Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

nonsense. What do you mean?”
    “I mean that Signor Doughty wishes the door to shut upon this investigation, with Michelangelo behind it and no one else. Or, perhaps, with Michelangelo and the professor behind it. But in either case, with himself uninvolved.”
    “That may well be the truth, no?”
    “It may be.”
    “And even if it is not, even if this London man Doughty directed Signor Di Massimo in the matter of the kidnapping . . . What can you do to him from Lucca? How do you extradite on such speculation? And how do you prove anything anyway?”
    “He assumes in this”—Salvatore indicated the report—“that I have not earlier looked into Michelangelo Di Massimo’s banking records, Birgit. He assumes I have no copy of them. He assumes I would not compare them to what he sends me now. And he does not know that I have this.” He took from his jacket pocket the copy of the card he’d received from Captain Mirenda. He handed it to her.
    She read it, frowned, and handed it back. “What is this
khushi
?”
    “The name he calls her.”
    “Who?”
    “The child’s father.” And he explained the rest: how it went from Squali to the child and how she had kept it beneath a mattress at Villa Rivelli. Squali, he told her, may have dreamed up the card, but he had certainly not dreamed up
khushi
. Whoever had written it knew the child’s pet name. And that was a narrow field of people indeed.
    “Is this his handwriting?” Birgit asked.
    “Squali’s?”
    “Her papà’s.”
    “I have little enough to compare to it—just the documents and written remarks at his
pensione
and I am no expert in the matter of handwriting, of course—but it looks the same to me and when I show it to the professor, I expect his face will tell me the truth. Very few people lie well. I think he will be among those who cannot. Beyond that, it is clear that his daughter believed he wrote it.” Salvatore explained how the card had been used.
    Birgit, however, made a very good point, saying, “Would she know her papà
’
s handwriting, though? Think of Bianca. Would she know yours? What have you ever written to her other than ‘Love from Papà’ on a birthday card?”
    He inclined his head to indicate that she had a good point.
    “And if it is her papà’s writing, does this not show that the London detective is telling the truth? Her papà writes the card and hands it over—or posts it—to Michelangelo Di Massimo, who takes it from there, hiring Squali to take the child from the
mercato
because he himself does not wish to be implicated in a public abduction.”
    “All of this is true,” he said. “But at the moment, you see, it is no longer the abduction of the child that interests me.” He shifted his position on the bench so that he could gaze upon his ex-wife. Despite their differences and the regrettable alacrity with which her lust for him had faded away, Birgit had a good mind and clear vision. So he asked her the question he’d come to ask. “The investigation into the kidnapping is, of course, no longer mine to direct. By rights, I should pass along this copy of the card to Nicodemo Triglia,
vero
? And yet if I do, all matters pertaining to Taymullah Azhar will be taken from me. You see this, no?”
    “What ‘matters’ will be taken from you?” she asked shrewdly.
    He told her of the means of Angelina Upman’s death. He said, “Murder is a larger question than kidnapping. Keeping Nicodemo and—let us face the truth squarely—Piero Fanucci occupied with Michelangelo Di Massimo as their culprit allows me access to the child’s father that I would not have if Nicodemo and Piero knew about this card.”
    “Ah. That alters the situation. I see.” She wiped her hands together as if dismissing every qualm he had about the nature of what he was obliquely suggesting. She said, “I say keep the copy of the card and let Piero Fanucci sink in his own stew.”
    “But to let Michelangelo Di Massimo take all the blame for the kidnapping of the child . . . ,” he murmured.
    “You do not know when this card reached Italy in the first place. You do not even know who sent it. It could be years old and written for another matter entirely—the little girl’s keepsake of her father,
per esempio
—or it could be something someone came across and saw how it could be used . . . Anything is possible,
caro
,” she said. And then she quickly altered the endearment to “Salvatore” as colour flooded her cheeks.