Chapter 9 #2
Outside Micio Micio, De Luca was pacing. The sun had fully risen and the air had warmed. Bastian felt the heat pressing against his cold skin, causing it to tingle. He tugged his Wayfarers from his hair and put them on. Soon, he would have to apply more sun cream.
“Well, that was a dead end,” he said, setting down Whitby. She hopped onto the café’s windowsill to taunt the other cats through the glass. De Luca continued to pace, his throat red as he muttered under his breath in Italian.
“Is everything all right, Inspector?” Bastian asked. “You’re wearing quite a groove into those cobbles.”
De Luca faced him, blue eyes like shards of ice. “Is this a game to you?”
The tightness in his voice surprised Bastian. “Certainly not, Inspector. I want to find the killer just as much as you do. And I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize your promotion.”
“I don’t care about being promoted!” De Luca barked.
Bastian frowned. “You don’t have to be ashamed, love. Solving a murder is a fabulous way to advance your career.”
De Luca stood rigid, teeth gritted. He looked like he was about to throw Bastian against the wall the way he had in the apartment, and Bastian flashed back to the feel of the inspector’s groin against his thigh.
But then De Luca growled, strode a few paces, swearing in Italian, and kicked a trash can.
It toppled over, spilling its contents across the street.
“Oh dear,” Bastian murmured.
Had he genuinely upset De Luca?
Bastian couldn’t help wondering what had made the man so uptight. Was De Luca always like this? Or was it just this case in particular that had wound him up like one of those tin music boxes?
“If I offended you, Inspector,” Bastian said softly, “I apologize.”
De Luca stared at the spilled soda cans, beer bottles, and half-eaten pretzels that lay in the street. He breathed hard. A moment later, his shoulders dropped, and he began to pick up the trash.
“I care about the people in this town,” he said. “It’s my job to protect them. They already think I’m—”
He broke off. Pressed his mouth shut.
Bastian tilted his head. “People already think you’re what?”
De Luca’s brow furrowed. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I do the right thing by the people of Vernazza. I can’t allow anybody else to get hurt.”
Bastian smoothed down his shirtsleeves. “I want to find the person responsible for killing that girl—”
“Luna!” De Luca cried, clutching a couple of soda cans. “Is that so difficult for you to remember? Her name was Luna Esposito.”
Bastian blinked. “My apologies.” He gave the inspector his most solemn stare. “I want to find Luna’s killer, too, Inspector. I do.”
De Luca muttered as he dropped the trash into the bin. “You had me fooled, the way you behaved in the café. What did you do to Emilio? It was like he was in a trance.”
“I was mind-casting,” Bastian said. “It was the only way to get him to answer honestly.”
“You brainwashed him?”
“No. I merely encouraged him to let go of any silly notion that he had to withhold the truth from us.”
De Luca’s mouth sagged and he stared at Bastian in disbelief.
“It is illegal, not to mention amoral, to force information from a witness against their will,” he said, voice barely above a growl.
Bastian rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I waterboarded him, Inspector. I would think you would appreciate the help. I told you, I’m useful to have around.”
“You can’t just go around brainwashing people.”
“Again, not brainwashing. And Emilio’s fine. The worst he’ll experience is a mild headache for an hour or so.”
De Luca didn’t appear to believe him, and there was something else in his gaze. A flash of fear and suspicion. Bastian could guess what he was thinking.
“I would never use mind-casting on you, Inspector,” he said. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Mind-casting requires a baseline of trust, and it’s pretty clear you wouldn’t trust me to paddle in your private pool, let alone your mind.”
De Luca’s blue gaze rested on Bastian, bright and cold. He couldn’t deny it; he didn’t trust Bastian. After a moment, the inspector straightened, appearing to reach a decision. “We’re going back to the apartment,” he said.
“What? We can’t! We have two suspects! The fortune-teller and the waiter.”
“Not to mention the League,” Whitby said from her perch on the windowsill. “Don’t forget we found the infinity pin next to Luna’s body.”
