Page 31

I t was late afternoon by the time they pulled into Savernella, which was bigger than Croce, with bustling shops, restaurants, and modern stucco apartment buildings. Businesspeople hurried along the sidewalks with messenger bags and backpacks, talking on phones.

Gianluca drove uphill until they came to a wrought iron gate and a lighted sign that read CARABINIERI .

Julia took in the police station, a well-maintained brick edifice with a stone foundation and iron bars on the windows.

The front door was unvarnished, with an ornate knob in the middle, and embedded in the wall next to a call box was a marble sign engraved COMANDO STAZIONE .

They slowed to a stop, and Gianluca cut the ignition and held the bike for Julia to get off. “Why did we come here instead of Croce?” she asked, wedging off her helmet.

“Croce’s too small to have its own police force or administration. Savernella is the sister town, and this is where you file a police report. Lots of people who live in Croce work here, since there are more jobs.”

“I see.” Julia straightened, smoothing her hair into place. “Thanks for taking me.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry you’re going through this.” Gianluca smiled, sympathetic. “I can’t redeem everybody. Misconduct abounds.”

Julia smiled back. “Thanks. Let’s go.”

They sat across the desk from a Marshal Alberto Torti, a fifty-something police captain with black-brown eyes and salt-and-pepper beard.

He wore a dark tie and a starchy white shirt with a black sweater that read CARABINIERI above a red stripe.

His black pants matched a Beretta in his waist holster.

His office was spare and clean, with cream walls, an institutional desk, and official framed documents above gray file cabinets.

Gianluca started them off in Italian, then they segued into English, which Marshal Torti spoke in a formal way.

Julia told him everything, beginning with the man in the black ballcap at the Uffizi, complete with her photos, and ending with the mustachioed driver of the white Fiat.

Marshal Torti typed her statement on an old Dell desktop while she spoke, and it reminded her of the statements about Mike’s murder she’d given in Philly.

She felt as if they were filling out a form, not starting an investigation.

Julia signed the statement and passed it back to him. “Marshal Torti, now that you have the Fiat’s license plate, can you contact the driver and find out why he’s following me?”

“We cannot.” Marshal Torti frowned. “What he’s done is not a crime.”

“It isn’t? Do you have anti-stalking laws here?”

“Yes, but his conduct does not rise to that level.”

“Why not? He followed me to Forlì, then to Imola. That’s stalking, isn’t it?”

“We cannot be certain his intent was criminal.” Marshal Torti cocked his head. “Did he threaten you?”

“Following me is threatening.” Julia tried not to think back to Mike’s murder. “I mean, it’s obvious, people follow you, then they attack you. It’s an ambush.”

“I mean, did he say words to you that could be considered a threat?”

“Well, no.”

“Did he speak with you?”

“No.” Julia had to convince him. “If he didn’t have criminal intent, why did he drive away from us when we caught him?”

Marshal Torti spread his palms. “Ms. Pritzker, if a motorcycle drove up alongside my car on a highway, I myself would feel threatened. I might drive away too. It was a reasonable response, not necessarily indicative of criminal intent.”

Shit. “But what if these two men know each other or are connected somehow?”

“That is conjecture.”

“I know, but what are the odds of two men following me? That’s why you have to investigate.” Julia realized he didn’t know about her inheritance. “I’m here because I inherited a lot of money. What if this is connected to that somehow?”

Gianluca interjected, “She’s right, Marshal Torti. An American inheriting a fortune? You know how word spreads out here. They could be plotting to kidnap her for ransom.”

Julia shuddered, wondering if he was right.

“I can’t remember the last kidnapping we had out here.” Marshal Torti lifted an eyebrow, turning to Julia. “If I may ask, how much money did you inherit?”

“About three million euros.”

Marshal Torti’s eyes flew open. “That’s quite a sum!”

“That’s our point. That’s why I think you need to talk to the Fiat driver.”

Marshal Torti pursed his lips. “No, we cannot. He would need to take a further step for us to intervene—”

“What does he have to do?” Julia flashed on the night of Mike’s murder. “I know stalking can turn deadly. My husband was killed about six months ago, in Philadelphia.”

Marshal Torti grimaced, recoiling. “You have my condolences.”

“Thank you, but that’s why I think this is dangerous.”

“The question is who created the danger.” Marshal Torti turned to Gianluca. “Signore Moretti, why did you chase the Fiat driver? Driving between lanes and on the shoulder is unlawful. You know better. The danger was created by you.”

“That ignores what he did,” Gianluca shot back.

“It was my idea,” Julia interjected. “I wanted to see where he went. Now you can look him up from his license plate.”

“Ms. Pritzker, how long is your visit here?”

“It’s open-ended.”

“Perhaps you should consider finishing your business and leaving.”

“ That’s your advice?” Julia asked, taken aback. Gianluca frowned.

“Yes.” Marshal Torti nodded. “There is little we can do for you at this juncture. Self-help is always in order. As I said, the man has committed no illegality, and we do not harass our citizens. In addition, we don’t have the manpower.”

“ You’re here. You could make a phone call.”

Marshal Torti rose, his expression grim. “Our interview is over. I have your report. If there are any developments, you have my card. Thank you for your time.”

Not so fast. “Can you tell me who the license plate belongs to?”

“No, such information is confidential. Now, please, I have matters to attend to.” Marshal Torti gestured to the door, and Julia and Gianluca left the office frustrated. They hustled down the steps and outside to the sidewalk, where she threw up her hands.

“I mean, what was that? Useless!”

“Typical small-town cop.” Gianluca shook his head. “Wait. What about the family investigator? Tancredi? Maybe he can investigate and search the license plate. Or he might know someone who can.”

“Great idea, but he hasn’t called me back yet.”

“Let me try.” Gianluca slid his phone from his pocket, made a call, and started speaking rapid Italian, then ended the call with a satisfied grin.

“Okay, Tancredi was supposed to call you but he got busy. There’s another family investigator in his office, a British woman named Poppy Whitcomb.

She can see you tomorrow at four o’clock. ”

“I’ll take it, thank you.” Julia felt a twinge of hope. “What did they say about the license plate?”

“She can’t run down the license plate. They don’t really do that, but she might be able to give you a referral.” Gianluca paused. “I didn’t realize the size of your inheritance. That’s a lot of money. Do you think you should leave, instead?”

“No, I want to meet the family investigator. Did you mean what you said about them wanting to kidnap me?”

“Yes, what you said to the cop convinced me. I can’t explain the Fiat driver’s actions in an innocent way.

” Gianluca shook his head, his expression grim.

“I admit, I wasn’t worried by him when we left Imola.

I wasn’t sure that you were being followed or if his intent was harmful.

But when we pulled up beside him and he took off, that sealed it.

If he weren’t up to no good, he would have cursed me out. That’s Italian.”

Julia smiled.

“That said, I think if you’re careful and don’t go anywhere alone, you’ll be fine. I’ll hang with you as much as you want. You’ll be in Florence for the investigator, and I’d love to take you to dinner after.”

“Great, thanks.” Julia wondered if Gianluca wanted to be more than friends, but she would keep it that way. She liked him, but she wasn’t ready for anything more.

It was still her wedding anniversary, whether Mike was alive or not.