The American by Nadia Dalbuono

Author:Nadia Dalbuono
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC000000, FIC031000
Publisher: Scribe Publications Pty Ltd
Published: 2015-08-25T16:00:00+00:00

32

The images of dead bodies seemed to be a nightly occurrence now.

‘It’s like there’s a war being waged in this country that nobody knows anything about,’ said Adele, switching off the TV. ‘I thought all that was over; it’s 1983, not 1973.’ Her words unsettled him, and he felt the need to get out, escape for air.

Carter studied her perfect profile and her thick, dark hair. Her bump was becoming more prominent now. He liked the way it nestled just above her jeans, poking out from beneath her jumper.

‘Can you imagine how we’d feel if we lost our child in that way? How do you find peace with something like that? How do you ever move on?’ she said.

He felt light-headed. The nausea was rising in his throat, and he forced himself to swallow.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘The relatives of the station victims are organising a powerful publicity campaign,’ he said when he met the cardinal later.

The cardinal sniffed, and turned to the window to take in the pounding rain. ‘It’s inconvenient. They have the public on their side.’

Of course they had the public on their side. The people had had enough; there was a limit. He felt a sudden urge to throttle this man; to push the evil bastard through the window of his tower, to watch his blood pool and then seep onto the paving stones below. But instead he heard himself ask, ‘What are you proposing?’

‘On a grand scale, nothing; but on a small scale, there is perhaps something we could do.’

Carter hated his use of the word ‘we’. He was done here. He’d farmed it out, but the boy in Mantova had been a bridge too far, and now this? He wanted out while he still knew who he was.

He closed his eyes and then looked across at the cardinal, seeking out the soul within.

‘It’s what you might call a diversionary tactic,’ said the holy man, his narrow green eyes shrinking to small pinpricks in the fading light.

He tried to remember when the cardinal had started taking the initiative. He wondered whether it was their presence that had brought about this change, or whether the capacity for evil had been there all along; whether it had been lying dormant before his predecessor had even set to work.

NARDONE HAD ASSEMBLED a few uniformed officers at the foot of the Sacro Monte near an old stone entranceway. The road was cobbled, and Scamarcio saw a series of little chapels off to the right. They seemed to lead all the way up the mountain.

Nardone followed his gaze. ‘You ever climb a Sacred Mountain?’ he asked.

‘Is there more than one?’

‘Nine in Piedmont and Lombardy — all on the UNESCO world-heritage list.’

An officer whispered something in Nardone’s ear, and the detective turned swiftly and signalled to the small group behind him. They began the ascent, the officers fanning out across the wide pathway, scanning the banks and ditches beyond. To Scamarcio’s left was a dense forest of beech, chestnut, and hazelnut trees.

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