Chapter 11
Things moved quickly.
Grant was impressed at the speed with which the street was filled with the local polizia—and the speed with which Alfredo and Sal were back with them.
He hadn’t killed the man, something for which he was extremely grateful. He’d had no choice but to shoot. Of course, he was more grateful that neither he nor Shelly had been hit. It was mind-boggling as well that a night that had started out so absurdly beautiful had become such chaos.
So far, all he knew was that the man who had attacked them had carried no ID.
He’d been barely conscious when he’d been rushed to the hospital.
As emergency crews and law enforcement arrived, human life—always, even if it was a man trying to kill others—took precedence.
And so Alfredo hurried off with the man to the hospital, while Grant and Shelly went through the necessary barrage of questions and paperwork.
But through it all, Alfredo kept in contact.
The doctors estimated that in another hour or so, the man would be through surgery and recuperating enough to be questioned.
By then, Sal, Shelly, and Grant could join Alfredo at the hospital; the doctors would give them permission to speak with the man, two at a time for five minutes each.
They believed that he’d be on his way to recovery in another twenty-four hours or so.
Grant’s shot hadn’t killed the man, but it had nicked several of his internal organs, so the surgery had been urgent, as was the sedation for his recovery time.
Everything happening around them was so intense at first that they had no chance to speak with one another.
But Grant found himself hoping that the ending of their romantic evening wasn’t something that would ruin the future, and he found himself wondering more about her feelings.
Had she fallen into lust with him? That would be complimentary, if so, but not what he’d been feeling.
There was always the possibility she had come to him out of pure boredom or even to feel that they were alive when so many shadows existed around them.
She was a damned good partner; that was a given.
They could communicate with simple glances.
She’d drawn the shooter away from his side of the room, being a target without putting herself into the danger she might have created for herself.
She had made every movement perfectly, allowing him to neutralize the danger of death that had soared over them both.
Now …
With Sal’s help, they had completed the necessary statements and queries from the local authorities.
Naturally, it was quickly discovered who they were and who they worked for and with.
They could do all their reporting from the house—which was in pretty sad shape, not a place they could continue to stay in while in Rome.
But when all was completed there, Sal looked at them and said, “We could head to the hospital now.”
“We could, but I beg you, give me five minutes to actually get dressed,” Shelly said.
“Five minutes!” Sal said, smiling. “Of course. And Grant, you might want a shirt.”
“That I do. Give us our five,” Grant said.
They headed into their separate rooms. Then as promised, they were both out within five minutes.
With the house shot to smithereens, Sal paused before looking out. Police officers and forensic crews continued to gather the massive piles of evidence lying about, and still, he searched the street.
“We just don’t know,” he said. “We just don’t know if it’s one man doing the shooting, if there are several out there …”
“Or if we’ve been left a curse tablet?” Shelly asked. She looked outside, but what she saw on the street evidently appeared to be stable to her. “Please, um, prego, Sal, can we take a look around the front of the house?”
“My time is your time,” Sal said.
“So where …” Grant murmured thoughtfully, joining her outside.
“In the case of George Maynard, the tablet was left by his steps,” she murmured, and she began to search the area at the entry and along the front of the house. He watched her for a moment and then moved as she was doing, taking the opposite side of the entry.
Almost to his amazement, he was the one who found the tablet.
It had been rolled, similar to the one they had discovered just the day before. It had been thrust next to the thick stem of a flowering plant in the little stretch of dirt that lined the front walls of the structure.
“Got it!” he called. He didn’t touch it; he had dressed so quickly he had forgotten to put gloves in the pocket of his pants or his jacket.
Shelly had not made such an omission.
She hurried over to him, sliding on her gloves. She gently withdrew the delicate, thin metal. By then, Sal was standing right by them.
“Well,” Sal murmured, “shall we undo that one and see what wondrous poetry they’ve come up with for you?”
“I’ll get the shattered glass off the table,” Shelly said, running on ahead of them to do so.
She found another of the clean, clear plastic sheets they had used for evidence after she’d swept the table clear. They still had to be careful; there was shattered glass everywhere.
But once again, she sat down with her tweezers, carefully laying out the thin sheet of metal.
