Bella Italia (20 page)

Nice move
, Martuccia thought. Everything pointed to the fact that this man was exactly who he said he was. If only he managed to recognize the man from the sketch.

Tardelli placed the drawing right in front of Davide Cassani. “Does this face look familiar?”

Cassani responded venomously. His hand slammed down hard on the sketch. “That's him. This is the motherfucker that tricked me!”

Salvatore was lying on his belly in the bushes, some two hundred yards in front of the entrance of the Hotel La Ninfa. Through his binoculars, he watched the scene between the detectives and the junkie take place. He had been happy when the junkie was arrested and they all got into the car and left together, but his joy was short-lived when, after they drove off, two men emerged from two different cars already in the parking lot. He knew they were probably not just civilians. Of course, he had taken into account that the police would have access to a backup team. But it was still a bitter pill to swallow. A confrontation with these guys was now inevitable and would not only mean a delay in his plan but would also make it far more risky. He thought that maybe this team would be less alert than their predecessors, because they thought the suspect had already been apprehended, and therefore didn’t expect any new threats. But what if he was wrong? He would have to be extra sharp from the very start now. Only then did he stand a chance to eliminate them.

He pointed the binoculars back to the entrance and saw that one of the detectives had taken his position in the foyer. Though he had taken everything into account, now that he had to execute an incredibly difficult scenario, he began to get nervous. He heard the sound of an engine approaching, turned his binoculars slightly, and saw a car driving into the hotel parking lot.

He cursed quietly. Even more people. Police or no police, the more people there were, the more difficult it all became. Even worse, they were blocking his clear view of the lobby. Two men got out of the car that had just parked and walked into the hotel. Then a taxi stopped in front of the hotel. The man who was checking out was taking far too long in Salvatore’s opinion.
He’s probably been drinking
, he thought.

“Get on with it, asshole,” he hissed between his teeth.

To make matters worse, another taxi pulled up. He put the binoculars down next to him. This was not his night. He considered going home for a moment and coming to try this another time, but then he realized he didn’t have a moment to lose. It had to happen tonight. While he kept an eye on the hotel’s entrance, he decided to go for a different angle. He needed to stop whining and start pumping himself up instead. He had already come this far without anyone tracking him down. Invisible to others, he was already so close to his new victim. He was ready for it. He had to gain his strength from that now. His moment would come tonight. There was no other way, because he had outsmarted everyone once again.

After he had recovered from the shock of finding out that the entire Peschiera police force was hunting him down, he managed to start thinking clearly again. Just before dawn, he had gotten on his scooter and driven to Verona. Because he had ridden only on the dirt roads and hiking trails, it had taken him more than an hour to reach Verona. But every single second of that ride had been worth the inconvenience. He had managed to get around the police, who still had their roadblocks and checkpoints on all the main roads at that time.

He had called in sick by phone and stayed at a roadside diner from six in the morning when it opened until about ten o’clock. After that he had spent about two hours at an Internet café. He had managed to resist the temptation to work on his own laptop somewhere outside or at another establishment. No matter how many false leads or blockages he could put in place, the search for him online would always lead back to his laptop. He couldn’t take that risk. There were no cameras in the café, and he could care less if his actions online would lead them to the café’s address. He would never return there again after today anyway.

For someone with his capacity and qualities, the things he needed to figure out were fairly simple. It didn’t take him very long to get into the reservation and booking system of Regina di Garda’s campground. He went through all the bookings during the week that he had struck. Through the media he had found out that the boy who had escaped was Dutch, and so he searched the list for what seemed like a Dutch name to him. It was quite an extensive list, but he checked them all one by one through social-media sites, Google, and with a special program that he and other hackers hid online to help track down identity information. Admittedly, it was through an inactive profile on the Dutch social-media site called Hyves, but he had found what he was looking for. Niels Kolwijn. He knew the family had to be in the neighborhood, because he had seen them on a terrace in Peschiera. Of course, it was possible that they were registered under a false name, but he hoped he wouldn’t find too many hits, making his search easier. He wanted to expose himself as little as possible, so he was too afraid to call hotels in the area and ask for the Dutch name, afraid his voice would be recognized or would somehow be recorded.

Then he suddenly remembered another possibility. He had worked on a coworker’s laptop once from the security department. She was married to a police officer and the idiot had logged into his personal email on her laptop. He had saved the information. Why didn’t he think of that sooner? He would have to use his own laptop for a moment, which was a risk, but if he worked fast, it shouldn’t make a difference. Before they could find out that he was the one in the drawing, he would be logged out and long gone.

He couldn’t believe his luck when he actually ended up in the officer’s email account. Sadly, he didn’t seem to have the information pointing to the name Kolwijn that he needed. He tried doing a search in his email account for the word
hotel
. There were about ten emails. It seemed that the man had made a reservation for his fifteenth wedding anniversary in Venice. Yuck, how sappy. One email, however, had no subject line and the sender was also a police officer. The email had been sent that morning.
Hey, cousin. Will talk to you in more detail when you come over for dinner the day after tomorrow. Have to head to hotel LN now for that high profile case
.

Initials
L
and
N
? Quickly, he went through the list of hotels in the area. La Ninfa! That was the hotel on the road from Verona to Peschiera. He passed it quite often. The so-called high profile case referred to had to be his case. And, therefore, about the Dutch family. He couldn’t believe his luck. What were the odds that a family member of this officer’s email account would have something to do with this case? Maybe far greater odds than he had thought. Many of the police, fire department, and government offices were cut back this past year. He had lost count of how many profiles and how much employee information he had deleted concerning coworkers lately.

