Chapter 43

They came. A couple of polizia, and the detective in sharp-toed boots that I remembered from the morning he had removed Sophie’s personal effects. I heard their voices in the hall.

It was after one o’clock. I’d been trying to clean up, hard to do with my bandaged arm that I couldn’t get wet. I couldn’t take a proper shower, but I’d managed a sponge bath. Even washed my hair in the sink, one-handed. Fresh clothes, make-up, I was as good as I would get today. No more pain pills, if I could get by without them. I went into the hall and saw Ivonna.

She rushed toward me. “I heard what happened to you!” She clasped her hands and seemed to search for words, but gave a little cry instead. What was there to say, after all?

“I’m all right,” I said. “I need to tell them where to look for fingerprints.”

Ivonna’s eyes widened. I suppose I did sound too self-important. “You called for them? They didn’t say anything except to tell me I should unlock the door to room 12.”

I would have explained, but there wasn’t time to fill her in. “This may prove that Sophie was murdered,” I said, at the door of what had been her room. I saw the techies at the window, preparing to dust around it, I presumed. That wasn’t going to get them what they needed.

The detective heard us and came to the door. “You have a room on the hall,” he said, studying my bandaged arm, as if deciding whether to ask. He remembered me from that first encounter but if he knew I’d had any part in getting them to come back, he gave no clue.

“The door was locked from the outside, but the key was found inside, on Sophie’s bed,” I said. “I know how it was done.”

He gave me a hard look. I wondered what his instructions had been.

And then I heard the voice of Chief Inspector Eleanora de Rosa, coming from the direction of the elevator. Something I couldn’t make out, and a husky laugh. Beside her, Paul. He’d apparently come with her from the questura, having done exactly what I asked. Even so, I couldn’t ignore the fact that the two made a handsome couple.

“Ah, Signora, I was sorry to hear about your misfortune,” she said, with more irony than sympathy as she glanced at my bandaged arm. Someone like myself who meddled in criminal matters was bound to get hurt, her tone seemed to indicate.

“How are you feeling, Jordan?” Paul came closer to me and regarded me with—pity? Was that what I saw? I hoped not. Maybe just kindness. I wasn’t sure what I wanted from him.

“Much better,” I said. I thanked both of them for making this happen—and so quickly.

“Monsieur Broussard puts much faith in your theory, Signora. He is very persuasive.” Eleanora de Rosa paused for a significant beat. “I agree you were helpful in showing how the jewel thief disappeared into the convent after each burglary. You leave Florence tomorrow, yes? So if you can prove to us that this suicide is actually a murder, it must be today, yes?”

Patronizing as she was, she was giving me a chance. Paul’s charms were exceptional, but I couldn’t believe the Chief Inspector would have engaged the polizia’s resources today if Paul’s appeal hadn’t ignited something that was already there. Maybe she’d had her own misgivings about the way the investigation was handled. Maybe she’d had to admit that it was suspicious for Sophie to make plans to meet Cristiano and then decide to kill herself.

“The locked door has always pointed to a suicide,” I said, “but the murderers could have come out into the hall, locked the door, and then they were able to get the key back inside, through the transom.” I pointed up, to where the glass was angled open.

The Chief Inspector looked up. “They?” she asked.

“We knew them as Carlo and Varinia.”

“The jewel thieves? But what reason did they have to harm the girl? Do you believe she was part of their criminal activities?” I took note that de Rosa’s question sounded genuine.

“No, nothing like that. I think Sophie saw too much.” I explained the exchange between Varinia and Sophie that made me believe, in hindsight, that Sophie had seen Carlo coming from the access door. “Though she knew nothing about the jewels, if Sophie knew Carlo was not wheelchair-bound, Carlo and Varinia couldn’t have that.”

“That is speculation. The girl is dead. She cannot tell us. You have not explained about the fingerprints that you offer as proof.” The Chief Inspector was growing a little impatient.

“I think you’ll find Varinia’s—Vicente’s—fingerprints on the door frame. I moved into the doorway and showed how Vicente would have set his feet against the door jamb. I raised my right arm and spread my fingers, holding my hand a few inches away from the frame, not to leave my prints. I couldn’t raise my left arm.

“Let me,” Paul said.

I moved back and Paul took my place. He was about the same height as Vicente, his shoulders broad and strong, like Vicente’s. As he stood in that position, though his outstretched hands weren’t touching the wood, he provided a powerful image that indicated where Vicente’s prints might be. “Carlotta was small and agile. It was nothing for her to climb upon Vicente’s back, onto his shoulders, and toss the key through the open transom,” I said, suppressing a smile as I thought of my dream. “I climbed up on the caretaker’s ladder myself and checked the angle. I saw how the key could land on Sophie’s bed.”

Chief Inspector de Rosa appeared stunned. I wasn’t sure whether she was astonished that I’d climbed on Luigi’s ladder or that I’d actually figured out what had happened.

