The Devil by Nadia Dalbuono

Author:Nadia Dalbuono
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC031000, FIC022000, FIC022080, FIC050000, FIC022020, FIC031010, FIC031060, FIC030000
Publisher: Scribe Publications Pty Ltd
Published: 2020-02-03T16:00:00+00:00

23

‘“TAKE A STROLL THROUGH his bank accounts,” you said. You made it all sound so easy.’

Scamarcio lit another fag and blew the smoke just clear of Sartori’s reddened face. ‘What’s the hold up?’

‘The bank is being arsey — wants us to go the official route.’

‘Did you tell them about the case?’

‘They seemed to know all about it already.’

‘Borghese?’

‘Could be. Or they saw it on the TV.’ Sartori pulled the tab on a can of Coke and slumped down into a dented plastic chair. ‘You’d better watch that,’ he wiggled a fat finger at Scamarcio’s cigarette.

‘Fuck off. You know what happened to Moia? They just lopped off his left leg due to diabetes.’

‘Don’t screw with me.’

‘I’m not. I got a text from him a few days back. He won’t be running down the criminal underworld for a while.’

‘He’ll be like the big guy in a wheelchair on that American show.’

‘There’s no way Moia will accept being in a chair. He’ll just limp about with a stick.’

‘They’ll hear him coming for miles.’

Scamarcio sucked down hard on the fag, then, as if finally heeding his conscience, stubbed it out half-smoked and tossed it in the bin — which he realised too late was full of crumpled-up papers. He bent over and tried to fish it out.

‘We digress. I’ll get that perv judge onto it, the one Garramone keeps in his pocket.’ He had to pause. The effort to retrieve the fag had left him out of breath.

‘Yeah,’ Sartori tried to stifle a belch, but failed. ‘That’s probably the quickest route. I get the feeling we need to move fast.’

‘Why?’

‘If Borghese’s up to something, he may have transferred the money out.’

‘We’ll see it if he has.’

‘Sure.’

‘It’s all evidence — of what, I still don’t know.’

Sartori handed Scamarcio a sheet of A4. ‘Borghese’s work history. I’ve listed the companies, their details, and the dates Borghese was there, along with the positions he held.’

Scamarcio took the paper. ‘Did you get salary details?’

‘Oh no, I didn’t think it was important,’ said Sartori, sarcasm rammed to maximum. Scamarcio ignored him. Sartori conceded: ‘For the first two, but I’m struggling with the current one.’

‘Why?’

‘They’re bleating about data protection.’

‘I’ll give them sodding data protection. We’re the police.’

Sartori shrugged. ‘Maybe Garramone’s perv judge will grease the wheels?’

‘Yeah, don’t sweat it — once he waves his dick, they’ll start singing.’

‘I hope he’s got a big one.’ Sartori pulled his notepad from his pocket and flipped through a few pages. ‘I’ve honed down some family background on Borghese. He doesn’t come from money. His father was a low-level accountant, and his mother a housewife. Sure, they were comfortable, but nothing spectacular.’

‘The mother’s still alive, I think. Mrs Borghese mentioned her.’

‘Yeah, living in Garbatella.’

‘Decent area, but not exactly luxury.’

‘It’s not Parioli.’

‘And Mrs Borghese’s parents?’

‘Even less spectacular. Her father was a farmer, her mother did odd jobs cleaning. God-fearing folk.’

‘It seems to have rubbed off on their daughter.’ Scamarcio scratched his palm, and studied the sheet of information Sartori had handed him. ‘The highest salary on here is 40K.

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