sleep in the chair. Stiff and shivery she rose to her feet and went to see who was at the door. The small screen showed only the empty street and she scowled at the incompetent security monitor that could not reveal anyone standing too close to the door. The bell rang again and this time she answered it.

‘Who is it, please?’

‘I saw you come back so I brought you some ice-cream.’

Carlo from across the lane looked up at the camera, nearly tipping out the two ice-cream cornets he carried.

‘Don’t let anyone in with you,’ she warned and pressed the buzzer to allow him to enter.

‘I won’t,’ he called as he clattered up the stairs and she heard the door click shut.

She marvelled at the permanent grin that never seemed to leave his face. Handing over the money for her ice-cream she sat down on a chair by the table and together they enjoyed the lovely fruity ice, chattering in Italian while they ate, having struck a bargain on their first meeting that they would speak only in Italian as Angela wished to brush up on the language. Over the summer she had improved dramatically and could now converse quite easily.

Carlo was watching her now as she cleaned up the drips with a cloth.

‘There was a man here while you were out, Angela.’

On the point of dropping the cloth in the sink Angela spun round and stared at him.

‘What man?’

‘I don’t know,’ the little boy said and lifted his shoulders up to his ears in an expressive shrug.

Angela licked her lips and started again.

‘Did you know the man?’

‘No.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘He was tall, as tall as your policeman. Very smart,’ he said nodding his head. ‘Good suit, and his shoes were crocodile skin. Much lira.’

‘Did he wear spectacles?’

Carlo giggled and shook his head.

‘What colour was his hair, dark like yours or fair like mine?’

‘It was black, Angela, like mine,’ the little boy replied with a smile.

After he’d gone she sat back down at the table and, pulling a note pad nd pen from the drawer in the front of the table, began to write.

Dear Hugo,

I am still here in Bassano at the apartment. The police know I am here and have told me that your enemies know also. I realise now how selfish I have been in staying although at the time I only wished to help. This morning Jack Linnel of the local police took me to identify the body of someone who had been following me. If there is anything I can do to help other than go home let me know. I’ll wait twenty four hours to hear from you. If I don’t hear anything I’ll be on the next flight out.

Love, Angela.

There were several bits of screwed up paper scattered across the table and she still was not satisfied with her final result but she shoved it into an envelope and addressed it to the Hotel Garibaldi. Carlo would deliver it for her, for a price. She smiled as she crossed to the door to call him. She opened the door carefully and stepping out on to the step glanced both ways to make sure the lane was clear.

Carlo was coming back from the shops bouncing a carrier bag against the wall as he came and Angela could not help but smile and hope his mother didn’t need eggs. He agreed to deliver the letter, accepting several lira in exchange. Angela backed swiftly into the apartment only too aware of the stranger who had left no name.

She was unprepared when Carlo rang her doorbell later that evening.

‘Carlo, what is it? What do you want?’

‘I have a message for you, Signorina Angela. The policeman said it was important.’

‘The policeman was here?’

Angela frowned. Why would Jack leave a message with Carlo and not come to the apartment? Unless he was being followed!

‘No, he was in the street outside the Hotel Garibaldi. I forgot to tell you earlier.’

‘Oh, Carlo, that isn’t like you,’ she said and pressed the buzzer to open the street door.

She had unlocked the apartment door when she heard a scuffle of feet on the stairs. Carlo appeared around the corner with two men on his heels. She tried to slam the door in their faces, but the boy was pushed to one side as the two men made a grab for her, hustling her back into the room. Carlo was picking himself up off the floor when the man with the crocodile shoes hit him hard with the butt of a gun. The little boy crumpled to the floor where he lay still.

Angela tried to scream but a cloth of some sort was pressing against her mouth and nose, then she knew no more.