Read Online The Dark Heart of Florence: Number 6 in series (Michele Ferrara) by Michele Giuttari - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michele Giuttari
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of Florence, on which the legendary Chief Superintendent had led the investigation. In his opinion, the fame he had gained thanks to that case was undeserved. What was there to be proud of? He had pinned it all on an unskilled labourer, but had let the people behind the murders go, the people who ruled the city behind the scenes.
He, on the other hand, knew who they were. He could go straight to the target. He understood certain areas of human behaviour, and was able to go beyond appearances.
He would soon show that Chief Superintendent which of them was the clever one. He knew so much about him, while the Chief Superintendent knew nothing about
him
and would never find him. He’d merely be fumbling about in the dark.
Soon he would concentrate on the next piece of the jigsaw.
There was no way that he could ever be tracked down.
He burst out laughing.
He took off his shoes and curled up on the sofa, which was a bit short for him. From the small side table he took one of his favourite CDs:
Deep Purple in Rock
. For a while he stared at the faces of the five band members on the cover, carved like Mount Rushmore, then put the CD in the player, pressed the play button on the remote and turned up the volume. He closed his eyes, feeling he could fall asleep like that. Ian Gillan’s voice flooded the room, singing ‘Child in Time’.
Hard rock was his favourite kind of music. Hard music, as hard as he was. Before long, though, he became aware of the usual pain and lifted his hands to his head. Ritchie Blackmore’s guitar seemed to be trying to burst his eardrums.
‘Damn!’ he whispered, opening his eyes. The beast he could not tame, no matter how he tried, was attacking him. He took some Rohypnol, a powerful drug he had recently discovered, from the side table and swallowed it with a little water. It would take effect within fifteen minutes, and then he would be fine for at least six hours. He would relax and fall into a deep sleep.
16
Yorkshire, England
Sir George Holley had called an urgent meeting in the private study of his castle near Fountains Abbey. There were important issues that needed to be discussed, issues that could not wait.
After a long pause, the white-haired, impeccably dressed Sir George, the owner of this fairy-tale building, resumed speaking. The eyes of his guests, who were sitting in comfortable green leather armchairs, were all on him.
‘Things haven’t gone according to plan,’ he said, ‘and we need to understand why before we take any further steps.’
The youngest person present, who was tall, with chiselled features, asked for the floor. From his appearance, most people would have assumed him to be of aristocratic stock. But although everyone knew him as a wealthy investor in the world’s financial markets, he was actually a major drugs trafficker who resided officially in the United States; a true gangster, whose main business was laundering dirty money with the support of people who were above suspicion. When Sir George nodded his permission for him to speak, he said, ‘Well, in any case, he got what he deserved. He’s paid for his mistakes. We should soon know exactly what happened.’
The others nodded.
‘I know that Enrico had a Swiss bank account,’ Sir George said. ‘In Lugano, to be precise. We need to get there before the police do, assuming they even find out about it. We’ll have to get in touch with his informer to see what they’re up to.’
The others agreed again.
‘Will you take care of it, Richard?’ Sir George asked the young man who had spoken.
‘It’d be an honour. I’ll get on to it right away. I’ll take the first plane. And I’ll make Enrico’s informer an offer he can’t refuse.’
He sounded absolutely sure of himself. What he was really thinking was that Costanza’s murder suggested they should be looking for other, more reliable sources of information.
‘Excellent, you take care of it then. But be careful. We can’t afford to make
He, on the other hand, knew who they were. He could go straight to the target. He understood certain areas of human behaviour, and was able to go beyond appearances.
He would soon show that Chief Superintendent which of them was the clever one. He knew so much about him, while the Chief Superintendent knew nothing about
him
and would never find him. He’d merely be fumbling about in the dark.
Soon he would concentrate on the next piece of the jigsaw.
There was no way that he could ever be tracked down.
He burst out laughing.
He took off his shoes and curled up on the sofa, which was a bit short for him. From the small side table he took one of his favourite CDs:
Deep Purple in Rock
. For a while he stared at the faces of the five band members on the cover, carved like Mount Rushmore, then put the CD in the player, pressed the play button on the remote and turned up the volume. He closed his eyes, feeling he could fall asleep like that. Ian Gillan’s voice flooded the room, singing ‘Child in Time’.
Hard rock was his favourite kind of music. Hard music, as hard as he was. Before long, though, he became aware of the usual pain and lifted his hands to his head. Ritchie Blackmore’s guitar seemed to be trying to burst his eardrums.
‘Damn!’ he whispered, opening his eyes. The beast he could not tame, no matter how he tried, was attacking him. He took some Rohypnol, a powerful drug he had recently discovered, from the side table and swallowed it with a little water. It would take effect within fifteen minutes, and then he would be fine for at least six hours. He would relax and fall into a deep sleep.
16
Yorkshire, England
Sir George Holley had called an urgent meeting in the private study of his castle near Fountains Abbey. There were important issues that needed to be discussed, issues that could not wait.
After a long pause, the white-haired, impeccably dressed Sir George, the owner of this fairy-tale building, resumed speaking. The eyes of his guests, who were sitting in comfortable green leather armchairs, were all on him.
‘Things haven’t gone according to plan,’ he said, ‘and we need to understand why before we take any further steps.’
The youngest person present, who was tall, with chiselled features, asked for the floor. From his appearance, most people would have assumed him to be of aristocratic stock. But although everyone knew him as a wealthy investor in the world’s financial markets, he was actually a major drugs trafficker who resided officially in the United States; a true gangster, whose main business was laundering dirty money with the support of people who were above suspicion. When Sir George nodded his permission for him to speak, he said, ‘Well, in any case, he got what he deserved. He’s paid for his mistakes. We should soon know exactly what happened.’
The others nodded.
‘I know that Enrico had a Swiss bank account,’ Sir George said. ‘In Lugano, to be precise. We need to get there before the police do, assuming they even find out about it. We’ll have to get in touch with his informer to see what they’re up to.’
The others agreed again.
‘Will you take care of it, Richard?’ Sir George asked the young man who had spoken.
‘It’d be an honour. I’ll get on to it right away. I’ll take the first plane. And I’ll make Enrico’s informer an offer he can’t refuse.’
He sounded absolutely sure of himself. What he was really thinking was that Costanza’s murder suggested they should be looking for other, more reliable sources of information.
‘Excellent, you take care of it then. But be careful. We can’t afford to make
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