Spider - Michael Morley [35]
He felt bad because good old Jack was no doubt enjoying a fine Tuscan morning and now his old buddy Howie was about to turn all that into a ball of elephant crap.
‘I am sorry, Signore King he is not here at the moment. Would you like to be speaking with Signora King?’
Given the option, Howie would rather shave his own eyeballs than risk a dressing-down from Nitric Nancy.
‘Yeah, put me through please,’ he said, wincing while he waited. Man, Nancy had really scorched him a few times in the past. Fact was, she and Howie had never really hit it off. In the early days, he was sure she’d resented how much time he and Jack had spent together. Then at the end, well, even though she’d never said it, he knew she partly blamed him for Jack’s breakdown.
‘Hello, Howie?’ said Nancy, a hint of incredulity in her voice. ‘What are you doing calling at this time?’
Hell, that kind of put him on the spot. What could he say now? Well, Nancy, someone’s mailed the severed head of the victim of a twenty-year-old murder to your husband and I was just wondering when he could swing by and pick it up? Nope, that didn’t seem a runner.
Howie went for a safer option. ‘Hi, Nancy, I’m up out of bed raiding the fridge, but I need to speak to Jack, we need to chat about some stuff.’
‘What stuff?’ said Nancy, quicker than a New Jersey switchblade.
‘Just an old case. Some new evidence has kinda cropped up. Any idea when I can get him?’
Nancy knew she was being blanked, knew it as surely as when that female Italian detective refused to tell her why she’d called. And she also knew there was no point asking Jack’s old buddy if there was any connection or not.
‘Howie, is this going to hurt us? Right now Jack is still on the mend, and, you know, we really could do without any extra stress.’ She found herself scratching at her neck, a nervous habit that she thought she had under control. ‘Tell me honestly, is this going to set him back?’
Howie needed to drain the last of the beer can before he could answer her. ‘Truth is, Nancy, we’re going to have to reopen the BRK files, and there’s a good chance the press are going to be dragging up lots of old stuff on Jack.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘I’m real sorry,’ said Howie, hearing her catching her breath on the other end of the line. ‘Are you okay?’
She breathed out hard. ‘No, I’m not, Howie. I’m really not okay.’
The good feeling that the beer and chicken had given him vanished. Howie knew it’d take more than a food-high to stop him feeling bad about this one. ‘Nancy, can you at least see that it’s best that I talk to Jack first? Best that I fill him in before he starts catching things on the news or in the papers?’
‘Howie, I don’t know. I can’t even think straight at the moment. Jack is in Florence, I’ll have him call you when he gets back.’
‘Thanks,’ said Howie, pushing the plate of chicken away.
‘Sure,’ said Nancy, her voice tinged with bitterness. ‘By the way, Carrie’s right – you are a fat selfish pig who thinks more about the FBI than about anything that should really matter to you.’
The line was dead before Howie could even think of a reply. It was just gone four a.m. but there was only one thing to do now, and that was open another can of beer.
25
Florence – Siena, Tuscany
Jack read the case documentation twice. He turned back to the handwritten covering letter and dialled the cell phone number of Massimo Albonetti. The outskirts of Florence faded behind him as the train rattled and rumbled towards Siena.
‘Pronto,’ said a strong, male Italian voice, the ‘r’ sounding as richly deep as if it had rolled out of the mouth of an opera-trained baritone.
‘Massimo, it’s Jack – Jack King.’
‘Aaah, Jack,’ Massimo responded warmly, hoping his former FBI colleague had not been too disturbed by his request for help. ‘My friend, how are you?’
‘I’m fine, Mass,’ said Jack, picturing ‘the old goat’ at his desk in Rome, no doubt with an espresso on one side and a cigarette burning in an ashtray on the other. ‘I’m sure your young inspector has reported back to you.’
Massimo cleared his