Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gabriela’s hotel room in Valgenico was small but comfortable.
A bed, a desk with an armchair, a bathroom en suite, a view of the street.
The sky was light, and the sun had just eased out from behind the jagged Dolomites when Gabriela stepped out of the shower.
She towel-dried her hair, combed it out, and left it long to dry.
Her clothes choices were minimal. T-shirt, stretchy black pants, jean jacket, sneakers.
She said a short prayer that they’d stumble onto the art at the castle, because capturing and interrogating Tartoni wasn’t high on her list of favorite potential activities.
She exited the hotel, crossed the street to the café, and joined Rafer and Jacko at an outdoor table.
She ordered a double espresso and a chocolate croissant, and she relaxed back in her chair, tilting her face up to the morning sun.
She thought it was going to be a glorious day in Valgenico, and it was a real bummer that she was going to spend the better part of it in a musty, guano-encrusted second-rate castle.
“Gabs,” Rafer said. “You look like you’re communing with the sun god.”
“I’m thinking about the castle.”
“She’s on the job,” Rafer said to Jacko. “She’s always on the job. You should see her in the jungle, fighting off snakes and maniacs.”
“I’ve never been to a jungle,” Jacko said. “I didn’t realize they were filled with maniacs. They don’t show that on the Travel Channel.”
“There are maniacs everywhere,” Gabriela said. “Even in Valgenico. We’re going to try to avoid running into them today while we’re searching the castle.”
“We already went through the castle,” Rafer said. “Are you sure you don’t want to go straight to roughing up Tartoni?”
“We’re going to be more thorough this time,” Gabriela said.
“We’re looking for a secret room that’s filled with stolen art treasures.
And if we don’t find a room, I’m hoping we’ll find something that will lead us to the art.
They’ve got it stashed somewhere. These guys are good at planning and executing a crime, but they’re sloppy about everything else.
They had to get the art out of the wine cellar, so they moved it into the castle.
It was close. It had lots of room. It was secluded.
No one ever came near it. Scalucci got in the way, so they got rid of him. ”
“Okay, I get all that, but this isn’t going to help us rescue Harley,” Rafer said. “Ahmed wants the golden coffin.”
“True, but it will help in the long run because our goal was to retrieve everything that had been insured and then stolen. Right now, I’m at a dead end with the coffin, so I’m going to follow the lead we have and go after the rest of the artwork.”
And I’m going to text Marcella, Gabriela thought. I’ll have her snoop around to see if any of the museums have received ransom requests on their stolen pieces.
The Fiat was stashed in the garage next to Albert Scalucci’s truck, and Gabriela, Rafer, and Jacko were standing in the castle’s large central reception room. A goat had found its way into the room and was aimlessly wandering, nibbling on upholstery.
“I’d like to take the kitchen and the upstairs this time,” Gabriela said. “I don’t think it’s necessary to revisit the towers.”
“Works for me,” Rafer said. “Jacko and I will look for secret passages and revolving bookcases on the first floor, and we’ll keep a watch for a car on the driveway.”
“And take another look in the cellar,” Gabriela said.
“I’m sure they wouldn’t put the art there, but they might have stored something or thrown something away that has an address on it.
There was a stack of broken-down cardboard by the garden tools.
I know it’s a long shot, but search through it.
And maybe one of you could help the goat find its way out. ”
Gabriela opened every drawer, looked in every cupboard, picked through the trash in the kitchen, and came up empty.
There were no hastily scribbled notes to self, no grocery lists, no receipts for items bought or sold.
She climbed the stairs and methodically examined every room on the second floor, leaving Albert’s bedroom for last.
His bedroom was small, with a double bed that had been slept in and straightened.
Nothing fancy. Plain white sheets and a faded comforter.
A single pillow. There was a wooden bench at the foot of the bed and a lone nightstand holding an art deco milk glass lamp.
A five-drawer chest was positioned against one wall.
