The Fatal Touch by Fitzgerald Conor

Author:Fitzgerald, Conor [Fitzgerald, Conor]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Tags: Suspense
ISBN: 9781608193295
Publisher: Bloomsbury
Published: 2011-01-01T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Before returning to his office, Blume passed by his apartment, showered, changed, and picked up the three notebooks. The idea of their remaining unguarded in there made him uneasy. The damned things were becoming a burden to him. There was a safe in the office, but he was not the only one with keys to it. His best bet was to give them to Paoloni to look after.

The phone on the desk was ringing as he entered his office. The Questore or, rather, his smarmy secretary again. It seemed to Blume the Questore had no one else to talk to apart from him. And he always phoned Blume in his office, as if to check he was there.

“I’ve been having complaints about you,” he announced when they were connected. “A magistrate, Buoncompagno, claims that you have been making unauthorized interventions in his investigation into the art forger. I thought I told you to leave that alone.”

Blume gestured to the gods of the ceiling with the phone, then brought it back to his ear. “Buoncompagno has been told to say that, sir,” said Blume. “It’s just a minor jurisdictional dispute with a Carabiniere. Meanwhile, I have been working with Magistrate Antonello Gestri on a double murder.”

“You mean the hit-and-run on the Indians?”

“The vehicle was the murder weapon.”

“Don’t change the subject,” said the Questore. “I told you to leave the Treacy case alone.”

Blume slid the notebooks into his drawer. “I just had to make sure there was no connection with the muggings, which you said are our priority right now,” he said.

“Are you saying there is a connection between Treacy and the muggings?”

“Oh, just that Treacy was a foreigner like the rest of them.”

“It seems rather flimsy,” said the Questore. “Have you any proof ?”

“No,” said Blume. “Which is why I need to follow it up.”

“Don’t follow it too far—unless you think it might help us stop the muggings, will it?”

“You never know, sir,” said Blume.

“No, I never do know with you,” said the Questore and, finally, hung up.

Panebianco stuck his head around the door. “A Mr. Nightingale, accompanied by Avvocato Feltri, is downstairs. They want to see you.”

“Have them sent up.”

“Right.” Panebianco remained where he was.

“What?” asked Blume in irritation.

“How did your meeting with Faedda go?”

“I don’t see . . .” began Blume, but then he remembered Faedda explaining how Panebianco had vouchsafed for him, and he softened his tone. “It went well, thank you. Enlightening.”

“Good. I am pleased. I’ll have the two men below sent up.”

Five minutes later, Nightingale’s lawyer, a sleek man whose black hair was so shiny it looked wet, slipped into the seat in front of him. Nightingale, dressed in a rumpled linen suit and looking tired, hot, and lordly, sat down next to his lawyer, who turned to him and, speaking mainly for Blume’s benefit, said, “Remember, you are free to stand up and leave the interview at any point. You do not have to answer any questions that you do not want to, and no matter what you say, it cannot be used in evidence against you.

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