In the Hour Before Midnight by Jack Higgins Page B

Shot them?”
    â€œBut they didn’t,” I pointed out.
    â€œNo, you’re right, they knew better than to tangle with Mafia.”
    â€œAnd how would they know that’s what they were doing?”
    â€œDon’t play games with me. Mr. Wyatt. Have you looked in the mirror lately? There is mafioso stamped clear for all to see. The self-sufficiency, the power, the quiet arrogance. Why, you didn’t even speak to that poor wretch. That was the most humiliating thing for all.”
    â€œFor you or for him?” She raised a hand and I warded it off. “Poor Rosa. You wear nylon underwear and dresses from London and Paris and feel guilty about it. Why? Are there brothers and sisters still living in a sty like this?”
    â€œSomething like that.” She nodded. “You are very clever, aren’t you, Mr. Wyatt?”
    â€œStacey,” I said. “Call me Stacey. Now let’s take a walk.”
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    Beyond the village, we found a pleasant slope that lefted gently towards the first ridge-back, the dark line of forest beyond, then bare rock and the peak, very faint, shimmering in the heat haze.
    I had brought binoculars from the car and I spread the map Cerda had given me on the ground and carefully checked certain features with reality.
    â€œCan it be done?” she asked as I folded the map and put the binoculars into their case.
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œBut you’re not going to tell me how?”
    â€œI thought you only came along for the ride?”
    She hit me on the shoulder with a clenched fist. “I think you are the most infuriating man I have ever met.”
    â€œGood,” I said. “Now let’s forget everything else except how pleasant this is. We’ll spend the afternoon like carefree lovers and tell pleasant lies to each other.”
    She laughed, head thrown back, but when I took her hand in mine, she let it stay there.
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    On the slopes we found knapweed with great yellow heads, ragwort and bee orchids and silvery-blue gentians. We walked for an hour, then lay in a hollow warmed by the sun, smoked and talked.
    I was right. She had started life in a village very similar to Bellona in the province of Messina, An uncle on her mother’s side, a widower, had owned a small café in Palermo and his only daughter had died. He needed someone to take her place in the business and no Sicilian would dream of bringing in an outsider when there was someone suitable in the family.
    She had married, at eighteen, the middle-aged owner of a similar establishment who had obliged by conveniently passing on a year later.
    My impression was that Hoffer had used the place and had taken a fancy to her, but she was a little reticent about the details. The important thing was that she’d been able to make herself into what he wanted, a sophisticated woman of the world, which couldn’t have been easy, even with her guts and intelligence.
    She fired a few questions at me in turn and I actually found myself answering. Nothing important, of course, and then she slipped badly.
    â€œIt’s incredible,” she said. “You’re almost human. It’s so difficult to imagine you killing as ruthlessly as you did last night.”
    â€œSo you know about that?” I said. “Who told you?”
    â€œWhy, Colonel Burke.” The answer was out before she could stop it. “I was there when he told Karl.”
    Was anything ever going to make sense again? I laughed out loud and she asked me what was so funny.
    â€œLife,” I said. “One big joke.”
    I pushed her on her back and kissed her. She lay there staring up at me, her face smooth, the eyesquite blank, making no move to stop me as I unbuttoned her blouse and slipped a hand inside and cupped it around a breast. The nipple blossomed beneath my thumb and I noticed tiny beads of sweat on her brow.
    I kissed them away and laughed. “There can be no doubt whatsoever