Dying For Siena by Elizabeth Jennings Page B

very gifted mathematician, very gifted. Kane made her life miserable from day one. Faith comes from a very poor family and is on contract. Her entire existence is tenuous and Kane preyed on that. And there was a girl—” Ball stared into space. “Coral…” He snapped his fingers. “No, Candace. Candace Simmons. A student. She accused Kane of rape, but before the case could come to trial, she was institutionalized and the charges were dropped. Basically Kane got away with rape. Believe me, Commissario Rossi, whoever killed Roland Kane did humanity an immense service.”
    Ball was slightly flushed, his jaw tensed. Suddenly he smiled. “But it wasn’t me.”
    “That, professor, remains to be seen,” Dante replied.
    Ball inclined his head. “Of course.”
    Dante drew in a deep breath. “We will keep your passport for the time being. You will get it back in a few days. I must ask you not to leave Siena until our investigation is complete.”
    Like Madeleine Kobbel, Ball looked startled at the idea. “Of course I won’t leave Siena, captain. I’m here for the conference. It lasts until the second, by which time I’m sure you’ll have made headway in your investigation.”
    By which time, Dante thought, the Snail will have won. “I’m sure we will have. I think that’s about it for now. You might be called in for further questioning, but, in the meantime, you are free to go.”
    Ball nodded and rose gracefully, his pants falling softly, perfectly over his suede loafers.
    How did the man do it?
    The heat of the day had gathered in Dante’s office, bearing down oppressively. Dante was sweating and his clothes stuck wherever his body touched the chair.
    Every year the town council swore it would put air conditioning in the Questura, and every year the town council fell before it could approve the supplementary budget.
    In the summer, Dante’s office was like a furnace. Yet Griffin Ball looked cool and unruffled. How did the man do it? Dante wondered.
    Ball walked quietly to the door and stopped. After a moment, he turned around. Dante lifted his head. “Was there something else, professor?”
    Ball hesitated. “I know I shouldn’t say this, Commissario . But…don’t look too hard for Kane’s murderer. Whoever did it should have a monument erected in his honor.”

Chapter Six
    Smile…tomorrow will be worse.
     
    The next morning, Faith slid into her seat and smiled at the black-coated waiter pouring more of the delicious coffee so strong it should be classified as a nutraceutical.
    Even breakfast, normally a humdrum affair in her life consisting of lukewarm instant coffee and a supermarket donut, was delicious here.
    There were croissants, called cornetti , still warm from the oven, star-shaped cookies with plum marmalade in the middle, sugary donuts the waiters called bomboloni and—on the other side of the diet pyramid—slices of thick, salty country ham and round, sweet melon balls.
    Everyone looked up as if surprised to see her. They were frozen in a little breakfast tableau—Tim with bread crumbs from the saltless Tuscan bread spilling down his shirt, Grif, elegant as always with a little round pastry held up between thumb and forefinger, and Madeleine hunched over her plate, long grey hair swinging forward to hide her face.
    “Faith.” Grif, always the gentleman, stood while Faith took her seat.
    For the thousandth time, Faith wished Grif were straight and that she had had a brief, passionate affair with him, rather than the short, bloodless affair she’d had with Tim.
    Grif would have taken her out to some elegant restaurants, and he would have made her laugh and sigh while seducing her. She and Tim had shared a stringy takeout pizza in her apartment followed by very bad sex.
    She and Nick had had very good sex, though, of course, her experience was limited, so maybe it hadn’t been as spectacular as her memory insisted. Still, right up until the moment it had been made clear she was one of a