Chapter Thirty-Three
Thirty-Three
“You should really eat some vegetables,” Penelope said, looking disapprovingly at the steamed broccoli Valerio had left behind on his plate. “You need vitamins if you want to recover properly.”
“He’s saving them for later,” Gemma said with an impish grin. She smoothed down the blanket, tucking the edges around him. “Aren’t you, Babbo?”
She’d scooted her chair close to where he lay on the sofa, and kept reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder, as if checking that he was still there.
“Your broccoli is disgusting, Penny,” Orlanda contributed. “You’ll never convert Valerio to eating plants if you feed him those.”
Leonora plucked the drooping vegetable between her fingers. “We aren’t rabbits. It needs butter and cheese.”
Penny frowned, looking disappointed. She’d created the menu from her new diet, a decision that was not generally appreciated.
—
Everyone was eating dinner in the living room of his mother’s apartment—plates balanced on their knees—in order to be with him.
Valerio was stretched across the sagging brown sofa, swathed in bandages and ministered to by his sisters, mother, and daughter.
Two of Penny’s boys had come along, too, but they weren’t the ministering type.
They, along with Davide, tromped in and out of the apartment at random intervals, door banging behind them, letting in the chill December air.
The mood was good—almost festive, tiny lights on the Christmas tree reflecting back in their eyes. Even Giorgia, when she’d stopped by for a few minutes, behaved herself.
—
It had been more than a week since Nikki and Federico had dragged him out of Errichiello’s compound. Days that passed alternately in moments of forgetfulness and discomfort due to multiple surgeries and the pills he took several times each day for the distracting pain.
Valerio was trying to wean himself off the pain medicines. They made him slow. They also induced a sense of timelessness and restless dreams, which felt too similar to the hours he’d spent in the dark and stinking prison.
He was still terrified of losing consciousness. He slept with the light on so that, in the disorienting moments after waking, he could rapidly identify where he was. Yet some part of him felt as though he’d never really escaped, that this return to normalcy was the illusion.
—
After his discharge from the hospital two days ago, Valerio had wanted to recover in his own apartment, but was overruled by everyone—with their clamor of reasons why this was a bad idea.
“You’re crazy,” Maurizio told him, joining his voice with Leonora’s and his sisters’. “How are you going to get out of bed to piss?”
They’d brought him to his mother’s apartment, and Leonora had insisted that he use her bedroom, while she slept on one of the bunks usually reserved for the kids. When he protested, she tutted and scolded and refused to hear any argument.
The duvet on his mother’s bed was unfamiliar—a cheap IKEA cotton in blue and white that she’d no doubt gotten on discount. But the rest of the room was as it had always been: the place where, as a child, he’d come for comfort after nightmares. It smelled of baby powder and lilac perfume.
Across from the bed was his mother’s dressing table, with framed pictures of her children and grandchildren.
On the wall above, a crucifix, an icon of the haloed Immacolata in a blue robe, and, in an ornate gold frame, a photograph of Costanzo.
Leonora used to tell Valerio how much he looked like his father.
But the Costanzo in the faded photograph with the thickly knotted tie and oversize lapels was so young and hopeful—nothing like the weary man Valerio saw in the mirror.
—
Dinner was wrapping up when Davide slammed the front door open and announced, “Nikki’s here!”
“Clear out,” Orlanda shouted to everyone. “Let’s give them some privacy. Who wants dessert?”
Then she reached over and, squeezing Valerio’s toe, smiled.
—
Leonora greeted Nikki first, with tight embraces and kissing both cheeks. Then she kissed Nikki’s hands.
“The angel who saved my son. Bless you, bella. Bless you! I will pray for you every day until my death, and in the afterworld will continue to pray for your soul. May the Virgin watch over you always and minister to you.”
Penny, in tears, stepped in next.
Nikki, who Valerio knew didn’t like to be touched, endured this with good grace. Only Orlanda seemed to sense Nikki’s discomfort and avoided the ritual.
