Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

going to light up the roadside flares. All she had to do was dig out her mobile, place a call to the Met, and hear the worst.
Or
hear the best, she thought. Pray God in his heaven that it was the best.
    Barbara considered what she knew once she’d smoked the fag down to a dog-end the size of her little finger’s nail. She flicked this into the street—apologies to the litter patrol, but her ashtray was teeming with six months of Players smoked down to various lengths and crushed therein—and she tried desperately to reason everything out. From Lynley she knew that Di Massimo was pointing every finger he had and all of his toes at Dwayne Doughty in London. Emily Cass appeared to be doing the same. Doughty had everything to lose if culpability came down to him. He knew that better than he knew anything, which was why, of course, he’d have ordered every indication that he’d been in contact with anyone in Italy wiped from the records.
    Bryan Smythe could confirm this. Back him into a corner, guarantee that no visit from the Bill was going to occur if he spilled his beans onto a porcelain plate, and Bob was, let’s face it, going to be your uncle. Barbara knew that she probably didn’t even need to visit the bloke. These computer types? In her experience their bravado was limited to what they could accomplish behind closed doors, in a darkened room, with the glow of a computer monitor shining in their eyes. Hearing that the cops were onto him, he’d cave in an instant. He’d tell everything he knew, just as fast as his vocal cords could vibrate. Barbara just wasn’t sure she wanted to know what that
everything
was.
    Truth was, he was going to confirm, and she bloody well knew it. Emily Cass wouldn’t have given her the bloke’s name if there was any doubt in the matter. Barbara told herself that this was probably because Emily would have put him in the picture the moment Barbara and she had parted ways. And following up on that, Dwayne Doughty would have rung the bloke and given him the word. The private investigator would have concluded instantly that Emily Cass was the person who had named Smythe to Barbara, for there was no one else to do the naming. He’d deal with her later, but upon Barbara’s departure from his office, Smythe would have been his very next move. Ring him and say, “There’s a cop coming. She can’t prove a damn thing so hold your tongue in this business and there’s a bonus coming your way.”
    So he would hold his tongue. Or he would break and spill. Or he would run for cover. Or he would head for Scotland, Dubai, the Seychelles. Who the bloody hell knew what Smythe would do because Barbara’s head was spinning, so she lit another fag.
    Reality in a tablespoon? She knew what her next step was. It involved ringing Lynley with the information she had and giving him everything. But God, God,
God
, how could she ever do that? For surely there was an explanation somewhere and all she really had to do was to find it.
    She could give Lynley Bryan Smythe’s name. That wore the guise of progress being made. He’d tell her to haul Smythe into the nick for a proper go at him—or he would ask her why she hadn’t already done so—but in any case that would buy her time. The only question was: What was she going to do with time bought? And once she admitted to herself what it was, she set her course upon doing it.
    LUCCA
    TUSCANY
    Salvatore had no choice once Michelangelo Di Massimo named the man in London. His next encounter with Piero Fanucci wasn’t going to be pleasant, but it had to be got through. Once that was taken care of, he was intent upon the Apuan Alps and that convent at which Domenica Medici was the caretaker. It was the only lead they had as to the location of the missing little English girl and, Piero Fanucci or not, Salvatore intended to follow it.
    He spoke to
il Pubblico Ministero
by phone. In advance he’d done what little there was to be done to prove to Fanucci that no connection appeared to exist between Carlo Casparia and anyone else they had discovered having ties to the kidnapping case. Piero snapped that he hadn’t been looking closely enough. Get back to that at once, Fanucci ordered. At this, Salvatore bridled. At this, he made a crucial error. Patiently, he said, “Piero,
capisco
. I know that you are heavily invested in the guilt of this Carlo—” At which point Fanucci morphed into
il drago
and Salvatore felt that dragon’s wrath.
    He listened to