The Florentine Cypher: Kate Benedict Paranormal Mystery #3 (The Kate Benedict Series) (12 page)

“He’s dead.”

Feeling dizzy, I leaned my elbows on the table for support.

“What is it?” Claire demanded. I held up my hand to stop her so I could listen to what Lake was saying.

“His body was found late on Friday evening,” Lake said. “In the alleyway outside Ethan’s office. Looks as though he was strangled, stabbed, and then pushed out of the window. The window you found open when you got there.”

“Stabbed? But there was no blood anywhere in the office. I would have noticed.”

“Strangled first. The stab wound appears to be post-mortem. The coroner puts time of death between six thirty and seven thirty on Friday evening.”

I’d seen Ethan flag down a taxi outside his office just after seven.

“Between you and me, Kate, things aren’t looking good for your friend. The stab wound was inflicted with a letter opener that was still in the body. Hamilton’s name was inscribed on the handle.”

“Oh my God,” I breathed. Of course, now, I recalled wondering where the letter opener was. Ethan always kept it on his desk. His father had given it to him when he graduated from Cambridge.

“Hamilton’s fingerprints were all over it. In fact, there were no other prints on it.”

“Why do the police have Ethan’s prints on file?” I asked, confused.

“Maybe he applied for a visa at some point, or his company runs security checks on employees. That’s quite standard nowadays.”

“But the killer would almost certainly have worn gloves. So a lack of prints doesn’t mean anything.”

“Perhaps not. Even so, with no evidence of a third party being present and Hamilton’s reported disappearance, he remains the only suspect for now.” Lake blew out a noisy breath. “Kate, I’d like you to be completely honest with me. Do you know where Ethan Hamilton is?”

“No, no I don’t. I wish I did. But he didn’t kill Ben.”

Claire gasped and grabbed at my hand. “What? What’s going on?”

I shook my head at her. I needed to focus. “He didn’t do it,” I said again. “There’s no way.”

“I’ll be assisting with the investigation,” Lake said. “I only found out about it this morning because the Institute is outside my usual geographical area of operations. But when I filed the missing person report, Ethan’s name popped up in connection with Mr. Shepherd’s murder.”

“What about Ethan’s flat?” I asked. “Remember I told you I thought someone was there? If there was an intruder, that would be good news for Ethan wouldn’t it? Proof that someone else is involved?”

“It might,” Lake said. “But it might also indicate that Ethan’s got himself mixed up with some bad people.” He paused for so long that I checked my mobile screen to see if we’d been disconnected. “I need to talk with you in person, Kate. The janitor saw you in Ethan’s office at about the time of death.”

“Of course he did, but it was later, after half past seven, when I went back to the cupboard to retrieve the book.” Lake’s words hit me. “You can’t believe I’m involved? Why would I have come to your police station an hour after murdering someone and put myself on your radar? You saw me. Did I look as though I’d just strangled and stabbed a man?”

“Calm down,” Lake said. “I have to follow certain procedures. You are a person of interest in this case.” He paused, and I heard paper rustling. “You left a message telling me you’re in Italy?”

“Yes, with Ethan’s sister.”

“I need to see you, both of you, in my office. When will you be back in London?”

“I have a flight this evening,” I said. Claire grabbed my hand again, shaking her head.

“Call me when you’re back, and we’ll arrange a time to meet. Meanwhile, be careful. I know you want to protect Ethan Hamilton, but the evidence points to his being involved in something unsavory. He may or may not have killed Ben Shepherd, but he has disappeared.”

When he finished the call, I sat motionless. My brain seemed frozen in place. It was eerily quiet, and I couldn’t find any words. I’d only met Ben once or twice, but his death was a shock. Ethan thought highly of him and the two of them had worked closely together. And the idea of Ethan being a killer was absurd.

Gradually, sounds filtered through, voices and clinking cutlery, the replay of a football match on the television over the bar. And Claire begging me to tell her what was going on.

I related everything Lake had told me as I watched her shred a paper napkin into tiny pieces.

“Ethan isn’t capable of killing anyone,” she said when I’d finished. “He’s the type who’d carry a spider outside rather than hurt it.”