Our silence must have told Paul that he could end his demonstration. He moved from the door frame. He came to stand beside me and gave me one of his trademark smiles.

The detective had listened to all that was said, but he waited until de Rosa spoke to him, and then he called to the other polizia—all in Italian, but I could follow. They came to the door jamb and began to work with their kits. We moved further into the hall. The Chief Inspector mused, “I do not think we will find the cat burglar’s fingerprints. She would have known to wear gloves, not to leave her prints on the metal of the key ring. But if the man’s fingerprints prints are where you say, it will be interesting to hear his explanation.”

That was my thought, but I didn’t see the need to add my comments.

She said something else to her detective, and then turned to Paul. “I will go now. Are you coming with me? We can take you to your hotel, if you wish.”

Paul thanked her but said no, he would walk when he finished here.

“I hope the fingerprints match,” I put in.

The Chief Inspector looked at my arm and said, “An unfortunate accident on the streets of Fiesole, yes?”

I felt Paul’s gaze on me, and I wondered what version of the incident he had given her. I wondered how Eleanora de Rosa would respond if I asked for her help with the Fiesole police. Could I reveal to her—or to the authorities in Fiosole—that my attacker was Paul’s daughter? Bella was dangerous. No telling what else she might do. Maybe I could ask the Chief Inspector to check with the Fiesole police, to see if they had any suspects.

But all I said was, “Unfortunate, yes.”

“Fiesole is supposed to be a quiet town.” She gave a dismissive wave. “With all the tourists that come to Italy now, these little towns are no safer than Florence.”

“No place is always safe,” I said, “not even a convent.”

I heard my name and saw Alex. “What’s this?” he asked, regarding the activities at the door of Sophie’s room. “I’ve been calling you, and you didn’t answer.”

“I’m sorry, Alex. I left my phone in my room,” I said.

Paul said hello and Alex returned the greeting. Neither seemed as easy with each other as they had been before—before Fiesole. Or maybe that was my imagination. As we talked, Chief Inspector Eleanora de Rosa made a quiet departure without a word of farewell to either Paul or me.

“I suppose she didn’t get a chance to thank you for your observations,” Paul whispered.

“What observations?” Alex asked.

“I’ll tell you everything, later,” I said.

“You’re always saying that,” Alex said. He looked from me to Paul and back again. “I was wondering if you feel like getting some lunch, but you may have other plans.”

Paul spoke up, saying he needed to go to his hotel, and I wondered if Bella was arriving from Cortona, if he was planning a heart-to-heart with her. He could have had a ride with the Chief Inspector, I noted.

Alex suggested the café just around the corner, an easy walk. I could do that. “Let’s meet downstairs,” he said. “Ten minutes? Is that enough time?”

I said ten minutes would be fine.

“Sorry you missed your ride,” I told Paul, when Alex was gone.

“I wanted a moment with you, Jordan,” he said, touching my arm, directing me farther from the doorway where the polizia worked. My back next to the wall, his face close to mine. “Can we see each other tonight? It is our last night in Florence.”

“I know. I can’t believe it,” I said.

“A quiet dinner?”

“Yes. Alex and I have to be at the airport early, and I won’t be one hundred percent.” I was already wishing I hadn’t told Alex I’d go out for lunch, but maybe I just needed to work through the pain. “But I wouldn’t want to leave without a little more time with you.”

“We will make it early. Let me call for reservations, and I will let you know.” He took my hand and pressed my fingers to his lips. For a long moment we looked at each other without words. I wondered what we’d say tonight, how we’d find the right words. Or if we could.

When he’d turned toward the elevator, I started to my room. Ivonna came up beside me.

I’d forgotten all about Ivonna. She’d made herself as inconspicuous as the proverbial fly on the wall.

“It is hard to take in that Varinia and Carlo were not what they seemed, and they were criminals. Jewel thieves and murderers,” she said, “and they were guests of our convent, doing terrible things. If they were responsible for Sophie’s death, I hope they will pay dearly.”

“So do I,” I said.

She walked me to my room. She might have wanted to talk more, but I said, “I have to get my phone and meet Alex. We’re going to lunch.”

“I’m glad you are feeling better, Signora,” she said, and then, with a mischievous smile, she added, “Signor Broussard, he is, as you said, very charming.”

I gave a dreamy sigh that made her laugh and said, “Yes, he is.”

* * * * *

Alex and I shared a pizza and a large bottle of sparkling water. Back in my room, I took another nap. It helped, after going out for lunch. I didn’t want that feeling of cobwebs in my brain that came with the pain pills, but I could have used one. I was sore all over my body now, not just where I had bruises and scrapes. I dreaded the flight home. Tomorrow, at this time, we’d be in the air.

Paul called, as promised, and said he’d made reservations for seven at a little ristorante not far from the convent. He would be by for me at about six-forty-five.

I began to pack.