Spider - Michael Morley [108]
The fees he’d raked in from the Georgetown job had fired up his interest in the BRK case, and had got him thinking about what had happened to the cop who had quit the investigation after collapsing because of the strain of leading the murder hunt. McLeod had spent days researching the case, and had finally found the Kings’ whereabouts on a website about Tuscan cookery. Rising star chef Paolo Balze had been the subject of the feature and, fortunately for McLeod, he had magnanimously thanked his proprietors Jack and Nancy King. Well, the old hack was planning a feature of his own, and it wasn’t intended for the lifestyle section of some glossy magazine.
Jack King soaking up the good life in Tuscany, on a state pension, while his ex-colleagues have to deal with the desecration of a grave of one of the victims on whom he turned his back. This was great tabloid crime. Maybe a front-page splash in the National Enquirer, or a slide show of pics for Court TV. Only trouble was, King wasn’t there.
At first McLeod feared that the story might be dead, but then he patiently set his mind to things. If he was lucky, maybe the Kings had split up; perhaps there was an even better human drama story to tell. Cop that quit BRK case quits wife who stood by him!
Sprinkle the story with some shots of the lonely wife looking after a sad toddler because Daddy’s run out on them and he’d have editors eating out of his hand like pigeons.
Then within the last few days had come suggestions that the former Fed guy was somehow helping Italian cops with some job or other. This was also a good angle. ‘Retired’ FBI man on state pension can’t help us, but he can help the Italians and help himself !
The last headline needed work, but McLeod knew it was still a seller. In truth, anything about BRK was a seller.
With that thought in mind, he ended his long vigil and climbed out of his hide to return to La Casa Strada to question Nancy King about her husband’s whereabouts. He was going to get the quotes he needed to clinch his story and nothing was going to stop him.
Whatever the King woman said, it didn’t really matter. McLeod knew he now had enough to write the kind of exclusive that many people would die for.
73
Livorno, Tuscany
Orsetta Portinari had two questions on her mind as she arrived in Livorno: what were Cristina Barbuggiani’s last movements on the ninth of June and what was the link between Jack King and her killer?
Marco Rem Pici from the local murder squad met her at the railway station, with a genuine smile and a kiss on each cheek that he had to stand on tiptoe to administer. He was a small man, even by Italian standards, but was always immaculately dressed in dark suits that complemented his short dark hair, gym-broadened shoulders and trim waist. He drove them to Cristina’s apartment, a cheap place, high up a hillside, with a terrific view down on to the Medici port – providing you had a telescope. The ugly concrete building was a stark contrast to the ancient towers and fortresses that led to the historic town centre. They were shown to the third floor by the landlord, a fat, bald man in his sixties who thought white string vests and broken-zipped slacks were fashionable. He opened the heavy metal front door and without saying a word left them to their business. The business of murder.
Orsetta silently cursed Jack as she looked around. This was a trip that he should have been making with her, giving her his expert input on, instead of disappearing back to America. Visiting a victim’s home was always like sticking a slide of their whole life under a microscope and uncovering the crucial secrets they thought no one would ever find out. It would have been a huge help to have had him around.
Orsetta took in the light marble flooring that ran throughout the place, a single yellow cotton settee and yellow beanbag crowded in