De Luca ignored her. “I won’t allow you to jeopardize this murder investigation by compromising witnesses with mind games. If Emilio reports you messing with his head to the commissario—”
Bastian raised his hands. “People rarely remember what they’ve said afterward. Emilio has no idea what happened to him down there.”
De Luca’s ears pinkened. “So people have no idea you’ve been in their mind?”
“I wasn’t in his mind, Inspector. I was merely suggesting that he answer my questions. It only works on people who already trust you. That’s why I had to play good cop; to get him to lower his defenses.”
De Luca’s glare intensified. “And the touching? The neck rub? That was part of it, too?”
Bastian suppressed a laugh. He couldn’t tell if De Luca was upset or embarrassed by the physical contact. Had it offended him?
“Listen,” Bastian said, “Emilio trusts me now. When we meet him again, he’ll be more likely to tell us what he really knows.”
De Luca’s eyebrows drew together, and he blew out an exasperated breath. “What do you mean, when we meet him again?”
“Well, if Emilio is as concerned about us finding his underground love bunker as I think he is, he’ll want to tell the other members of the League.
All we have to do is wait for him to finish his shift and follow him wherever he goes.
He’ll lead us right to them, and one of them could be our killer. ”
De Luca said nothing, but his breathing had settled. Perhaps he thought Bastian’s logic was sound, that following Emilio was a good idea, but he refused to admit it. He was still angry at Bastian for intruding on his investigation. He must see that they both wanted the same thing, though.
“Inspector, I didn’t mean to undermine you with Emilio,” Bastian said. “I simply played the card I was dealt. I had to be the good cop because, well, I’m not sure anybody has ever told you this, but you can be a little intense. But it all worked out, so…truce?”
He held out a hand to De Luca. The inspector stared at it as if suspecting a trick, but Bastian wasn’t smiling or laughing. He dipped his Wayfarers to give De Luca his most earnest stare. It seemed to have some effect because the strained look on De Luca’s face eased a fraction.
“If we do this,” De Luca said, “we do it my way.”
“Absolutely, darling.”
De Luca’s nostrils flared. Finally, he rubbed his forehead, the heat leaving his voice as he said, “Fine.”
They shook hands.
“And don’t call me darling.”
The inspector’s grip was firm. His touch caused Bastian’s fingers to glow with warmth.
The man had nice fingers, Bastian thought, admiring his smooth, square nails with their little half-moons.
He shook himself. He really had to stop noticing things like that.
The inspector was gruff and moody and hot-tempered, and Bastian didn’t need any of those things in his life right now. He had enough on his plate.
This tension between them, though…it was kind of exciting. It was a long time since Bastian had felt anything like it.
“First, we should question the angry ex, Matteo,” he said, searching through the window to see if the waiter was still on shift.
“We can’t touch Matteo,” De Luca grunted.
Bastian put a hand on his hip. “Why not?”
“He’s the commissario’s son.”
Bastian emitted a delirious laugh. “Of course he is! Got to love small towns. I knew that scowl was familiar.” He shook his head. “It’s often the boyfriend, you know, Inspector. We could save ourselves a lot of hassle by questioning him—”
“We can’t. Zappa will have my badge, and he’ll guard you himself while he waits for the council to arrive.”
The muscle in Bastian’s jaw flickered in frustration, but then he realized something, and a smile spread across his lips.
“For a moment there it almost sounded like you believed I’m innocent.”
De Luca rubbed his neck and swallowed, and Bastian couldn’t help thinking it was sort of adorable, that nervousness. He pushed away the thought, couldn’t think about De Luca like that.
He glanced down the sunny street, searching.
“If Matteo is off-limits, our focus now should be staking out somewhere nearby while we wait for Emilio to leave work—ah!” He spotted a shop with a pink-and-white awning on the corner.
A gelateria, far enough away from Micio Micio that they should go unnoticed, but close enough that they shouldn’t have a problem keeping an eye on the place.
“Inspector,” Bastian said, trying not to think about the warmth fading from his hand, “would you care for an ice cream?”