Suspicious (On the Run) Read online

  Jack looked back. “Mustache Guy is still with us.”

  As they left the confines of the street and burst into the open area with a traffic circle in front of the monument, Zoe glanced back. “I see Bun Lady, too.”

  “Come on.” Jack caught her hand, and they ran toward the monument. With flights of stairs, rows of columns, flags, fountains, and statues of horses, chariots, and goddesses, all layered and stacked together, the whole thing felt overdone. They’d walked by it earlier in the week after their visit to the Forum, and Zoe didn’t even glance at it as they made for an idling bus.

  They shoved on with the group of waiting commuters and tourists, losing Mustache Guy, but Bun Lady hopped on at the last second. Jack nodded toward the front of the bus, and they worked their way forward until they were near the front exit. At the next stop, they were the first ones off and were several steps away when Jack said, “Backtrack. Act like you forgot something.”

  They doubled back, and Jack bumped into Bun Lady, who was only a few steps behind them. The impact with Jack’s shoulder sent her tottering across the sidewalk away from the bus into a cluster of students. Zoe’s hand clasped the bus handrail inside the open doors, and she hopped onto the bottom step of the stairwell, the only open space on the packed bus. She felt Jack push in behind her seconds before the doors closed behind him. The bus lumbered away, and Zoe’s gaze connected with the woman’s as she untangled herself from the students.

  ***

  Nigel came out of his office, grabbed a rolling chair from a nearby empty desk, and pulled it alongside Gemma’s desk. “That tip on the country home robberies come to anything?”

  She swiveled toward him, her golden eyebrows pinched together in a frown. “No. Terrance Croftly is so clean I’m surprised he doesn’t sparkle.”

  Nigel raised his eyebrows. “So you’re saying he’s a vampire?”

  Gemma laughed. “Pop culture point for you. No, he’s definitely human, an ordinary one, at that. “No record. Not even a hint of illegal activity. Doesn’t associate with any known criminals. Not even a parking ticket. Model citizen, by the looks of it. He trained under his uncle, the original owner of the store. Terrance bought him out last year.”

  “Hmm. And yet, there’s the tip about the cross.”

  “And yet.” She sighed. “I’m beginning to wonder if the informant just made it up.”

  “Hell of a thing to make up though—a medieval cross.”

  “I know,” Gemma agreed. “Why not just say it was diamonds or miscellaneous gems? A medieval cross is specific, which makes me think there’s something to it.” Nigel nodded in agreement.

  She waved a hand at the computer. “I’m checking some of his social media. He’s got a few accounts—Facebook, Twitter, Instagram—but I don’t see anything that I can pursue.”

  “Well, we can consider setting up a sting when you get back.”

  “Back?”

  “From Rome. If you want to go.” Nigel put a folder on her desk. “The Flawless Set has been stolen from an exhibit in Rome. Heard of it?”

  “Hasn’t everyone? It’s as famous as the Hope Diamond.”

  “Right. The anonymous owner, who happens to be a citizen of Great Britain, has requested Scotland Yard look into it. I figured you’re already working gems, I’d see if you wanted in on this one. If you don’t want it, I’ll send Davy.”

  “Are you kidding?” Gemma grabbed the folder. “It’s Rome. I’m going home to pack.”

  Chapter Six

  Alessi stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the desk without looking away from the papers he gazed at, giving the impression that he was completely absorbed in them. He wasn’t interested in the papers at all. They were simply a few notes jotted during one of the recent interviews. Alessi was not a man to take notes. That was a duty for Bernando, who sat in the corner of the room with his tape recorder and notepad. No, Alessi didn’t care about the papers. He was interested in the young woman seated on the far side of the desk. Making her, or any witness, wait revealed several interesting things. Even with his focus on the desk, he had been aware of her careful, almost hesitant movements as she came in and took a seat. And now the quick rise and fall of her chest showed she was nervous. Of course, most people would find a Carabinieri interview intimidating.

  Without raising his head, he asked, “Name and position with Millbank and Proust?”

  “Amy Beck,” she whispered. “Assistant to Mr. Throckmorton.”