And again, the curse was in English. It was addressed to the god Mars.
Grant read the words clearly out loud.
“‘Those who pry are bound to cry, question the gods who seek the best, they will die for the world belongs to the rest.’”
“So, these idiots think they deserve the world, or that’s what they’re selling to others?” Sal demanded, his tone hard with disgust. “We’ve got to stop this!” he added angrily.
“And we will,” Shelly promised him softly.
“I’ll bag this properly,” Shelly said. “Then we can get to the hospital.” She winced. “What is it now? About five a.m.?”
“Hey, not that bad. It’s after six a.m.,” Grant told her. “Busy night, but when we get to the hospital, the day there will have begun. So—”
“Hold a minute, please!” Sal said. His phone had rung, and he answered and listened intently for a minute before hanging up.
“Were your computers damaged?” he asked.
“No,” Grant said, glancing at Shelly. They both kept their laptops folded up in their rooms. “No. I’ll get mine—”
“Do we have something?” Shelly asked.
“Armand went through all of his father’s contacts and emails.
He has a friend in the US, a man named Geoffrey Gainer.
He was complaining in an email to him that he’d been contacted by a man who had said he was a friend of Geoffrey’s—a man who told him that there were monsters loose in the world and that he had to take great care to see what messages there were in the universe.
And all men needed to heed those messages, lest their families pay the price to the multiverse.
He forwarded the email to you. His friend, Geoffrey, swore he knew no such idiot.
But get into your email; you can read the exchanges. ”
Grant grabbed his computer and opened his email; he had indeed received everything that Armand had sent.
Apparently, the friend, Geoffrey Gainer, was appalled.
He read aloud from Geoffrey’s return email, “Sounds like that idiot is mixing up the world of comics, multiverses, and ancient gods and goddesses with the real world. Sounds like he’s just crazy.
If he comes around again, I say run like hell. ”
“But they must have gotten much closer to Antonio Martinelli than we had imagined. And I’m curious; we should have Antonio’s computer and contacts. Wouldn’t the police have immediately—” Shelly began.
“You need to understand,” Sal said, interrupting quietly, “when it all came down, it came down fast, and when you get a confession like the one Antonio Martinelli gave, you accept that the man was a killer. And then he was dead himself. To most of the higher-ups who don’t hit the field running, that was a sad slam dunk. Case closed.”
“I’m sorry, right. But shouldn’t we—”
“Yes, I told Armand that we needed the computer for our techs to delve into; there may be something else in there that he isn’t seeing, though I doubt it. Armand loved Antonio. If he can do anything that will clear his name, he will do it,” Sal assured them.
“All right, we need to head to the hospital,” Grant said.
Sal laughed. “Okay, I’m looking at the street again.
I don’t want to get shot at. I mean—sorry, Shelly—I believe that man would have been pleased enough to hit any of us, though, of course, he probably knew that you two were the ones in here now.
The good thing is, if someone is worried about you …
well, that means they’re afraid you’re savvy enough to be on to something. ”
He didn’t wait for an answer, but headed back to the front. Shattered glass crunched under his feet, and he hesitated, looking back.
“You won’t be able to stay here tonight, you know,” he said quietly.
“True,” Grant agreed. “But—”
“If you could dress that quickly, how quickly could you be packed up to leave?” Sal asked. “Our bosses will talk to your bosses; they’ll agree on somewhere they believe you’ll be able to stay until … well, while you’re here or until this is all solved.”
“Ten minutes,” Shelly said, looking at Grant. “Give us ten minutes.”
He grinned. “Nine.”
“You’re on!”
She headed to her room. He had barely unpacked anything, not even shaving utensils or soap—all had been provided in his bathroom.
He was pretty sure that he was out in no more than six minutes. But Shelly was coming out of her room at the same time, a bag over her shoulders, her roller bag at her side.
They froze, staring at one another, and then bursting into laughter. They’d learned the same lessons about traveling light and being able to pack up and go in the wink of an eye.
“Well, good to hear you two can still laugh!” Sal called.
“We do have to keep laughing, smiling, loving life,” Grant said, setting a hand on Shelly’s shoulder and walking with her down the hallway. “If not, they’ve won.”
“They—”