The Money Kill by Katia Lief

Author:Katia Lief [Lief, Katia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780062096975
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

Saturday, July 14

I wake up sprawled on the bed, still in my clothes from yesterday. The Lonely Planet is spread open beside me, raised spine tenting the facedown book. I stretch, accidentally knock the book to the floor, swiftly pick it up and try to find my place. It’s useless, but it doesn’t matter. I know what I’m going to do. Last night I read for hours, trying to understand this island, hoping to develop an idea of where to begin. The two easiest places to hide, or be hidden, are crowds and wilderness. So I’ll start with the largest, nearest city—Cagliari—and then branch out from there. It will also give me a chance to drop in on Enzio Greco at his office on the way.

Gentle morning sun pours through the big window, which I’d left open to the moon and stars and cool night air. In a climate like this you’d expect mosquitoes, but when I realized I wasn’t getting bitten last night, I looked it up. According to the guidebook, Sardinia once festered with mosquitoes and malaria killed off huge numbers people. Hardly anyone visited the island. Then, sixty-five years ago, in a brutal but successful experiment, ten thousand tons of DDT were dumped on the island. Mosquitoes defeated, tourism took off; and now, Sardinia is a jet-setters playground, particularly in the north, where Liz Braud has her hotel.

Liz Braud: I itch to drive north and find her; but I promised Mac I’d wait.

The clock on the dresser across the room tells me that it’s nearly eight A.M.

Mac hasn’t contacted me or answered my calls.

Rolling off the bed, I stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth and splash water on my face. Feed the cats and kittens. Grab my purse and the car keys from downstairs, and head to town.

“The worried mama!” Enzio Greco greets me, rising from his desk and coming around to hug me. I’ve never been hugged by a police commissioner before. After a moment’s hesitation, I hug him back, but it feels wrong so I pull away. Yes, I am a worried mama, but that’s not all. I’m an investigator with nothing to hold on to, other than this white-haired old man, and that’s not what I came for. I want action, information, leads, answers, results. I want my family back.

“Why haven’t I seen a single sign anywhere? And nothing on TV? And what about Dante Serra? We haven’t heard back from you about him. Did you find out what time he was at the house?”

“Please, sit.” Greco steers me into one of his visitor chairs, and then calls something out to the receptionist in Italian. A moment later she returns with a tiny cup of espresso for me. It’s strong and acrid, burning my stomach as it goes down. My appetite is gone; I ate very little of the pasta I made last night and even these few sips of espresso threaten to come back up. I rest the cup on the edge of his desk, across which he has reseated himself, the commissioner, and watches me.

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