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Spiro eyed the young man with concern. "Not a worry, Ercole. Untouched?"
"Yes, yes, fine. It is not the first time I have been shot at."
"Shot at before, Forestry Officer?"
"Yes, a blind farmer believed I was a thief, on his property to steal his prize sow. He missed by a long way." A shrug.
Spiro said, "Still, a bullet is a bullet."
"Exactly."
Sachs: "Any witnesses?"
"No, we searched the whole area. None." The officer frowned. "It makes little sense. It doesn't seem to fit his profile. A weapon like that."
Sachs disagreed. "I think he's getting desperate. The amobarb drug tells us he has panic attacks and suffers from anxiety. His condition could be getting worse."
Rhyme asked, "Where would he get the weapon?"
Rossi said, "It would not be so difficult. Handguns and automatic weapons, yes. You would need an underworld connection; the Camorra has access to whole arsenals. But I would think he stole it. There are many hunters in the countryside."
Rhyme added, "We all need to be particularly careful now. Assume scenes are hot. You know what I mean? That the Composer is nearby with his rifle or another weapon."
Rossi said he would put the information out on the law enforcement wire, alerting all the officers to the risk.
"So," Spiro said to Sachs, "I understand from Lincoln that there seemed to be no connection between the Composer and the warehouse?"
"Very unlikely. No one saw anybody matching his description. There were footprints but no Converse Cons. No fingerprints. I've left soil samples with Beatrice. She might find there's trace that connects him with the place but I really doubt it."
Ercole said, "I will say too that after we had dinner I spent the evening reviewing airport security footage looking for someone who might resemble the Composer, flying to Milan. Unfortunately, most flights are connections through Rome. I had hundreds to look at. And it was several days' worth of video. But I saw no sign of him."
Rhyme noted the pronoun. We had dinner. And recalled Ercole's texts and his glances toward Daniela Canton.
Beatrice walked into the office. She addressed them, struggling through English. "I am having the results of the tests that have been run. Primo, the soil samples you have gave to me, Ercole, from Garry Soames's apartment, near the break-in. There is not some distinctive profile. If we are locationing some other spot, other shoes, we can link them but now, there is not a thing helpful."
A nod toward Sachs. Now, rather than trying English, Beatrice spoke to Ercole. He translated, "She is mentioning the trace in the Milan warehouse. Yes, there was soil that could be associated with the soil here in Campania. Because of Vesuvius, of course, we have a great deal of unique volcanic residue. But there is much commerce between Milan and Naples--trucks drive there daily. So the presence of Neapolitan dirt in Milan does not necessarily mean much.
"But the other trace didn't have any particular connection with Campania or Naples, and is typical of what you would find in a warehouse: diesel fuel, regular petrol..." He asked her to repeat something, which she did. Then he asked her once more. She frowned and repeated slowly, "Molybdenum disulfide and Teflon fluoropolymer."
He glared her way and said something in Italian. A brief exchange ensued and she said something heatedly. Ercole replied, "How would I know what those are?" Then to the others: "She says it is a grease intended for heavy outdoor equipment, lifters, conveyor belts. And there was jet fuel again. Typical too for warehouses--where the trucks drive to and from airport cargo areas."
Massimo Rossi took a call. Rhyme could see immediately his dismay.
"Cristo!" the inspector muttered. "The Composer has struck again. And at Capodichino, the camp, once more."
"Another murder?"
"No, a kidnapping. He's left another noose."
Rhyme said, "Have the Postal Police start monitoring the streaming sites. It's just a matter of time until he uploads a new composition."
Then a look toward Sachs. She nodded. "Ercole?"
Sighing, the Forestry officer dug his keys from his pocket, dropped them into her palm, and they jogged out the door.
Chapter 45
Amelia Sachs braked the Megane to a hard stop toward the back of the Capodichino Reception Center, guided to the crime scene by the phalanx of Flying Squad cars, lights flashing. The Composer had snatched this victim from the west side of the camp, opposite from where he had slashed to death Malek Dadi.