In order to plan everything in the quickest and best way possible, he took one more risk. He looked up the hotel’s phone number and went out and found a public phone. He called the hotel, pretending he was with the police department. The receptionist was suspicious and couldn’t or wasn’t allowed to connect him to the Kolwijn family, but the man surprised him with a question and asked him why he didn’t contact his colleagues about this directly. Salvatore didn’t know what to say for a moment, and then he heard the man fumble with the phone as if he’d placed his hand over the receiver. Suddenly, after more fumbling he heard the receptionist say, “Why don’t you ask your colleague himself? One moment.”

Salvatore hung up quickly. He had heard enough.

He still had his father’s leather shoulder holster, which contained a pistol. The weapon was an imitation model without any bullets, but would be extremely useful for his current mission. Only a real expert would notice the difference between this fake gun and a real one. He had fallen for it many times himself when he was young, when the bastard had threatened him with it. But he couldn’t threaten him anymore. He was six feet under now. Salvatore also had a badge from his work. It was obviously not exactly the same as the one the police force used, but a foreigner wouldn’t know the difference. It said something about government on it, and he would only flash it for a quick second. He had even glued the word
police
on it. He smiled briefly. Up until now, he had managed to fool everyone. The junkie had also walked right into his trap, like a toddler chasing after a bag of candy. He did have to honestly admit that it had been perfect timing that the junkie had shot up right before their meeting. What a sharp contrast it must be for that man: between how he must be feeling at the police station now and how he had felt the night before. They had spent the greater part of the evening on terraces. He had even left the junkie alone and announced that he could order whatever he wanted. To keep the junkie on his toes, he had promised to pay him another fifty euro around nine o’clock that evening. An appointment he would keep out of self-interest. While the junkie enjoyed a decent meal on the terrace, he had bought the knives and the box in a store where they sold household items. He purchased the wrapping paper and bow later that evening at a souvenir store. On a side street, he had placed one of the knives in the box, wrapped it, and placed the bow on top. He had instructed the man to take a taxi as he climbed on his scooter. He didn’t want to be recognized by the driver and didn’t want to be seen together with the junkie. Right when he had found the perfect spot to watch the hotel, the junkie and the police officers had walked outside.
Perfect timing, just like it is right now
.

He looked at his watch, checked the road again for traffic, and decided that the time had come. He put the binoculars in the backpack lying on the ground next to him and brushed the sand off his clothes. Luckily, it had not rained during the past few days. To be sure everything was how he wanted it, he checked the inside pockets of his jacket and the deep pocket of his raincoat. He put on the glasses with heavy frames and a silly hunter hat and walked toward the hotel entrance.

Now that they had left Verona behind them and were on the two-way street leading to the Hotel La Ninfa, Tardelli pushed down even harder on the accelerator and kept the same speed on the road’s various turns. Thankfully, the Fiat could keep up with his insane driving style. Even though Martuccia twice became afraid that they might flip over, the car remained perfectly balanced.

“Don’t make yourself crazy, Carlo,” Tardelli grumbled, who had seen how his colleague had braced himself for the worst. “It’s a good little car with an excellent driver. We will be there soon.”

Martuccia mumbled something under his breath. The car may be a good one, but with this kind of driving style you never knew what could happen. He had driven quite a lot of miles with his colleague, but he had never seen Tardelli drive as crazy as he was driving tonight.

“Why don’t you tell me where things stand, instead of looking so nervous?”

Martuccia shrugged his shoulders. “What can I say? I hope we get there in time and that the junkie didn’t lie to us. Or rather, that the junkie wasn’t lied to, so we can catch this bastard now, because he is probably still hanging around the hotel. But if he was really waiting for the junkie to return, then he has probably already left. He had to have seen that we picked up his little errand boy.”

“Yes, but there was a reason he sent that message. It is a clear threat. He wants to hurt that family. Something that makes sense if you think about the fact that the boy is the only real witness in his way at the moment.”

“Like I said, I hope we’re not too late,” Martuccia answered.

“We would have gotten a call from one of the guys if there was any trouble. Didn’t you just call the Kolwijn family? Who did you speak with?”

“Mrs. Kolwijn, Petra.”

“How did she sound?”

“Normal. I don’t even think they noticed the arrest outside of their door.”

“Good, we don’t want them to panic. That’s the last thing we want.”

“She sounded very calm, almost subdued, when I told her there was still police security, also that we were on our way back and that she shouldn’t open the door for anyone but the police.”

“Sounds good,” Tardelli answered. “What about our guys?”

“They’re in position. I told them that we decided to go for at least three security men after all and that we would be there in a few minutes.” 

“So, tell me: If you had been in my place during the interview would you have ended it sooner? I mean, obviously that junkie couldn’t think about much else than shooting up and any other suspect would have realized right away that he was in serious trouble.”

“I probably would have,” Martuccia answered. “It didn’t take long before I realized that Cassani probably wasn’t our guy. But I understand why you played it this way.”

“You know just as well as I do that certain points need to be addressed during an interrogation. Enter the interview blank, remember? All things considered, I still managed to wrap it up quickly. Maybe even too fast in the eyes internal affairs.”

Martuccia waved him away. “As if those dirty rats would touch this case with a ten-foot pole? This case is much too sensitive.” Martuccia sighed out loud. “Something about this doesn’t feel right—something is just not right, dammit. The security at the hotel is by the book. But this situation isn’t. This bastard has really thought this through, and we fell for it blindly. Of course, we have security, experienced people. If he shows up, they’re going to grab him. But this whole thing has left me with a bad taste in my mouth. So that’s why I want to be there myself.”

There was something else that was bugging him, but he kept it to himself. Tardelli was experienced enough to figure it out on his own. How in the world did this guy know that they were staying at the Hotel La Ninfa? Was the murderer someone who had access to police files? Or worse: Was he one of them, a colleague, maybe someone they interacted with every day?