Spider - Michael Morley [115]
‘I’m not buying anything,’ cackled the woman.
Jack smiled. ‘I’m not selling anything, Ma’am. My name is Jack King and I need your help.’ He reached into his pocket and took out Howie’s business card. ‘I’m a former FBI agent and I’m working with this man, trying to help him solve a very serious crime, and I need to come into your house to do it.’
‘You’re not coming in here,’ said the old lady, pushing the card back at him. ‘You’re one of those confidence tricksters. I know your type.’
Jack’s cell phone rang in his pocket but he ignored it. ‘Please. Please take the card,’ he pleaded. ‘I’m really not one of the bad guys. Take it, and go back inside your house, lock the door and call this man. He’ll tell you why the FBI needs your help. I’ll just wait here.’
The woman lifted her glasses and looked into Jack’s face.
‘Please, Ma’am,’ he said again.
She grabbed the card, went inside and he heard her lock the door. It was painful for Jack to wait, and hard to resist the urge to spin round and check out the house almost directly behind his back, the house that might hold the dying girl. He’d noticed that all the properties around him were big enough to have basements. The area felt right. It was the kind of place a killer like BRK would choose.
The old lady’s door opened and she reappeared. ‘Come in,’ she said, in a far more pleasant tone.
Jack stepped inside and let her close the door. The hall smelled of boiled potatoes and cheap meat.
‘I’m just having some coffee, Mr King, would you like some?’
‘I’d love some,’ said Jack, relieved to be inside, ‘but first I really have to ask you some questions and then I need you to take me upstairs to your bedroom.’
The old lady smiled. It had been a long time since Yoana Grinsberg had let a handsome stranger into her home and he’d been eager to go straight upstairs.
80
San Quirico D’Orcia, Tuscany
Terry McLeod was starting to get pissed off.
Apart from Maria, the dumb but pretty girl on reception, the whole place seemed empty. God damn it! If he really had been from a hotel and restaurant magazine, he’d be giving this place a minus five for service.
Lunch had finished some time back and McLeod found the dining room deserted. It had been fully cleared of all dirty crockery, cutlery and tablecloths.
He pressed on with his search, and came across a laundry cart full of dirty linen by the back stairs, so he guessed the couple of chambermaids they employed were busy on an upper floor, stripping bedding and collecting used towels.
He pushed open the flap-hinged service door to the kitchen. A teenage boy in an apron, red-faced from his labours, looked up from mopping the floor.‘iz?’ he said.
‘Hi there. I’m looking for Mrs King. Any idea where I might find her?’
Giuseppe stopped mopping and shrugged. Then, as an afterthought, he said, ‘Signora King, she may be in the garden with her son.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ said McLeod. ‘Can I go that way?’ he added, pointing at the kitchen door that led into the private gardens.
Giuseppe moved protectively in front of it, holding the mop like a weapon. ‘No, not that way, I’m sorry. That’s private. Wait in reception and I will tell Mrs King you want her.’
McLeod glared at him. God damn it, minus ten was too generous for this place. If he had his way, he’d have the whole friggin’ place shut down.
81
San Quirico D’Orcia, Tuscany
Spider manhandles his prey deeper into the darkness.
He’d spent days stalking the King woman and her child, following them at a safe distance, noticing and timing their movements, studying the way the free-spirited child wandered off from the over-busy mother who was constantly torn between attending to her business and carrying out her maternal duties.
Spider followed their car in the old Fiat motor-home he’d bought for the purposes of abducting, killing and then dismembering the young woman he’d targeted in Livorno. The motor-home meant he did not have to rent villas or check into hotels. It gave him untraceable