Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

Sunday lunch experienced with aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, and a cast of what sounded like hundreds. Reassurances were thus desperately required, but Salvatore either could not or would not give them. Salvatore’s refusal to calm Bruno’s fears had to be discussed from every angle. It took a teeth-gnashing half hour before they could move on.
    Bruno then became insistent that Salvatore understand what had occurred with Lorenzo Mura. Lorenzo had told him that he required the
E. coli
to perform some tests associated with his vineyard, and Daniele Bruno had believed him when he’d claimed the impossibility of coming by the
E. coli
in any other way. Lorenzo said it was to do with the wine, Bruno said. Right, Barbara thought. Like how fast do I need to have Azhar tossing this back in a glass of wine in order to make certain the bacteria was still viable?
    Finally, all points of discussion were exhausted. They decamped to one of the interview rooms, where Bruno stripped off his shirt, exposing an impressive chest. A technician joined them and another lengthy conversation ensued. Garibaldi told Barbara that his client was being informed exactly how the wire would work.
    Barbara found herself caring less and less about the minutiae of the discussion as she cared more and more about how much time it all was taking. She wondered where Mitchell Corsico was and what means she could employ to keep him from sending off to London his story about Azhar if noon rolled round and she hadn’t delivered names and places to him. She could ring him and give him a pack of lies, she reckoned, but Mitchell wouldn’t take that in his stride when the real facts became known.
    The door opened to the interview room as the final touches were being put to wiring up Daniele Bruno. A woman whom Barbara recognised as Ottavia Schwartz entered and spoke to Salvatore.
    Barbara heard
Upman
being said by the policewoman. She cried, “What’s going on?” but she received no answer as Salvatore abruptly left the room.
    Rocco Garibaldi filled her in. The parents of Angelina Upman were in Reception, demanding to speak with Chief Inspector Lo Bianco. They were insisting that something be done about the disappearance of their granddaughter from Fattoria di Santa Zita. Apparently, she had left in the company of an Englishwoman, Garibaldi said. The Upmans were there to declare her missing.
    LUCCA
    TUSCANY
    Since it was made clear to Salvatore that the Upmans had no Italian, a translator was going to be required. Ottavia Schwartz—with her normal high degree of competence—had put out the call for one, but it took more than twenty minutes for her to arrive in Salvatore’s office. In the meantime, the Upmans had been left to cool their heels in Reception. They were not happy to be kept waiting, a fact that Signor Upman’s appearance made clear, although, at first, Salvatore thought the Englishman’s white-to-the-lips face presaged illness brought on by the flight to Italy. This turned out not to be the case. The pale complexion came from the man’s fury, which he was only too happy to share with Salvatore.
    Introductions had barely been made by Giuditta Di Fazio when Signor Upman launched into a diatribe. Giuditta had impressive skills in languages, but even she was hard-pressed to keep up with the man’s words.
    “Is this how you incompetent layabouts deal with people who’ve come to report a missing child?” Upman demanded. “First she is kidnapped. Then her mother is murdered by her father. Then she goes missing from the only home she’s known in this infernal country. What is it going to take for someone to handle this bloody situation? Do I need to bring in the British ambassador? Because, believe me, I
will
do that. I have the ability. I have the connections. I want this child found and I want her found now. And do not bloody wait for the translation from Miss Big Tits over there because you know exactly why I’m here and what I want.”
    While Giuditta put Signor Upman’s words into Italian, his wife kept her gaze on the floor. She clutched her handbag. She murmured only, “Darling, darling,” when her husband launched into his second harangue.
    “Someone who doesn’t even speak English is in charge of investigating crimes against British nationals? Incredible. English . . . the most widely spoken language in the world . . . and you don’t speak it? God in heaven—”
    “
Please
, Humphrey.” From her tone, it was