  He quickly ran through the rest of the details, her address in London, phone number, and the day she arrived in Rome. Her answers were almost inaudible.

  “Now, Signorina Beck,” he said, finally raising his head. “Why did you not point out the fake last night instead of this morning?”

  “What?” Her brown eyes widened and her forehead wrinkled.

  “The substitution was made last night. Why did you not point it out then?”

  “I didn’t notice it. I didn’t actually go near it last night. That was Mr. Throckmorton’s job. To secure it, make sure everything was done properly.”

  “But you are his assistant.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, somewhat reluctantly.

  “So you would have been aware of his plans to switch the real jewels with the fakes.”

  “No—no. Mr. Throckmorton would never—”

  Alessi overrode her words, his volume growing louder. “But how could you not be? You have access to all his correspondence, do you not? His phone, his computer, you manage that sort of thing for him. That is what assistants do, isn’t it?”

  She swallowed hard, shaking her head. “No. No, there was nothing. Nothing like that at all,” she said, bursting into tears.

  Alessi sat back and watched her shaking shoulders for a moment. She was nothing like the feisty redhead, he thought. That one had been a fighter. This one was weak. Easily played.

  Between sobs, she said, “I knew something like this would happen. Mrs. Davray said not to be silly, that no one would suspect me, but you think I knew, that I helped him.” She sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “But I didn’t. I promise I didn’t.” She gazed at him beseechingly with her large brown eyes, now rimmed in smudged black. “I only went to work for Mr. Throckmorton a few months ago, anyway. I’ve barely learned my way around the offices back in London.”

  Alessi pushed a tissue box across the desk. “Tell me exactly what you did last night.”

  Hesitantly, she reached out for a tissue, then quickly snatched one as if Alessi was a dangerous animal she shouldn’t get too close to. She ran the tissue under her eyes. “I spent most of the night at the door, checking guests in. When Mr. and Mrs. Andrews arrived, I walked them back to the final room of the exhibit.”

  “And why was that?”

  She had relaxed a bit and blew her nose, a great honking sound, before continuing, “Mr. Throckmorton told me to.”

  “And did you know why he wanted them in that room, especially?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ask?”

  “No.”

  Alessi repressed a sigh. His job would be so much easier if people were less like sheep and more inquisitive.

  “And you didn’t think it odd?”

  “No,” she said simply. “Why should I?”

  Alessi reached for another cigarette. “And the plaque—where was it before the presentation?”

  “Under a table at the back of the room.”

  “Who gave it to Signora Davray? You?”

  “Yes, but…well, I went to get it, but Mr. Throckmorton already had it out. He gave it to me to give to her right before the presentation.”

  “Was this before or after the jewels went into the case?”

  “After, I think.”

  A tap on the door sounded. Alessi barked, “Sì?” Amy jumped.

  A man entered and handed Alessi a note. It read, “Lost Andrews and wife.”

  Alessi jumped up, let out a string of Italian. Amy sli
d lower in the chair.

  ***

  Jack and Zoe rode the bus to the Termini, went in, and circled around for a while until Jack was sure there wasn’t anyone else on their tail. “Where to now?”

  Jack gestured to her messenger bag. “Now we go drop some luggage.”

  Zoe gripped the bag. “Oh, no. We’re not dropping this off. This is my new bag. My other one, I lost in Venice, if you remember. I’m not losing this one.”

  “Fair enough.” Jack grinned. “We can buy luggage from a street vendor.”

  Jack led the way out of the Termini, and they stopped at a kiosk with scarves, knock-off purses, and tote bags as well as tiny rolling bags, which were about the size of rolling suitcases with cartoon characters on them that she’d seen kids toting through the airport in the States. “Everything is scaled down in Europe, cars, trucks, living space, even the suitcases,” Zoe mused as they purchased the smallest suitcase and a felt blanket to fill up the space. She put the lotion bottle inside the roll of the blanket and zipped the suitcase up. “Okay, what’s this other option?”

  “This way.” Jack turned north. After several blocks, he nodded to a self-serve laundry tucked between a bakery and a pizzeria. Under the larger sign for the laundry, a smaller one stated, “Deposito Bagagli.”

