Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

advance.
    In this, he saw that he had two options. He could either manufacture a reason that Barbara had paid a call on Bryan Smythe. Or he could report to Isabelle what he’d discovered and let matters develop from there. He’d asked the guv for time to sort all of this out but what, really, was there to sort at this point? The only saving grace that he could see was that his own call upon Smythe had obviated any tinkering the hacker might have been about to do inside the records of SO12, if he could, indeed, even get inside them in the first place. At least that blot on the copybook of Barbara’s career would not be present. As to everything else . . . The truth was that he didn’t know how far she was steeped in the sin of this mess and there was only one way to find out and he didn’t want to do it.
    He’d never been a coward when it came to confrontations, so he had to ask himself why he was feeling such cowardice now. The answer seemed to be in his longtime partnership with Barbara. The truth was that she’d apparently gone bad, but his years working with her told him that, in spite of everything, her heart was good. And what in God’s name was he supposed to do about that? he asked himself.
    LUCCA
    TUSCANY
    Salvatore’s removal from the kidnapping investigation put him in the position of ship-without-harbour. This left him daily slinking by the morning meeting of Nicodemo and his team, a displaced policeman trying to catch a word here and there that would allow him to know where the investigation stood. No matter that the child had been returned to her parents unharmed. There were things going on here that needed understanding. Unfortunately, Nicodemo Triglia was not the person to sort through them.
    Salvatore caught the eye of Ottavia Schwartz on his fifth morning venture by the meeting. He went on his way but was gratified when a minute later, she came to find him. He was, ashamedly, even more gratified when the young woman murmured, “
Merda.
It goes nowhere,” but he was professional enough to give Nicodemo a minor show of support by murmuring back, “Give him time, Ottavia.”
    She gave a sputter that communicated
as you like
and said, “
Daniele Bruno,
Ispettore
.”
    “The man with Lorenzo in the Parco Fluviale.”
    “
Sì.
A family with very big money.”
    “The Brunos? But not an old family,
non è vero
?” By this he meant, not old money handed down through the centuries.
    “Twentieth century. It all comes from the great-grandfather’s business. There’re five great-grandsons and they all work for the family company. Daniele’s director of sales.”
    “The product?”
    “Medical equipment. They sell a lot of it if looks say anything.”
    “Meaning?”
    “Meaning they live on a compound outside Camaiore. Much property and all the houses together behind a great stone wall. Everyone’s married with children. Daniele has three. His wife’s an
assistente di volo
on the Pisa–London route.”
    Salvatore felt a little rush of excitement at this connection to London. It was something. Perhaps it was insignificant, but it
was
something. He told Ottavia to look into the wife. Keeping it all very quiet, he said. “
Puoi farlo, Ottavia?
”
    “
Certo
,” She sounded a little offended. Of course she could do this. Keeping things quiet was her middle name.
    Shortly after they parted, Salvatore took a call from DI Lynley. The London man claimed that, as he did not know how to reach the new chief investigator, perhaps Salvatore could pass along some information they’d uncovered in London . . . ? Between the lines, Salvatore read the truth of the matter, which was that DI Lynley was kindly keeping him informed. He played along, assuring the other detective that he would indeed tell Nicodemo whatever Lynley wished him to know.
    “
Non è tanto
,” Lynley said. The private investigator in London named by Di Massimo claimed that he had hired the Italian to look for the girl in Pisa but that Di Massimo had reported to him that the trail went dead at the airport. He was, in fact, sending a report to Salvatore in proof of this. “He claims,” Lynley said, “that once the trail went dead at the airport, everything from that point on had to have come from Di Massimo on his own initiative as he—Doughty—knows nothing of it, and there’s no evidence pointing otherwise.”
    “How can there be no evidence?”
    “There’s a computer technology wizard involved here in London, Salvatore.