Santini separated the envelopes from the books and, taking one off the top, tossed the rest on the bed.
‘Hey!’ protested Matteo.
Santini smiled smugly at Matteo, at his look of indignation. He opened the envelope. ‘It is from you?’
‘Nothing in there is useful. Written a year ago. After we’d first met.’
Santini shrugged and began to read, a smirk on his face.
‘We should still check,’ said Lieutenant Baroni, plucking the letter from her colleague’s hands. She pocketed the envelopes, much to Matteo’s frustration, and Susanna braced herself, as it looked as if he was about to object, when Captain Santini spoke again.
‘Well, what do we have here?’
He was crouched on the floor, the door of the cupboard underneath the cabinet open. In his hand was a small yellow plastic container.
‘What’s that?’ Susanna asked, frowning. She couldn’t read the label on the front from the other side of the room.
Baroni took the bottle from her colleague. ‘Weedkiller,’ she said.
Susanna started. ‘Oh my God.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Matteo.
‘Any idea why your wife would keep weedkiller hidden in her bedroom?’ asked Baroni.
Matteo was struggling to answer; confusion riddled his face. ‘I don’t know how that got there. It wouldn’t be Abby . . .’
‘Who would it be?’ asked Baroni matter-of-factly.
‘I don’t know . . . It doesn’t make sense.’
Susanna was beginning to feel sorry for him, but then a sudden thought made itself present in her mind.
‘Ellie was ill,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Night before last. She was feeling terribly unwell.’
She looked up at the bottle of weedkiller with its glaring yellow packaging. ‘You have to find them,’ she urged the police. She started to cry, the salty tears irritating the sunburn on her face. ‘Please. You have to find them.’
Matteo took a deep breath, tried to restore calm. ‘This doesn’t prove anything.’
The lieutenant’s phone rang. She answered. ‘Pronto.’
She spoke in Italian and Susanna was unable to follow the conversation, but she watched Matteo’s face, saw the shadow cross it.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked quickly.
Lieutenant Baroni hung up. ‘Abby’s car has been found. On the mainland. It’s damaged, crashed into a wall.’
Susanna cried out, a sound of anguish. ‘Oh my God. Ellie, is she OK?’
‘There was no one at the scene,’ said the lieutenant. ‘I think it’s of the highest importance that we find your daughters as soon as possible.’
TWENTY-TWO
Lieutenant Colonel Baroni watched as the pickup truck winched Abby Morelli’s car up onto the ramps. Night had fallen and the crash site was lit by the forensic team lights. Numerous moths and bugs flitted in the beams, suicidal as they hurtled themselves at the piercing brightness. The car would be checked over thoroughly but Baroni had already flashed her torch over the seats. There were no bodies. A small amount of blood on the driver’s seat but that was it. She looked up at the torches flaring through the olive groves, could hear the sounds of the dogs as they strained at their leads. Were the women out there somewhere, perhaps having wandered off from the scene to get help? Or had one tried to escape from the other and failed, now lying dead and bloodied under an olive tree? Somehow she sensed not. Baroni’s instincts told her these women had gone in the direction of the road. She looked into the darkness, the same way that the car had been facing. In her gut she felt the two sisters had continued on the same course. She called over to Captain Santini and they got back into their patrol car.
Standing outside the ochre-painted house, Baroni knocked for a second time. Santini was standing next to her, his whole body hyper with impatience. He raised an arm, about to hammer on the door again, but she flashed him a look and he sulkily pulled back. Inside she could hear the sounds of people in for the evening – and a woman’s voice calling out to her husband to answer the door as she was cooking.
A few seconds later the door did open and Baroni was faced with a portly middle-aged man. She introduced herself and the glowering captain by her side, apologized for disturbing him that evening, then confirmed with the man that he owned the garage on the edge of the village. She clocked his slightly nervous, shifty stance when she mentioned his premises, but focused on Signoras Morelli and Spencer.
‘Did two women in their thirties visit your garage today?’ She supplemented her question with a photograph of the two sisters that she had got from the mother’s phone.
He glanced down at it and scratched his head. Squinted as if he couldn’t quite make it out. Baroni bit back her frustration, prayed Santini would keep his cool.
‘Well?’
He pulled a face, sucked in his cheeks. Frowned as he kept on looking at the phone.
If he doesn’t answer me in the next ten seconds, thought Baroni, narrowing her eyes, I’m going to have him investigated for whatever minor misdemeanour he’s hiding; fiddling the books most likely. That’s got to be at least six seconds, she thought, mentally counting. Seven, eight, ni—
‘Si, I recognize them.’
She smiled. Just before the bell! Luckily for him.
‘What did they come in for?’
‘To rent a car.’
‘I need the vehicle type and registration plate,’ said Baroni, and after the dealer had got the information, she and Captain Santini left.
TWENTY-THREE
Susanna had been awake most of the night. She lay in her bed as the light crept around the edges of the blinds, feeling her heart sink at what she knew was going to be another hot day. She’d need to stay inside; in fact, would probably have to do so for a couple of days. Her skin was still sore from lying out on the patio in the full sun the previous afternoon and her head was pounding.
She slowly swung her legs off the bed and onto the floor. She needed to get to the bathroom and, carefully pulling a towel around her for modesty, she quietly opened the door and crossed over the landing. She locked the bathroom door behind her, relieved not to have seen Matteo.
As she turned, she caught sight of her face in the mirror. It was still red, one side brighter than the other from where it had taken the full force of the sun as it had lowered across the sky. Her hair was still matted and her scalp was sore from the fall. She tentatively raised a hand to touch the wound, felt the skin raised from swelling. Tears clogged her throat but she kept them back; no point feeling sorry for herself. She stared, seeing an ugly woman in front of her. Maybe she should have gone to the hospital after all. But it had been important – no, essential – to tell the police about Abby and the danger Ellie was in. She’d needed to do that before attending to her own injuries. Whatever sacrifice it was to herself, it was worth it.
TWENTY-FOUR
From her bed Abby stared through the crack in the curtains at the bright Tuscan sky. The window was open and a gentle breeze lifted the fabric every now and then, revealing glimpses of the hills, shrouded in an early morning blue haze. It was still cool but the brightness of the sun told Abby that, as the day progressed, it would be another scorcher.