  Inside, they passed by two student-types loading clothes from enormous backpacks into the machines. At the back counter, a young Indian man greeted them and explained in a mix of Italian peppered with English that he could take their bag and store it for seven days. He had Zoe sign the portion of the numbered tag, which he attached to the suitcase handle then he tore off the stub, pointing to a blank line at the bottom of the stub, then to the signed tag. “Sign when you return. Must match.”

  Zoe nodded that she understood, and Jack paid the man in advance for seven days. “I hope we don’t need to leave it that long.”

  “But better safe than sorry,” Zoe agreed.

  The man smiled and dipped his head in a slight bow as they completed the transaction, then wheeled the suitcase to a door behind the counter, which he unlocked. As they moved away, Zoe caught a glimpse of a narrow room lined with shelves with numbers thumbtacked to the edges. The man lifted their suitcase into an open slot on the top shelf.

  “Let’s hope sixty-four is our lucky number.” Zoe put the ticket stub in the folder that held her passport. The creamy leather folder had been a bon voyage gift from Helen. It had a section sized for her passport on one side; slots for credit cards were on the other side. Zoe inserted the stub deep into one of the credit card slots where it couldn’t be seen at first glance.

  Jack checked the street through the large plate glass window before holding the door open for her. Zoe looked pointedly at the simple lock on the front door. “You’re sure this place is secure enough?”

  “Yes. This is our best bet.” Jack raised his eyes to the awning covering the storefront where a steel grate hung in a neatly retracted roll. “They lower that at night and there’s no back entrance. I heard about this place back when I worked in Naples. A few people at the Consulate used it for storage if they had a few extra hours in Rome. Shorter lines than at Left Luggage at the Termini, and it’s secure. I’m just glad it’s still open.”

  “Well, at least I’m not carrying it on me.” Zoe felt like the messenger bag was ten pounds lighter.

  “Next up, finding Harrington.” Jack dialed his number then shook his head. “Still not answering.”

  “So unlike him. But how do we even go about finding him? Alessi said Harrington wasn’t in his hotel room. I wonder if Alessi checked the hospitals?”

  “I’m sure it’s on his list. I hope he’s running down the whereabouts of everyone who was at the exhibit last night.”

  “Too bad we’re at the top of that list. I get the feeling he’s more focused on us than anyone else.”

  “Yes. He thinks we did it, but he can’t afford not to investigate everyone, which may give us some breathing room, at least for a while. I’d like to see Harrington’s hotel room.”

  “Isn’t that risky?”

  “What’s this? You, worried about risk? You like risks and a bit of danger.”

  “Only when it involves rollercoasters and rock climbing, not breaking and entering. That’s just crazy.”

  “Who said anything about breaking and entering? Remember, I’m stodgy and cautious,” he said with a grin.

  “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” Before she’d sussed out Jack’s secrets, she’d thought he was a dull, average sort of guy, which, after her crazy, unsecure upbringing, had actually appealed to her. Initially, she’d liked the safety and security she felt with Jack, the plodding, ordinariness of his life. But then one day the ordinary became irritating. What first appealed to her became the thing that annoyed her the most, his stick-in-the-mud lifestyle, marked by caution and carefulness. What she hadn’t understood was that Jack’s past was anything but ordinary. “Maybe I thought that once, but I know deep down, you’re a thrill-seeker. You just hide it well.”

  They’d been walking along the street, and Zoe hadn’t missed that while they were walking and talking, Jack constantly checked the area around them, surveying the crowds. The smile left her face as they reached the Termini. “So, it has to be Harrington’s hotel room?”

  “Have you got a better place to start?”

  Zoe thought for a second. “The Hotel Santa Maria, wasn’t it?”