—
As everyone else filtered from the room, Sonia joined Nikki.
“Good to see you,” Valerio said.
In the hospital, he’d felt irrationally comforted whenever he woke and found Nikki there.
Sonia’s presence was less comforting. She and the other team members had been at the hospital for several interviews. They were still exhuming bodies from the mass graves on Errichiello’s property.
“You’re looking better,” said Sonia.
“You’re a good liar,” he replied.
Surgeons had repaired the cheekbone, and the swelling and bruising were beginning to subside, but his face was still misshapen and painful.
“Well,” Nikki said with a crooked smile, “just don’t enter any beauty contests for a while.”
“How was Federico’s funeral?” he asked.
This small service was three days ago. The doctors stopped Valerio from attending.
But he thought about the old man every day.
Federico had wanted out. He’d fought his addiction and his own demons to escape that dark world.
And he’d managed it, too, carving a clean life for himself.
Then he’d traded all his success, the years of hard work, gone back into hell, to pull Valerio out.
Nikki had told Valerio every detail. And he’d made her tell him again. And again. He would ask again when his mind was clear, and commit Federico’s bravery to memory.
“It was good,” said Sonia. “Some of his neighbors were there, and your guys from the Falchi squad. They know what he did—that he was a hero.”
Did they? How could they possibly understand?
Valerio seemed to smell the cigarette and coffee of the old man’s breath, the eyes huge behind those glasses, as Federico smacked his face, shouting at him to stay awake.
He felt Federico and Nikki dragging him, their bodies straining to heave him free of the pit.
In a final act of trust, Federico had shown him the gun in his waistband.
Perhaps Federico could have killed his brother, but he’d allowed Valerio that privilege.
Valerio came suddenly to himself, to the warm lights of his mother’s living room, to Sonia and Nikki looking at him with expressions of concern.
“How’s the investigation?” he asked.
“We’ve identified nine victims so far,” said Sonia.
“But we’re still trying to ID the remains of another seventy-three.
This goes back decades. We’re examining every missing-person case, trying to match up—but we’re not having a lot of success.
Of course, Errichiello had refugees from Africa and the Middle East, so we may need to broaden our search.
The problem is, we don’t know where to start.
By all accounts, Luca Errichiello kept good records—but everything went up in smoke. ”
“Maybe Silvestri or Ines Mancusi has copies,” Valerio suggested.
“You haven’t heard?” Nikki asked, glancing at Sonia.
“Both of them are dead,” Sonia said.
“Silvestri’s death was on the news,” said Nikki. “His manager found him hanging in the bedroom of his villa in Sorrento.”
This should have been a relief, but Valerio felt hollow. He’d sent the cops to Silvestri’s place to rescue the girl there. They’d never found her. With Silvestri dead, there was no chance now. Guilt and shame fused to Valerio’s bones.
“How?” he asked.
“It looks like suicide,” said Sonia. “But that just feels too tidy for me.”
“And Ines?” he asked.
“Also apparent suicide. Again, no records.”
“Fuck,” said Valerio.
“Claire Sexton copied some files that link to Errichiello,” said Nikki.
Sonia nodded. “They’re incomplete, but they’ve given us good leads.”
Valerio was surprised.
“Jayston Lake was involved with Luca?” he asked.
Nikki nodded. “Lake laundered money for Errichiello and was also a beneficiary of Silvestri and Errichiello’s real business: blackmail. They generated a portfolio of corrupt politicians, cops, magistrates…every one of them with an incentive to do favors…to shut down investigations.”
Luca had meant to use Valerio in the same way, but Valerio hadn’t guessed that he was merely another cog in the enormous blackmail machine.
“That’s why Lake killed her,” Valerio said.
“She hadn’t realized Lake was involved,” Sonia said. “She’d found blackmail on Henry Antonov’s computer—the ship’s captain. She wanted Lake to take the files to the police. When he refused, she ran away.”
