Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

for Hadiyyah needed to be arranged. The second was that he look closely at what Salvatore was about to show him.
    He passed to the professor and his
avvocato
the copy of the card from Villa Rivelli
.
He watched closely as Azhar’s gaze fell upon it. There was nothing on his face. He turned the paper over to see if anything was written on the back of it, which Salvatore well recognised as a stalling tactic that gave him time to develop an explanation.
    He said, “And so,
Dottore
?” to Azhar and waited for Aldo Greco’s translation of what the London man would say. Aldo shifted his buttocks, grimaced, passed gas, pardoned himself, and took up the document for an examination. He read it and handed it back to Azhar. Before Azhar could speak, Greco asked what this thing was and how Salvatore had come by it.
    Salvatore had no problem with revealing either bit of information. It was a copy of a greeting card, he said. It had been found at the location where Hadiyyah Upman had been held after her abduction.
    The card itself or the copy? Greco asked shrewdly.
    The card, of course, Salvatore told him, which was still in the hands of the
carabinieri
who’d been called to Villa Rivelli by the Mother Superior. In due time the original would be sent to be included with any other gathered evidence.
    “Do you recognise this,
Dottore
? It appears to be in your handwriting.”
    Aldo Greco intervened at once. He said, “A handwriting expert has confirmed that,
Ispettore
? Surely you yourself are no expert in such a matter.”
    Salvatore said that,
certo
, an expert would be employed by the police if things came to that. He himself was there merely to ascertain the provenance of this greeting card.
    “
Con permesso?
” Salvatore concluded. He indicated with a nod at Azhar that he would be delighted to hear the London man’s reply should his
avvocato
deem such a thing a reasonable request.
    Signor Greco said to Azhar, “Go ahead,
Professore
.”
    Azhar said that he did not recognise the card or the message upon it. As to the handwriting . . . It looked similar to his own, he said, but handwriting could be copied by someone with the expertise to do so.
    “You know, of course, that there are ways to discern a forgery from a real document,” Salvatore told him. “There are experts in forgery—forensic experts—who spend all day doing such work. They look for special signs, marks of hesitation that the true writer of something would not make in the course of penning a note. You know this
, sì
?”
    “The professor is not an idiot,” Greco commented. “He has answered your question, Salvatore.”
    Salvatore pointed out the word
khushi
. “And this?” he said to Azhar.
    Azhar confirmed that it was his pet name for his daughter, something he had called her from the moment of her birth. It meant
happiness
, he explained.
    “And this name
khushi
. . . you alone called her that?” And when Azhar confirmed that this was the case, “Just between the two of you?”
    Azhar frowned. “I don’t . . . What exactly do you mean, Inspector?”
    “I mean was this something said in private only?”
    Azhar shook his head. “It was not a secret. Anyone who witnessed us together would know that this is what I call her.”
    “Ah.” Salvatore nodded. It was nice to know in advance what direction Aldo Greco would take if things proceeded as he expected them to proceed. He took the copy of the card from Azhar and returned it to the manila envelope in which he’d carried it to the
pensione
. “
Grazie, Professore
,” he said.
    In a movement that was nearly imperceptible, Azhar blew out a long breath. It was over, the expiration said, whatever “it” had been.
    Aldo Greco, however, was not stupid. He said, “What else, Ispettore Lo Bianco?”
    Salvatore smiled in acknowledgement of the attorney’s wisdom in this situation. He said to Azhar, “Now we speak of Berlin.”
    “Berlin?”
    Salvatore watched him closely as he nodded. “You told me there were many microbiologists in Berlin when you were there for your conference last month,
vero
?”
    “What has Berlin to do with anything?” Greco asked as he translated Salvatore’s words.
    “I think the
professore
knows very well what Berlin has to do with,
Dottore
,” Salvatore murmured.
    “I do not,” Azhar said.
    “
Certo
, you do,” Salvatore said expansively, his voice quite pleasant. “Berlin is your alibi for the moment of your daughter’s abduction, no? You have