  ***

  Zoe consulted her Smart Travel Rome guidebook and was relieved to see the Hotel Santa Maria was listed. It was located near the Spanish Steps, so they caught the Metro at the Termini and rode it to the Spagna stop, then took the elevator to the top of the steps, which was not nearly as scenic as climbing the actual steps, but they weren’t sightseeing today. They emerged at the top of the steps near the obelisk and made their way through a cluster of artists displaying their canvases and only paused for a second to take in the view down the steps, then continued on to the Via Sistina, one of the constricted streets of hotels, restaurants, and shops that branched off the piazza. The sun was high and bright in the sky, but with the tall buildings on either side, the street was shady. The Hotel Santa Maria was about halfway down the street with several police cars, including a Carabinieri car, parked in front of its revolving glass door. A couple of business-suited men carrying briefcases chatted on the red carpet outside the hotel.

  Zoe and Jack slowed their pace as they neared the hotel. He looked across the façade of the building. “Okay, four floors. We go inside, act like we know where we’re going and take the stairs or the elevator, if they have one. I’m betting a hotel this posh has an elevator. Once we’re on the floors with the rooms, we stroll, looking for Harrington’s.”

  Zoe eyed the police cars. “You think his room will be obvious.”

  He nodded. “Once we find out where it is, then we figure out how to get in.”

  “It’s a good plan, but I don’t like the idea of traipsing along hallways and accidentally running into the police. Since, you know, we were just running from them.”

  They stopped walking, and Zoe pretended to consult her map. Jack leaned over it, too. “Do you have another idea?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Zoe looked pointedly at two women in maid uniforms leaving the building through a small door cut into another larger door a few feet from the hotel’s main entrance. “I bet they know everything that’s going on in the hotel—where the police are, what they’ve found, and what was going on in the rooms before the police arrived.”

  Huddled close over the map, Jack turned to look at her, his face close to hers. “You’re too good at this, sometimes.”

  “I’ve learned from the best.” She put away the map, and they followed the women to a café down the street where the women bought slices of pizza.

  Zoe nodded to a souvenir store across the street. “I’ll wait here. One person is less memorable than two.”

  “Good idea. Now, all
I have to do is drag some Italian out of my memory banks.” He took the map, and Zoe went to browse T-shirts and refrigerator magnets. She watched him enter the café and approach the table, map in hand. He fixed his silver-blue gaze on the women, and even from across the street, Zoe could see him turn on the charm.

  The women seemed eager to help, hands flying as they talked. Zoe smothered a smile. Worried about his Italian. Right. All he had to do was smile and those women were eating out of his hand. Zoe turned her attention back to browsing, stepping aside as a woman entered the store and made for the cash register at the back. The store was tiny, little more than two rows of shelves on each side and a cash register at the back. Zoe immediately recognized the woman who’d entered the store was Harrington’s flustered assistant. The rolling bag she pulled behind her bumped one of the shelves and sent a stack of T-shirts sliding.

  “So sorry—oh.”

  “Amy, isn’t?” Zoe asked as she grabbed the T-shirts before they hit the floor.

  “Yes. Um…” A sales person, a girl in her late teens, came out from behind the cash register, frowning.

  “Zoe. From the exhibit.” They stepped back and the sales girl replaced the shirts.

  “Right. Sorry. I’m just so scattered. With everything that’s happened—I just wanted a shirt. I have to get something before I leave Rome.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes. I can’t wait to get out of this city. I thought that horrid little detective or inspector, or whatever he is, wasn’t going to let me leave. He actually said we all had to stay.” Her hair slipped over her face and she pushed it behind her ear with fingers that shook. “As if Mrs. Davray would stand for that. Mrs. Davray told him that she is not going to miss her flight this afternoon. And Mr. Goccetto has been gone for hours anyway.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. He caught some late flight last night after the exhibit so it is completely unreasonable to expect the rest of us to stay. It’s not like we know anything.” She heaved a sigh. “If only Mr. Throckmorton were here, he would have sorted everything out. I’m on holiday today. My mum’s expecting to pick me up at the airport this afternoon. It’s the first holiday I’ve had since going to work for M&P, and if Mr. Throckmorton were here, there wouldn’t even be a question. He’d see that I got to leave. Of course, Mrs. Davray did too,” she added reluctantly, “but with her, it’s more of an accident that it happened. Mr. Throckmorton would remember that I was on holiday and make sure I got it.”