“Why didn’t she go to the police directly?” Valerio asked.
“Her brother had put her up to it,” Nikki explained.
“Teddy Sexton and his friend, Kevin Walker, wanted Lake to invest in their business—they were using Claire to find information to pressure him. They didn’t understand the extent of what she’d uncovered about Lake and Antonov.
Teddy convinced her to wait. That was why Kevin Walker came to Naples.
He was supposed to meet Claire in Chiesa del Gesù Nuovo—to talk to Lake with her.
But he was late, and Claire met Lake on her own. ”
“Lake met her to retrieve the data,” Valerio said.
Nikki nodded. “But Jayston didn’t realize that Claire wasn’t carrying the information with her. She’d stashed it before their meeting.”
“Did you recover it?”
“Signora Dorotea had it,” Nikki said. “She’d taken Claire’s bag after Claire went into the cathedral.
She stored Claire’s thumb drive and Fiona Lake’s jewelry in a votive shrine near Montesanto—where she kept her treasures.
Lake didn’t find it when he tracked her down and killed her. It wasn’t with the bag.”
“The electronics had some water damage,” said Sonia.
“But Claire made a backup—on her brother’s encrypted MindCapsule service.
Teddy Sexton is cooperating with police, so we’ve been able to get the files.
They expose twelve corrupt cops and regulators and magistrates in Italy and the UK who aided Lake in his business.
Arrest warrants were issued this morning. ”
Valerio rubbed a hand gently across his bruised face.
“Twelve? That’s all?” He hesitated. “I mean, it’s a lot—but it must be only a fraction of Errichiello’s business.”
“Antonov must have been given only the files he needed,” Sonia said. “There are more out there…hundreds, maybe even thousands.”
Valerio considered this. Luca had been operating for decades, building a formidable network of favors and blackmail. But if he wasn’t the man in charge, Luca’s death didn’t stop the blackmail. The corruption in the police and with the politicians and judges would continue as invisibly as before.
The shepherd was still out there, still pushing the buttons.
Valerio didn’t want to talk about it with any of his colleagues until he knew whom to trust.
“We have enough to keep us busy for years,” Sonia said. “It will be good to have you back to help, Valerio.”
He was getting tired, the pain worsening, but he didn’t want Nikki or Sonia to leave just yet. And he had one more question.
“Have you found Ravenna’s mother? Family?” he asked.
“She had a lot of friends,” said Sonia. “But we can’t find any family.”
He didn’t want to think about Ravenna. She seemed close—a breath away—her death prying open a desperation and violent ache that he didn’t understand.
He hadn’t known her. Not really. Only for a few days.
But there was a sense of knowing, of intimacy, that went deeper than he had any right to claim.
She’d passed into his heart so effortlessly, building a home inside him.
He hadn’t even understood she was there until that bright light flickered out, leaving him in darkness.
—
He’d drifted again, Valerio realized, coming painfully back into the moment, Nikki and Sonia looking at him.
“We should let you rest,” said Sonia.
They stood.
“Let’s go sailing,” said Nikki. “When you’re feeling up to it again. Calypso’s waiting—ready when you are.”
The thought seemed to comfort him.
“Yeah,” he told her. “Sounds good. I need the break. Besides, I owe you a beer.”
He tried to stay awake, but he was asleep before they left the room.
—
Orlanda woke Valerio when it was time for her to go, so she could help him get ready for bed.
Coming into the bedroom, he saw a brown cardboard box on the bed, wrapped in clear tape.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“A courier dropped it off a couple of hours ago. It’s for you.”
The return address was for a law firm in Rome: Damiani Studio Legale e Tributario.
The box, when he opened it, was full of papers and photos and an old computer hard drive.
There was a handwritten note on top.
Valerio,
If you have this, it means I’m dead.
I took these from Luca. Everything you need to make sure he’s in prison forever.
You’re the only one I could think to give these to. The only cop I could ever trust. A good man.
Federico