very casual—no hurry, no sign of stress. He just walked over, shot the chief inspector and then walked away. One man told me he actually thought it was part of a film, and he spent a few seconds looking around to see where the cameras were. I’ve got my men taking full written statements from the witnesses now, and obviously we’ll do follow-up questioning as well, but I don’t think any of them will be able to give us a photofit for this guy, or pick him out of a lineup.”
Spadaccino paused, and he and Bianchi both looked down at the crumpled figure lying on the stones between them.
“You worked with him, Filippo,” Spadaccino said softly. “What the hell could he have gotten himself involved with that could have led to this? I mean, was he investigating organized crime?”
Bianchi shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
In fact, Inspector Bianchi had a very good idea who had ordered the assassination of his superior officer. The trouble was, if he said anything, the plan he was working on would probably come to nothing. And now the endgame was so close, he couldn’t take that chance.
For the moment, all he could do was wait.
15
Bronson had visited various newspaper morgues in Britain over the years, and he was all too familiar with the unmistakable smell of musty newsprint that seemed to infuse such places, even those that had embraced modern technology to the extent of installing microfiche machines.
The Venice newspaper office had taken a step further into the twenty-first century, and had scanned all their previous copies into a series of hard drives that were accessible through a couple of PC terminals. The newspapers printed more than twenty years earlier had simply been scanned as images, and searching through those would be a laborious process, just like searching microfiche records. To find anything relevant among those copies would really require a fairly accurate date, so that the appropriate edition could be inspected.
But the articles and stories in the more recent newspapers had been stored as text files, as well as images, whichmeant that Bronson was able to search for a specific word or phrase. He really had no clue when any other young women’s disappearances had been reported—or even if there had been any such disappearances—but, because of this facility, he was able to carry out extensive and detailed searches without much difficulty.
The results were generated almost immediately, and he printed out the relevant stories as each one appeared on the screen in front of him. Within a matter of minutes, Bronson realized that there had been a spate of disappearances from Venice and the surrounding area, including a couple of girls who had been reported missing from the mainland. The only common factor, as far as he could tell, was that no trace of most of the young women had been found—in fact, only two bodies had turned up. It was as if the other girls had simply vanished.
The Italian police, of course, had been informed, and had carried out interviews with friends and relatives of the missing girls, but with no clues, and without any bodies to analyze and investigate, there was little they could do. It was even suggested that the girls might have become romantically involved with somebody, or that perhaps they had just run away.
These suggestions irritated and angered the parents involved, who all believed that, even if their daughters had eloped or run off, they would still have written or telephoned to confirm that they were alive. The continued lack of any form of communication from any of the young women was distressing for all concerned, but therewas still little that the police could do, simply because they had nothing to go on.
Bronson totted up the total number of disappearances, and realized that at least a dozen girls had vanished over the previous eighteen months, six of them recently. Prior to that, there had been reports of a couple of women who had gone
Spadaccino paused, and he and Bianchi both looked down at the crumpled figure lying on the stones between them.
“You worked with him, Filippo,” Spadaccino said softly. “What the hell could he have gotten himself involved with that could have led to this? I mean, was he investigating organized crime?”
Bianchi shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
In fact, Inspector Bianchi had a very good idea who had ordered the assassination of his superior officer. The trouble was, if he said anything, the plan he was working on would probably come to nothing. And now the endgame was so close, he couldn’t take that chance.
For the moment, all he could do was wait.
15
Bronson had visited various newspaper morgues in Britain over the years, and he was all too familiar with the unmistakable smell of musty newsprint that seemed to infuse such places, even those that had embraced modern technology to the extent of installing microfiche machines.
The Venice newspaper office had taken a step further into the twenty-first century, and had scanned all their previous copies into a series of hard drives that were accessible through a couple of PC terminals. The newspapers printed more than twenty years earlier had simply been scanned as images, and searching through those would be a laborious process, just like searching microfiche records. To find anything relevant among those copies would really require a fairly accurate date, so that the appropriate edition could be inspected.
But the articles and stories in the more recent newspapers had been stored as text files, as well as images, whichmeant that Bronson was able to search for a specific word or phrase. He really had no clue when any other young women’s disappearances had been reported—or even if there had been any such disappearances—but, because of this facility, he was able to carry out extensive and detailed searches without much difficulty.
The results were generated almost immediately, and he printed out the relevant stories as each one appeared on the screen in front of him. Within a matter of minutes, Bronson realized that there had been a spate of disappearances from Venice and the surrounding area, including a couple of girls who had been reported missing from the mainland. The only common factor, as far as he could tell, was that no trace of most of the young women had been found—in fact, only two bodies had turned up. It was as if the other girls had simply vanished.
The Italian police, of course, had been informed, and had carried out interviews with friends and relatives of the missing girls, but with no clues, and without any bodies to analyze and investigate, there was little they could do. It was even suggested that the girls might have become romantically involved with somebody, or that perhaps they had just run away.
These suggestions irritated and angered the parents involved, who all believed that, even if their daughters had eloped or run off, they would still have written or telephoned to confirm that they were alive. The continued lack of any form of communication from any of the young women was distressing for all concerned, but therewas still little that the police could do, simply because they had nothing to go on.
Bronson totted up the total number of disappearances, and realized that at least a dozen girls had vanished over the previous eighteen months, six of them recently. Prior to that, there had been reports of a couple of women who had gone
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