couple of days, before taking the opportunity to lean back and close his eyes. After all, Carter wouldn’t be getting off before they landed in Rome.
The plane touched down at Da Vinci two hours later and taxied to the gate. There were only a couple of passengers between William and Carter when they entered the terminal and headed for passport control. Help, thought William, when he remembered that he didn’t have a passport. But he had only walked a few more yards when a smartly dressed young woman appeared by his side and linked her arm in his.
“Just stay with me, Detective Constable Warwick.”
“But I could lose the man I’m following.”
“Two of our officers are already tailing Carter. You’ll catch up with him on the other side.”
They headed toward a gate marked CREW, and were clearly expected, as they passed through passport control without even breaking stride. William felt like royalty as he was whisked out of the terminal, where a car was waiting for him, back door open.
He thanked the young woman before climbing in to find a man in a smart beige uniform seated in the back, who was obviously expecting him.
“Good morning,” he said. “My name is Lieutenant Antonio Monti. I’m here to give you whatever assistance you require.”
“Grazie,” replied William as they shook hands.
“Parla l’italiano?”
“Enough to get by,” said William. “Ma poi Roma è la mia città preferita.”
They had to wait for another thirty minutes before Carter sauntered out of the building, bag in hand, and joined a taxi queue, by which time the lieutenant knew almost as much about Carter as William did.
The Italian police driver turned out to be far more adept than William when it came to tailing a suspect, which allowed him to enjoy some familiar sights: the Colosseum, St. Peter’s Basilica, Trajan’s Column, all of which he remembered from his student days when he’d sat at the back of an overcrowded bus with no air conditioning, heading for a youth hostel not exactly in the center of town.
When Carter’s taxi finally came to a halt, it was not outside a hotel as William had expected, but a large municipal building with an Italian flag fluttering from a mast on the roof.
“Stay put and leave this to me,” said the lieutenant. “We don’t want him to spot you.” He got out of the car and followed Carter inside.
William also got out, but only to stretch his legs, then suddenly took a step back and hid behind a fountain when he spotted a familiar figure entering the building. His eyes never left the front door for more than a few seconds, but it was almost an hour before the lieutenant reappeared and joined him in the back of the car.
Carter came out a few moments later, and hailed a taxi, but Monti didn’t instruct the driver to follow them.
“He’s on his way back to the airport,” said Monti. “The bag is now empty,” he added without explanation. “They’ve booked on the three ten to Heathrow.”
“Then I should be on the same plane,” said William.
“Not necessary. DS Roycroft will be at Heathrow waiting for them. In any case, we have more important things to do.”
“Like what?”
“First, you must experience a little Italian hospitality. We will have lunch at Casina Valadier before dropping into the Borghese, and you will still be in time to catch the five twenty to London.”
“But my expenses won’t—”
“You’re in Italy, mi amico,” said the lieutenant, “and have just performed a great service for the Italian people. You must therefore be rewarded. In any case, we don’t get quite so worked up in Italy about expenses as you English.”
Clearly they didn’t have a Mrs. Walter to contend with, thought William.
“Perhaps you might care to take a look at this,” said Monti, as he handed William an official-looking document.
William glanced at the front page. “My Italian isn’t that good,” he admitted.
“Then I will have to take you through it, line by line over lunch, because I need to know if you wish us to grant Mr. Carter’s application for the license, or whether Scotland Yard would prefer us to turn his request down.”
* * *
William knocked on the front door, and when Beth opened it he was greeted with, “Hello, stranger, what’s your excuse this time?”
“I’ve been to Rome.”
“To visit another woman?”
“Napoleon’s sister.”
“She’s quite cold, I’m told.”
“As marble,” said William, bending down to kiss her, but he only brushed her lips, as she turned away.
“Not until I’ve heard Pauline’s side of the