“And I would be glad,” he said, “if, when you hear what I’m calling about, you do not hang up.”
She could have done it there and then. She had a good idea what this was all about. Or whom.
“In all probability,” said Trevini, “it was Alessandro Carnevare who contracted for the murder of his relations in New York.”
A startled lizard scurried over the wall of the secret room and disappeared into a tiny hole in the corner.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he continued. “Can’t the old fool keep quiet for once? How often is he going to try to discredit Alessandro?”
“I wouldn’t have put it that politely.”
“One of the things you pay me for is to tell you unwelcome truths, to your face. And this has nothing to do with my personal dislike of young Carnevare. It’s a fact that instructions for the killings came from Italy. Michele Carnevare himself only just escaped an attempt on his life two days ago, and his people succeeded in following the trail back—to someone who was a leading figure in the transatlantic drug trade for many years. A certain Stelvio Guerrini. Not a name you need to remember, and he hasn’t played a very active role for some time. Anyway, he sent the killers on behalf of a third party. And Guerrini was a close business partner of Baron Massimo Carnevare—Alessandro’s father.”
“That proves nothing at all.” Her own composure surprised her. Was it because she didn’t believe him? Or because she had already guessed it, even though Alessandro had denied it? “Any family in Sicily could have contracted this Guerrini to get rid of Michele.”
“Yes, to be sure. Except no one but Alessandro seems to have any reason to wipe out the whole New York branch of the Carnevares. A single contract killing, yes, that would be possible. But attempted assassination of the entire leadership of the American Carnevares? That amounts to an open declaration of war, and there’s no one who would risk that, not these days. At the moment most of the families have other anxieties to deal with on their own doorsteps. A clan feud carried out across the Atlantic causes more uproar than most can stomach.”
“Do you have any proof of this?”
“Rosa, you and I are not the police. I have no interest in convicting Alessandro Carnevare of a crime. That would be rather foolish, don’t you think?”
The receiver shook slightly as she held it to her ear. She clutched it more firmly.
“But the way it looks, he lied to you if he said he had nothing to do with those deaths. Do you understand? What makes you so sure that he hasn’t done the same before? Or since?” The attorney’s tone of voice was sharper now. “He walks over other people’s corpses, and he’ll always keep secrets from you. You mustn’t trust him. Whatever he says—it could all be lies.”
“Because you happen to have heard a few rumors?”
“In case of doubt—yes. Those murders are a fact. So is the origin of the orders to have them carried out. It all points the same way. And it’s not over yet. First it was Michele’s brother Carmine, then several of his cousins. And since the failed assassination attempt on Michele, two more Carnevares have been killed.” She heard paper rustling at his end of the line. “Now the targets are openly the younger ones. Thomas Carnevare, who couldn’t even speak Italian. He was only twenty. And Mattia Carnevare was—”
“Mattia?”
“You know him?”
“How did he die?”
“The body was burnt. Not much more is known about it. Found in a pile of garbage in Crown Heights. That’s a part of—”
“Brooklyn,” she whispered.
“Of course. You know your way around there.”
“Mattia wasn’t murdered by any contract killer,” she said. “That was done by Michele himself.”
Trevini said nothing for a moment. Maybe he expected an explanation. She wasn’t going to give him one. Had Mattia been murdered that night? Had he managed to escape the others at the boathouse, only to be killed later?
“What do you know about it?” asked the attorney.
“Only that Mattia Carnevare’s death has nothing to do with Alessandro. It was a punitive operation within the family.”
Trevini muttered something angrily to himself. Then he said, “Did you tell Alessandro Carnevare about the furs?”
“No.”
“I can only pray that you’re telling the truth. That boy is obsessed with revenge—first for his mother’s death, then for what Michele Carnevare did to you. Who knows what would happen if he knew that the skins of his