Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

block him although she wouldn’t admit that to herself—when she went through the gate and saw that the French windows of the ground-floor flat were open to the pleasant day.
    She hurried over to the flat. At the doors, she called out his name. He came from the bedroom as if materialising out of shadow. One look at his face and she knew he’d been told. Lynley had promised her he would make no attempt to reach Azhar, but he’d also informed her that the Italians would probably contact him. Or perhaps Lorenzo Mura would. But in any case, it was likely that he already knew.
    “Inspector Lo Bianco only phoned me as a courtesy” was how Lynley had put it.
    “Did he say anything about Hadiyyah?” Barbara had asked.
    “Only that she remains with Mura for now.”
    “For God’s sake, how did it happen?” she demanded. “This isn’t the sodding nineteenth century. Women don’t just die of morning sickness.”
    “Everyone’s in agreement on that.”
    “Which means?”
    “There’ll be an autopsy.”
    Now, confronted with Taymullah Azhar, Barbara said, “Bloody hell, Azhar. What happened to her?”
    He came to her and without a thought she took him into her arms. He was wooden. He said, “She would not listen. Lorenzo wanted her to remain in hospital, but she would not agree to that. She thought she knew best when she didn’t know at all.”
    “How is Hadiyyah? Have you spoken to Hadiyyah?” She released him and gazed into his face. “Who phoned you with the news? Lorenzo?”
    He shook his head. “Her father.”
    “Oh my God.” Barbara could only imagine how the conversation with Angelina’s father might have gone. Probably along the lines of “She’s
dead
, you bloody bastard, and since it’s down to you that she ever took herself to Italy in the first place, I hope you choke on the sodding champagne you’re going to want to swill.”
    “But what
happened
to her?” Barbara led Azhar to the sitting room, where she urged him onto the sofa and sat at his side. He seemed a combination of still stunned from the news and trying to come to terms with it. She put her hand on his arm, raised it to his shoulder.
    “Kidney failure,” he said.
    “How the hell is that possible? Why the hell wouldn’t the doctors have known? There would have been signs, wouldn’t there? There would have to be signs.”
    “I do not know. Her pregnancy was difficult, evidently. It had been so when she carried Hadiyyah as well. When things worsened for her, she thought she’d eaten something bad. But then she recovered—or she
said
she’d recovered—but I think perhaps . . . This was due to Hadiyyah.”
    “Her illness?”
    “Her wanting to leave hospital. Her insisting upon that. How could she stay there when Hadiyyah was missing and when Hadiyyah—and not Angelina—was what was more important? So by the time she had Hadiyyah back unharmed and by the time she became ill once again, it was too late. She was more ill than anyone suspected.” He looked at her. His eyes seemed hollow. “This is all I know, Barbara.”
    “Have you spoken to Hadiyyah?”
    “I rang at once. He would not allow it.”
    “Who? You mean Lorenzo? That’s bloody insane. What right has he to keep you from . . .” Her voice drifted off, and her throat grew so tight as the logical question rose to her lips unbidden. “Azhar, what’s to happen to Hadiyyah? What’s going on?”
    “Angelina’s parents are going to Italy. Bathsheba as well. They’re on their way now, I expect.”
    “And you?”
    “I was packing when I heard your voice.”
    LUCCA
    TUSCANY
    Nicodemo Triglia wasn’t concerned about the sudden death of Angelina Upman other than as the misfortune it was. His brief was the kidnapping of the woman’s daughter, and Nicodemo was a man who stuck to his brief like a fly in a pool of honey. Unless he was told there was a connection between two events, he assumed there was none. Salvatore knew this about the man. Nicodemo’s tunnel vision was legendary, which made him useful to
il Pubblico Ministero
and maddening for anyone else who had to work with him. But in this instance, that tunnel vision was going to be of benefit to Salvatore.
    For safety’s sake, he was meeting with Cinzia Ruocco in a neutral environment. Piazza San Michele was littered with cafés facing the white Chiesa di San Michele in Foro, and on this particular day its vicinity was enhanced by a clothing and dry goods market that had been set up on the