A small maple writing desk and straight chair under a window.
The floor was cluttered with stacks of books and magazines.
They all looked very old and very well read.
A dog-eared National Geographic with an African elephant on its cover was on the bed.
Gabriela felt like she was intruding. The rest of the castle was impersonal, but she could feel Albert’s presence here.
The clothes in the chest were clean but tired and awkwardly folded.
The small closet held workman’s shirts and a single wool suit that Gabriela thought probably hadn’t been worn since Albert’s parents’ funeral.
She sat at the desk and immediately noticed the absence of a computer.
Not much of a surprise. Also, no phone. It was hard to imagine someone not having a phone.
She should have been more thorough about examining the body when she was in the cellar.
She should at least have looked for a phone.
There was a monthly calendar on the desktop.
It advertised an insurance agency and had photographs of the Dolomites.
The day-of-the-week squares were filled with carefully printed notations about Albert’s sausages and goats.
Slaughtered old Henry, filled 42 links with spicy goat mix, delivered Elsie’s two kids.
Every Thursday he went to town. Gabriela thought he must have appeared old but not frighteningly outlandish because as far as she could tell, no one in town seemed to recognize him as the ogre who sacrificed goats.
Reading glasses and a ballpoint pen were next to the calendar.
The only other item on the desk was a faded, sweat-stained ball cap.
There was one drawer in the writing desk.
Gabriela opened it and found a diary. The date of the last entry coincided with Bench’s email to Searl about moving the art.
It was a brief mention that two men had come to his door, asking about his sausage operation.
Other entries were just as brief and devoid of emotion.
Simply a short recording of the day’s events.
Her Italian was good enough to read most.
She closed the diary, placed it back in the drawer, and called Rafer.
“How’s it going?” she asked him.
“We’ve been all through the ground floor and didn’t come up with anything. We’re in the cellar now, going through the cardboard stash. Where are you?”
“I’m still upstairs,” Gabriela said. “All I have to do is look under his bed and I’m done.”
“Are you sure you’re upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Crap. Someone’s walking around above us. They’re at the cellar door.”
“What? You were supposed to be watching for a car on the driveway.”
“We were… until we went into the cellar.”
There was the sound of people moving, hurried footsteps on stairs, loud, angry shouting in Italian. Gabriela was having a hard time translating.
“We’re here to fix the furnace,” Jacko said in Italian.
Gabriela got that much. The response to him came too fast for her to understand, but she assumed the man was calling bullshit.
She heard a second voice. A lot of shuffling and grunting.
A gunshot and all went silent. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.
Rafer and Jacko didn’t have weapons. She was terrified that one of them had just gotten shot.
And she couldn’t help. She had a slim knife on her and that was it.
If she could get to the kitchen, she could get a larger knife, but she couldn’t compete with a gun.
Maybe if it was just one person. Truth is, she was pretty good with a knife.
She was an expert at slicing a mango and not bad with an underhand throw at a moving target.
Rafer’s phone was still transmitting and Gabriela heard someone order Rafer and Jacko to go hands-on-heads up the stairs.
“What about the sausages?” one of the men asked.
His partner answered, “Get the sausages. Take what’s left. Fill the grocery bag. There’ll be hell to pay if we come back with no sausages. His associates are here. They have to have sausages.”
Their words were muffled after that as Rafer moved up the stairs.
He’s left the phone on, and he’s got it in his pocket, Gabriela thought.
It seems like they’re both moving, so if one of them is shot it must not be bad.
She looked around the room. If they searched for her, she’d hide in the closet, and when the door was opened, she’d go for the jugular.
That way she’d still have her knife to take care of the second person.
If she knifed the first person in the heart, she’d have to pull her knife out before finishing off number two.
The sound of men walking stopped, and Rafer asked the men if they spoke English. Gabriela couldn’t hear the reply. The men must not be standing close enough to Rafer’s pocket, she thought.