“We need to find him,” I said. “We have to tell him about Ben and get him to go to the police to clear his name.”

I searched in my bag for a packet of tissues. Claire was sniffling, and I felt like crying myself. When I looked up again, I caught sight of a man coming into the cafe. He was gazing in our direction as he settled in at a table near the window. Very tall with a remarkable hooked nose, he had round, dark eyes that made him look like a bird of prey. He wore a black overcoat and a black scarf although the day wasn’t really that cold, and even if he hadn’t been looking at us, I would have noticed him. He had an aura spinning slowly over his glossy black hair.

“Don’t look around yet, but I think someone is watching us,” I whispered to Claire.

Claire dropped her spoon and splashed coffee across the tabletop. “Is it one of the men who was chasing us?”

“No, I’ve never seen him before.”

“So what makes you think he’s got anything to do with us?” she asked, using another paper napkin to mop up the coffee.

“He hasn’t stopped looking this way since he came in,” I said. “It may be nothing, but let’s not make things easy for him. We should go.”

I dropped a few euros on the table and picked up my bag, guiding Claire away from the bar. The din of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine receded as we turned a corner on to a narrow
calle
that led away from the main thoroughfare.

“What are we going to do?” asked Claire.

“We keep moving,” I said. “We’ll go to the
Questura
.”

“Is that a good idea?” Claire asked. “Now that we know Ethan’s a suspect for murder?”

I thought for a minute. Our priority was still to find Ethan. If we needed to enlist the assistance of the police to do that, so be it. “Yes, it’s still the safest place for us,” I said. “And if we see a policeman on the way, we’ll stop him and ask for help.”

As we got closer to San Marco, more and more people crowded the streets and the shops that sold carnival masks and colored glass jewelry. I stopped in front of one, pretending to examine the masks on display while I checked behind us. There was no sign of the man in the black coat. I sighed. Obviously, I was so on edge that I was imagining dangers where there were none. It was too bad about his aura. He was only in his forties, I guessed.

I started off again with Claire next to me. The dense hordes of pedestrians made it impossible to move fast, but we pushed through as quickly as we could, passing the Bauer hotel, where tourists queued to board the glossy black gondolas neatly docked like a squad of London taxis. After crossing another bridge, we walked under a colonnade into the vast square. Ahead, dominating the piazza, rose the cathedral of San Marco, its golden domed roof gleaming in the morning sunshine. Masses of people strolled between flocks of pigeons or threw handfuls of bread crumbs for them. A few hardy tourists stood festooned with the intrepid birds as friends and families snapped pictures.

“Flying vermin,” muttered Claire, beating off one that tried to land on her shoulder. “Now what?”

“Pretend you like birds,” I said. “Give me a minute to check for any signs of pursuit.”

Claire nodded and took her mobile out of her bag, using the camera to take pictures while I scanned the arcades around the square. My pulse rate soared when I saw the man in the black coat walking towards us. He didn’t seem to be making any attempt to be discreet. I’d grabbed hold of Claire’s arm, ready to run, when he called out to us. “
Signorine, aspetta per favore
.”

I couldn’t imagine a thug politely asking us to wait so I dropped Claire’s arm and faced him.

“Who are you?” I asked when he reached us.

“My name is… call me Falcone. I am a detective with a special investigative unit of the Carabinieri.”

There was something about the police officer that made me uneasy. His aura, of course, and the way his eyes reflected light so I couldn’t see any expression in them.

“May I see your ID?” I asked.

Falcone took his wallet from his suit pocket and flipped it open to an identity card. There was a photograph of him over-stamped with an official-looking seal, and his name was preceded with the title
Colonnello
. The Carabinieri were the national military police, headquartered in Rome, and I guessed a colonel must be ranked quite highly. Still, the ID could be fake.

The officer looked around the piazza. “We must speak confidentially. I want to offer my assistance if you will accept it.”

“What makes you think we need assistance? We—”

“Of course,” Claire interrupted. “We’re on our way to the
Questura
anyway to ask for help.”

“It isn’t necessary to go to the
Questura
. The local police can be of no help to you.” He pointed to an outside table at the nearest cafe. “We can sit there.”

