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"I have some, yes," the man said. "I studied in Tripoli. University. My Italian is not good. I believe I was told my wife is all right. They told me she was struck by the man who did this. I have no memory of that."
"She's fine. I've spoken to her
since the attack."
"And my daughter? Muna?"
"She's good. They're together."
The medic spoke to Ercole and he translated. "They will meet you at the hospital. A car is bringing them from the camp."
"Thank you." Then Khaled was crying. "I would have died if not for you. May God bless you forever, praise be to Him. You are the most brilliant police ever on earth!"
Sachs and Ercole shared a brief glance. She didn't tell Khaled that the deduction as to his location was not so profound. The paper she had stumbled upon on the Composer's desk in the farmhouse near the fertilizer farm was a list of names of his victims--Maziq, Dadi and Khaled Jabril--and the places where they were to be stashed for the video. Sachs didn't quite believe it could be so obvious.
It's far-fetched, Rhyme, but it's the only chance we've got...
After she'd given Rossi the address, the inspector had sent Michelangelo and his tactical force here.
And, in the basement, they'd found Khaled.
Sachs was relieved that she could conduct an interview in English...though the results were far from satisfying. The unsteady Khaled Jabril had no memory of the kidnapping itself. In fact, he could remember very little of their days in the refugee camp. He'd woken and found the noose around his neck. He'd screamed himself hoarse through his gag, trying to scare the rats away as much as plead for help (neither worked).
Ten minutes of questioning led to nothing. No description of the kidnapper, no words he'd uttered, no memories of any car Khaled had been transported in. He supposed he'd been blindfolded for much of the time but couldn't say that for certain.
A medic spoke and Sachs understood that they wanted to get him to the hospital for a more thorough examination. "Si," she said.
As the vehicle nosed through the crowd, she, Ercole and Rossi stood in a clutch, watching it leave.
"Dov'e il nostro amico?" Rossi muttered, his eyes sweeping over this chaotic part of the city.
Where is our friend? Sachs believed was the translation.
"Maybe the evidence will tell us," she said. She and Ercole turned back to the torture chamber.
Chapter 52
Rhyme watched Dante Spiro as he disconnected the phone. Yes, as Ercole Benelli had suggested, his face's waiting state was a scowl, his eyes probing, as if they could stun like a Taser. But following the conversation, it seemed to Rhyme that his mood was particularly searing.
"Ach. There is no sign that the Composer is returning to the farmhouse in the country."
Rhyme and Spiro were alone in the situation room in the Questura. Rhyme, with no need to be anywhere but here, and bodily functions taken care of, had given Thom time off again to see the sights. The aide--irritatingly--kept checking in. Rhyme had finally said, "Hang up! Have some fun! I'll call if there's a problem. Phone reception's better here than in parts of Manhattan." Which it was.
He now digested Spiro's news. Unlike at the aqueduct scene, with Ali Maziq, the Composer had no warning system at the farmhouse to alert him that his hidey-hole had been breached. Rossi had set up surveillance at the house and around the organic fertilizer company, hoping he might return. They'd held off running the crime scene. But two hours had passed and Rossi now yielded to Rhyme's--and Beatrice Renza's--pressure to walk the grid.
Rhyme called Sachs and told her to go ahead with the farmhouse search. She, Ercole and the Scientific Police had finished with the factory in the Spanish Quarters, where Khaled Jabril had nearly been strangled.
Beatrice, in the doorway of the situation room, nodded approvingly when she heard the scene would be searched. "Bene." She cocked her head, crowned with a Tyvek bonnet. "'Even seconds can mean the difference between the successful preservation of evidence and its destruction. Scenes must be searched, evidence collected and protected, as quickly as possible.'"
The grammar and syntax were perfect, even if the delivery was mired in her thick accent.
Spiro shot her one of his glances. "And you are lecturing me for what reason, Officer Renza?"
Rhyme had to chuckle. "She's quoting, Dante. Not lecturing. And she is quoting me. My textbook. And I believe that's verbatim."
She said, "It is used here but only in English. It should be translated."
"That may very well happen." He explained that just this morning Thom had received a call from one of the best literary agents in Italy, a man named Roberto Santachiara, who had read the press account that Rhyme was in Naples and wanted to talk to him about an Italian translation of his book.
