Mr. Frederick Ives’s pockets well, Mr. Fairchild. While sadly Rome suffers from pickpockets, purse snatchers, and other forms of petty crime, violent crime of this sort associated with a robbery is uncommon here.”
His somewhat smug expression conveyed his opinion that brutal muggings were to be found on every street corner in the United States. He shrugged. “But there are always hotheads who might carry a knife like this as a persuader and then get carried away. Tell me, did your friend use drugs often?”
“I’m sure he didn’t use them at all!” Faith exclaimed. “And we need to go to him pronto!” She wasn’t sure that was the correct word. It was how Italians answered the phone, but she hoped her tone would convey her urgency.
“Sì.” The inspector walked away from them and pulled out his mobile. He listened, said something, and motioned to the same two men he’d spoken to earlier, one of whom promptly tossed the cigarette he had been smoking onto the cobblestones. After a brief conversation, the inspector returned alone to the Fairchilds.
“I am sorry. Your friend is dead.”
Tom tightened the arm he had around Faith’s shoulder.
“Are you sure?” she said.
He nodded. The fact of death had softened his expression.
Out of the corner of her eye, Faith could see the police unwinding crime scene tape, kicking the still smoldering cigarette butt out of the area.
And then she started to sob.
It was a Rome not many tourists get to know—the Serious Crime Squad headquarters. The Fairchilds were offered coffee. Tom took it; Faith knew it would choke her. Hours passed, most of them spent waiting to tell their story, and whatever they knew of Freddy’s, to what seemed like an endless stream of officials. Tom was quizzed more closely than Faith. He had seen enough of the assailant’s face to provide a good likeness using an Identi-Kit. To Faith the only unusual features were thick dark eyebrows that stretched across his forehead in a straight line, as if drawn with a marker. But she was able to add that his black sneakers were Converse—she’d noted the blue All Star logo when he ran off—and that he’d also been wearing black Diesel jeans with a short black Ferragamo leather jacket. Unlike the United States, where this sort of information had met with extreme doubt in Faith’s past police investigations—who noticed things like this?—the police in Rome seemed to expect that a woman of taste would have instantly recognized such labels.
Finally, they were told they were free to go but not before yet another individual told them how rare this sort of robbery gone wrong was in Italy. And especially in that part of Rome. “Now if it had been around the train station at that time . . .” several people had told them, shaking a verbal finger, as if Freddy had somehow become an affront to the city by being murdered in a good part of town.
A police car drove them back to the hotel, dropped them at the entrance, and sped off, almost grazing the sides of the narrow street. They rang the bell next to the ancient door, locked for the night, although little was left of its hours now. When there was no answer, Faith lifted the heavy iron knocker, feeling Shakespearean and wishing with all her heart she could, in effect, “Wake Duncan with thy knocking!”
Paolo answered, pulling back the door and securing it to the wall. His eyes were red. He’d obviously heard the news.
“Signore Ives. I cannot believe it. None of us can. Come in, come in.” He took Faith’s hand and pulled her into the lobby. “Go to your room and I will bring you some camomilla. Could you eat anything? A little pane? Or better, some brodo?”
She shook her head. He started to tear up, as he had apparently done before. “He has been coming here for many years. A friend to us all. I’ll bring the camomilla. You need to have something and then sleep if you can. You must stay here until you feel you can travel. I will call Francesca.”
But what Faith wanted most was to leave Rome. It would pass. It would have to. Freddy would be upset to know he’d put them off his beloved Città Eterna for long. As she thought of his reaction, she told herself she had to stop thinking of him as if he was alive and not just off temporarily on a journey.
“The train isn’t until the afternoon. If we