Chapter 17
Camillo Vicari
Silver River, South Mississippi, USA
I had to control my own breathing.
Putting a bullet in her little blonde head and finishing what Senator Jones started was the right thing to do.
She got into the wrong car on the wrong night.
I didn't leave witnesses; it wasn't a luxury I could afford. But what had that tiny, brainless thing done? She ran toward me, clinging to my chest as if I’d just saved her.
No, it wasn't like that.
After I grabbed Madeleine Jones from behind, I forced her to shoot herself in the temple with her own gun. I had the perfect opportunity to make her execution look like a suicide, and I took it, that's all. I had no talent for heroism, nor any desire for it.
“Thank you for saving me,” the tiny woman sobbed in her thick Southern accent. Her voice reminded me of the singer Dolly Parton.
It was such a shame she had to die.
Pushing her away with a simple shove, I watched as she fell backwards. Confusion and tears mixed on her face when she sat up, leaning on her forearms, trying to understand what was happening. Certainly, realizing that she was far from being safe.
I stepped forward, stopping over her body, one foot on either side of her hips. I pointed Madeleine Jones’ gun at her foolish little face, shadowed by the night, but not enough to hide her features.
“You're going to kill me.” It wasn't a question. She was just stating what was going to happen next.
I nodded. “è vero.” I admitted, crouching over her body, focusing on her confused face, her half-open lips as her breath came in short gasps. “It was a terrible night to accept a ride, Signorina Parker.”
Even with her back to the moon, I could see as her eyes widen.
“The FBI agent...” she gasped.
I laughed, a low but sincere sound. “No, Signorina Parker.
I'm not an FBI agent.” I replied, brushing her bangs away from her face with the tip of the gun.
“But since the dead are excellent at keeping secrets, I'll tell you one...” I muttered, amused by the confusion still dancing across her face, by the way her delicate body trembled beneath mine.
"I'm a businessman, but not the kind you're used to. My società is what people in your world call the mafia, and unfortunately, your late boyfriend’s mother was becoming a nuisance to my business and had to be silenced.
You're just in the wrong place. I hope you understand that it's just the cost of doing business. "
I got up slowly and saw her nod her head.
Standing over her again, I pointed the gun, surprised to see her lower herself.
She laid completely on the ground, her face now devoid of emotion.
Her hands rested on her chest, too relaxed for someone about to die.
Even her breathing had slowed down, becoming disturbingly calm.
Lingering over her, the gun still pointed at her head, I didn’t recognize the tightness in my gut.
There was something too strange about the American woman.
Strange enough to make my finger hesitate on the trigger, and it never hesitated.
That's when I realized, thanks to the moon now bathing her entire face, the splendor of her small eyes.
They were green, but not like mine. Not like anyone I knew. They had a deep, vivid tone, where yellow and green mingled and vibrated simultaneously.
The color of peridots.
The image of the Vicari women's ring appeared before my eyes. Memories of the rectangular stone sparkling on my mother's finger shook my mind like an avalanche, followed by her advice and warnings. The past came rushing back in a fraction of a second…
I moved away from Daisy Parker.
Inspecting the scene, I realized it would be impossible to justify another death.
Senator Jones would be ruled a suicide. The quick way I grabbed her arm and made her shoot herself in the head, the angle of the bullet, was the almost perfect crime.
However, if I executed Signorina Parker and they investigated her body, they would realize she died later, which would drastically change the situation.
I didn't need any more trouble with the American police, but leaving witnesses behind was out of the question.
“Get up.” I growled, seeing her still lying there. “I said get up.” I grunted and saw her blink and slowly rise.
Dio, it was impossible to look more clueless than she did at that moment.
“But—I thought—”
“Change of plans. You're not going to die. At least, not here.” I growled again and she just nodded. “But if you don't want me to change my mind, you'd better do as I say.”
She stood up, trembling, and I thought she was going to fall at any moment.
Carefully, without taking my eyes off her for a single moment, I crouched down next to Senator Jones's body.
I removed the bullets from the gun and let it fall slowly, near her legs.
In a suicide, it would make sense for the gun to fall near the body, creating impact marks on the floor.
I stood up, putting the bullets in my pocket. There was no need to put them back in the gun; it wouldn't change the situation much.
Before moving away from the body, I scuffed the ground, erasing any footprints, and approached Daisy, standing with her arms wrapped around herself, trembling.
I hadn't yet decided how to get rid of her. Or when.
“Andiamo,” I grunted, pushing her toward my vehicle.
I had left my car a few feet behind the senator’s. It wasn’t difficult to follow them there, even on a clear night. All I had to do was to keep my distance and be patient.
Very patient.
As soon as we reached my vehicle, a black Audi, fully armored and whose license plate was changed frequently, I placed a hand on the back of Daisy's neck and dragged her to the trunk. When I opened it, she let out a whimper.
“Get in,” I ordered. There were still things to do before leaving and I couldn't take any chances with that brainless waitress.
“I won’t be able to breathe,” she whined.
I didn't care. “I said get in.”
Seeing her hesitation, I forced her body into the trunk until she was curled up in a fetal position.
Before locking her in, ignoring her whines and ragged breathing, I searched the pockets of her pants until I found some kind of device.
