Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

to prosecute Signor Mura. You have been right about so many things, and I trust whatever decision you make once you have familiarised yourself with all the reports.” These were in the folders that Salvatore carried. He handed them over, and Piero Fanucci placed them on the stack of other folders waiting for his perusal. Salvatore added, “The Mura family . . .”
    “What of them?”
    “They have hired an
avvocato
from Rome. It is my understanding that he will wish to strike a bargain with you.”
    “Bah,” Piero said dismissively. “Romans.”
    Salvatore made a formal little bow, just an inclination of the head to indicate his acceptance of Piero’s opinion of any lawyer who might come from Rome, that centre and hotbed of political scandal. He said farewell, then, and turned to leave. “Salvatore,” Piero said, which stopped him. He waited politely while Piero gathered his thoughts. He was unsurprised when the other man said, “Our little spat in the Orto Botanico
. . .
I deeply regret my loss of control, Topo.”
    “These things happen when passions run high,” Salvatore told him. “I assure you that, on my part, it is all forgotten.”
    “On mine as well, then.
Ci vediamo?
”
    “
Ci vediamo, d’accordo
,” Salvatore agreed.
    He left the office. A brief
passeggiata
was in order, he decided, so he took a little detour instead of heading directly to the
questura
. He wandered in the opposite direction, telling himself the day and the exercise would do him good. That his exercise took him to Piazza dei Cocomeri was of no import. That in the piazza was a very large newspaper kiosk was purely coincidental. That the
giornalaio
sold newspapers in English, French, and German as well as Italian was merely an intriguing discovery. He did not yet have that day’s edition of
The Source
, however. The British newspapers generally arrived by late afternoon, flown over to Pisa and transported from the airport. If the
ispettore
wished a copy to be held for him, this could be easily arranged.
    Salvatore said yes, he would like a copy of that particular paper. He handed over his money, nodded at the
giornalaio
, and went on his way.
Certo
, he could have used the Internet to see that morning’s edition of the tabloid. But he’d always liked the feeling of an actual newspaper beneath his fingers. And if he had no English sufficient to read what was in the pages of this tabloid, what did it matter? He could find someone to translate it for him. Eventually, he decided, he would do so.
    VICTORIA
    LONDON
    Isabelle Ardery’s third meeting with the assistant commissioner took place at three o’clock. Lynley learned about it in the usual way. Prior to that meeting, Dorothea Harriman informed him sotto voce, there had been a flurry of phone calls from CIB1, followed by a lengthy encounter in Isabelle’s office with one of the deputy assistant commissioners. To Lynley’s question of which one of the DACs had met with Ardery, Dorothea lowered her voice even more. It was the one in charge of police personnel management, she told him. She’d tried to sort out what was going on, but all she could report was that Detective Superintendent Ardery had asked for a copy of the Police Act yesterday afternoon.
    Lynley heard all this with a sinking heart. Sacking a policeman or -woman was an inordinately difficult manoeuvre. It wasn’t a matter of saying, “Right, you’re gone. Clear out your desk” because from a remark such as that, a lawsuit would follow as the night the day. So Isabelle had been necessarily careful in building her case, and although it pained him to know this, Lynley found that he couldn’t blame her.
    He rang Barbara’s mobile. If nothing else, he could at least prepare her for what was to befall her when she returned to London. But he got no answer, and so he left a simple message for her to ring him at once. Then, after five minutes of waiting, he rang Salvatore Lo Bianco.
    He was trying to get in contact with Sergeant Havers, he told the Italian man. Was she with him? Did he know where she was? She wasn’t answering her mobile and—
    “I suspect she is on an airplane,” Salvatore told him. “She left Lucca at midday with the
professore
and little Hadiyyah.”
    “Returning to London?”
    “Where else, my friend?” Salvatore said. “We are at a conclusion here. To the
magistrato
I gave my report this afternoon.”
    “What will he be pursuing, Salvatore?”
    “To this, I confess I do not