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“I call for you,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’ll do it.”
He nodded, but dialed for her, at least, and then held the receiver out when Scotland Yard got Detective Sergeant Archer on the line.
“Yes?”
“It’s Gabriella Farnsworth.” She paused, suddenly at a loss, wondering what to say.
“You have information?” he asked.
“There’s another body.” The words burst out of her. “The girl from the clothing boutique near the gallery, Patty. I think . . .” She swallowed. “I think she might have been there since Saturday night.”
“I’ll be right there. Where are you calling from? The gallery?”
“Gennaro’s.”
“Stay there,” he said. “Don’t move.”
She was happy to obey that order.
Gennaro had stayed with her as she’d spoken, but as she set the receiver down he disappeared and she heard the grinding of beans, the whoosh of steam, and then smelled the aroma of espresso.
Her hand shook as she took the cup he presented to her, and her teeth bumped against the rim with a click.
She sipped slowly, still remembering how close she’d come to throwing up.
“Patty is the one you found? Where is she?” Gennaro sat on the corner of his desk, and seemed to transform from the barrel-chested café owner into someone more dangerous.
“In the alley between the gift shop and the boutique. I only found her because I heard the rats fighting . . .” She had to put the cup down or spill her coffee. She looked up at Gennaro. “The rats were fighting over her body.”
He swore again, and walked toward the door. “Should I go stand by her? To stop the rats?”
Gabriella nodded. “Please.”
With a nod he snatched up her dripping umbrella, which she hadn’t even remembered putting down, and strode out.
She slowly drank the rest of her coffee, then forced herself to move out of the office to the front door to wait for DS Archer. She walked slowly, stiff with cold and shock, and sank into a chair near the entrance. She jumped in shock at the rap of knuckles on the glass of the door, and then fumbled to open up.
DS Archer stared at her for a moment. “Where is Gennaro?”
“Guarding the body.” She lifted a trembling hand, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I found her because I heard the rats . . .”
He took a step back. “Wait here.”
He disappeared, and a few minutes later, Gennaro returned. He shook out her umbrella, set it in the stand near the door, and clicked his tongue.
“Bad sight,” he said. “Very bad sight.”
She nodded. “Are the bobbies there, too?”
“The big ones in uniform? They are there.” He patted her shoulder. “You want more coffee?”
She shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”
With a grunt of acceptance, he moved off, and she heard him moving around in his office and then the kitchen.
The café door opened, and DS Archer stepped in. He pulled up a chair and sat opposite her.