When I found her phone, I closed the trunk, locking it immediately, and listened to her muffled crying.
She was lucky enough to be alive.
I threw Daisy's phone into my car and walked towards the senator’s, to tie up the last loose ends.
Getting into the driver’s seat, plugged a small device into the car’s cigarette lighter until I heard a loud beep.
It was a tiny electronic device that worked wonders at disabling and wiping the video surveillance systems of modern cars.
It left no trace. If the police investigated, they would find a system failure impossible to trace back.
Next, I got out of the car and followed the senator's footsteps, a task made easier thanks to the stiletto heels the woman wore. I erased any and all footprints that didn’t belong to her and that led to the scene of the murder.
With the footprints erased, I returned to my car.
There was one last step to complete, but for that, I needed specific equipment for the task.
I grabbed a small bottle and a cloth, and returned to the senator's car, stopping by the passenger side.
I couldn't leave any traces of Daisy there.
That would raise questions. But I couldn't leave the inside of the vehicle immaculate either.
Something as normal as an upholstery cleaning spray, like the one in my hands, wouldn't raise suspicion.
It would look as if the Senator had the car cleaned before she died.
No one would suspect that. So, I wiped the interior as best I could.
With no strange traces leading to the location of the body, the car's video surveillance system destroyed, and no traces of Daisy on the passenger side, the matter was almost closed. Only one final detail was missing.
I started my car and backed up until I reached the intersection that led to the road to the railroad tracks. Fortunately for everyone, the intersection was far away enough from the houses. I parked, still hearing Daisy's cries. I would deal with her later.
Walking to where I had left the senator's car, I did my best to cover the tracks of my own vehicle with my feet. Then I got into the driver's seat and backed up to my car, then drove forward again, leaving the vehicle in the same spot.
No traces. No unnecessary suspicion.
I returned to my vehicle taking the same precautions, leaving the senator's car behind, wide open with the radio on, a small detail that would help complete the dramatic scene. I set off, taking a shortcut straight to the highway.
When I was at a comfortable distance from Silver River, I pulled off a glove with my teeth and quickly dialed Alessandro Lombardi's number.
“Camillo?”
“Ciao, Alessandro.” I greeted him with a sigh. I had slept less than an hour a night for the past week, and exhaustion was beginning to get the better of me. “There are some interesting videos about Silver River online.”
Alessandro paused. “Oh, really? And where were they recorded?”
“On the outskirts of a neighborhood. Near a karaoke bar, on a street corner. They’re very interesting, they must have been recorded around three in the morning or so. Want to see them?”
“Sure, I'd love to. But I'll let you know what I think tomorrow, okay? Maybe around two in the afternoon. It'll be difficult before then.”
I ran my hand through my hair, ruffling it. “Take a look and let me know what you think before ten o'clock this morning.”
In fact, there were no videos online. I simply didn't like to discuss sensitive matters over the phone, even if I was assured that the line was secure.
Because there was no such thing as a secure line.
Technology was a public square in the hands of those who knew how to use it.
So, it was common to speak in code with my associates, and Alessandro Lombardi in particular, with all his experience working as a lawyer for various families in our line of work, was more than used to deciphering these conversations.
“Some people like to sleep, Camillo.” He complained, and I rolled my eyes. It was the big difference between business in the United States and business in Italy. When something had to be done, we Italians got down to work. No excuses. “Okay, fine. Anything else?”
“Sì.” I thought about what to do with the woman who hadn't stopped whimpering in the trunk of the car.
Daisy saw too much, but if she disappeared, people might look for her.
If she died, it would raise suspicions and could lead the police to the real cause of Senator Jones' death.
I only had one solution left. “I need you to draw up an employment contract for me.”
“An employment contract?”
“Sì. During this vacation, I met an American woman who’s perfect to fit the role as the new housekeeper at my villa.” Alessandro Lombardi's heavy breathing on the other end of the line made me laugh. “You know I'm generous. The woman needed money, and I decided to help.”
“Jesus. Your generosity will be the death of me,” Lombardi grumbled. “I need her name and age, at least.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, focusing on the dark highway. I knew little about that woman, and hadn't had time to ask for her to be investigated.
“Daisy... uh... Parker,” I racked my exhausted brain. “I don't remember her full name, but that should do it.”
“Yeah, I can work with that. Age?”
I snorted. “No idea, but she must be about twenty-two or twenty-three. At least, that’s what she looks like.”
“That doesn't help much if you want the documents in the next few hours.”
“Cazzo, Lombardi. I didn't have—” I stopped myself, biting my tongue so I wouldn't say too much. “Can you look into it for me? Per favore?”
Lombardi sighed. “Yes, yes.” He agreed. “Camillo?”
“Hmm?”
“Try to get some rest.”
I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. “Va bene.”
When the call ended, I leaned back in my seat, driving calmly, focusing as best I could on the road. I was exhausted, but luckily, I had bought a house a few minutes from Silver River. It was a spacious, secluded two-story mansion, perfect for dealing with uncomfortable matters.
Speaking of uncomfortable matters…
The American woman was now screaming that she couldn't breathe. Fed up with her whining, I turned on the radio and let the music drown out what little could be heard of her cries.
I knew she wasn't going to die.