Claire and I exchanged glances.

“Here,” he said, handing me a business card. “The top number is my mobile, and the second one is for the Comando Carabinieri in Rome where my office is. You can call them to verify I am who I say I am.”

I nodded and keyed the number into my phone. Someone answered, speaking rapidly, but I caught the words Carabinieri and Roma.

“May I speak with
Colonnello
Falcone please?” I asked.

“
Si, momento, per favore
.”

The line buzzed for a few seconds before a woman picked up. Again I asked for Falcone. “Detective Falcone is away from the office,” she said. “But I can take a message for him. If this is urgent, I can put you through to his assistant.”

“Never mind. It’s okay.”

Ending the call, I nodded at Claire. Falcone seemed to be with the Carabinieri in Rome as he’d indicated.

Once we were seated on cold metal chairs at a table in the sun, he ordered drinks for us, an espresso for himself and a cappuccino for me. Claire asked for tea.

“So, why do you want to talk to us?” Claire asked.

“My department received the report you gave to the local police in Florence regarding the attack outside your office,” he replied. “But I’d like you to tell me again in more detail. And you too, Miss Benedict, please relate what happened in London. I’ll take notes if you don’t mind.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why did you receive that report? The police don’t usually distribute a report of an attempted mugging nationwide, surely?”

Falcone laid a well-used black notebook on the metal tabletop. Its spine was cracked and pieces of paper stuck out in all directions. “There were elements of the report that raised a flag,” he said. “A certain type of flag that ensures the information is disseminated to the right people.”

I smirked at his convoluted sentences that didn’t explain anything. He smiled back at me. “That’s all you need to know for the moment,” he said.

“So why are you in Venice if your office is in Rome?” Claire asked.

“I travel extensively,” he replied. “It is the nature of my job. And I’m here to talk with you. Shall we begin?”

The waiter came to the table with our drinks and set them down. The coffee fragrance drifted up, rich and smooth, as I recounted the events of Friday night, the discovery of the
Della Pittura,
and the early morning chase along the canal.

“Someone broke into your house?” he asked.

“Claire’s family’s house,” I said.

“We don’t know how many people are following us,” Claire said. “At least two in Florence and maybe the chap in the Alfa Romeo, plus the two men who chased us this morning.”

“And the man smoking the cigarette outside the house last night,” I added, staring at the pretty leaf design on the froth of my drink. I’d been practicing making cappuccinos with the espresso machine Josh had given me last Christmas, and had come up with a reasonably good heart image. I cradled the cup in both hands to warm them while I thought of Josh and the minutiae of daily life, the little things that make us happy. Right now, I’d do anything to return to my unremarkable routine and normal activities and to Josh. The thought of his arms around me brought hot tears to my eyes. I blinked them away, hoping the others hadn’t noticed.

Falcone coughed. “The man outside your house works for me. I’ve had someone watching out for you ever since I received the report from the Florence police.”

“He didn’t watch very well,” Claire said. “It was after he’d gone that those men broke into the house and then chased us halfway across Venice.”

“Yes, that was unfortunate timing,” Falcone said. “His job was to know where you were. Once you turned out your lights he assumed you were settled for the night, and he went off-duty. Had he stayed there for another few hours, perhaps he would have seen your pursuers. It’s too bad…”

Too bad for us, I thought, that Falcone’s man was keeping an eye on us, but not in the interests of protecting us.

“So, you have the book with you in Venice?” Falcone asked, looking up from the notes he was taking.

I quickly related the story of the theft from the taxi on the way from Pisa airport.

“The thief took the book and the key?”

“No, only the book. I had the key in a different bag.”

His features relaxed. “Okay. Can you describe the man who stole the book?”

I thought back. “No, I’m sorry. It happened so quickly, there was no time for me to get a good look at him or his car number plate.”

“Not a problem,” Falcone said. He scribbled something in his notebook and then looked up at Claire. “You came to Venice in a car?” It seemed like a strange question.

Claire nodded. “We left it in the car park at Tronchetto.”

“The vehicle has been reported stolen, and your names and photos have been distributed to the police.”