Viper - Michael Morley [112]
80
Campeggio Castellani, Pompeii
Antonio Castellani had become desperately worried about Franco. So much so, that he was actually pleased to get a knock on the door from two new carabinieri officers who wanted to go over everything again with him.
Once more the old man faithfully retold it all – leaving out only the private arrangement he’d made with the big lieutenant. Antonio was old enough and smart enough to know that you only told such import ant secrets to one person. Apart from that, he did as they asked. He went right back to the very beginning. Started from the moment the people on Lot 45 had reported their daughter and her boyfriend missing. Went right up to his recent brushes with the Camorra and the order from the Finelli clan that he leave his home and surrender his business.
The woman seemed genuinely moved, sympathetic and kind. The male officer apparently didn’t care that much. They were quite a pair. Chalk and cheese, he thought. The man, Mario or Marco something, he couldn’t remember the name, was intense and wiry, maybe even a little rude and disrespectful, while she – Cassie – was beautiful, polite and intelligent. He even liked her name. She was everything that he’d hoped his own daughter would have turned out to be. Cassie was one of those bright girls who would go far, he could tell. For a start she’d written everything down, had been careful not to miss anything. Her male partner had seemed happy just to fire off the questions. In fact, he’d only really become interested when Antonio had mentioned that Franco was missing. He still believed the police were the best hope of finding him. His grandson wasn’t well. Sometimes he got really sick, they had to find him, look after him, bring him back home. She said they would. She promised they would. Good girl, that Cassie, you could tell. She even took away some pictures of Franco. Promised again she’d find him.
Antonio settled down in his chair and knew he’d fall asleep. He was tired of it all. These days just living exhausted him. If he’d known that the two carabinieri officers he’d spent so much time with were actually Luciano Creed and a female journalist called Cassandra Morrietti, then it may well have been the death of him.
81
Via Caprese Michelangelo, centro città, Napoli
Ricardo Mazerelli’s visitor parked more than two blocks away and insisted that at the end of their meeting he was given the footage from the surveillance cameras that he was sure would be running.
Lieutenant Pietro Raimondi settled down in a chair in the penthouse conservatory, overlooking the streaming firefly lights of cars heading along the Bay of Naples. Ice tinkled in the two highball glasses of vodka and Coke that Mazerelli placed on a stone-topped coffee table beside the trickling waters of the Japanese garden. ‘So, what have you got that is so valuable you wish to see me at such short notice and under such unusual conditions?’
Raimondi told him. And he told him his price for ensuring that the information never crossed another investigator’s desk. ‘I have Antonio Castellani’s dossier, with its diary entries and photographs. I also have details of where Signor Castellani stashed weapons given to him by Fredo Finelli and his Family members. And, I have detailed accounts of money extorted from Antonio Castellani over more than a decade.’
Mazerelli picked up his drink and looked unperturbed. ‘Ramblings of an old man. Not enough to raise a warrant, let alone bring a case to trial. And even if you got that far, you would be gambling that Signor Castellani’s health held out. He is, after all, quite aged and could die at any moment.’
‘I also have video-taped testimony – made by myself – of Signor Castellani. Should it ever be needed,’ he lied.
Mazerelli swirled the ice in his glass. ‘And for this you want one million euros in untraceable cash?’
‘I do.’
The two men studied each other. Mazerelli wondered whether the cop was wired and it was all a trap. Raimondi wondered