‘Things have happened so fast since I arrived – just seven months ago, can you believe it? The tours, the teashop, now the documentary. I’m concerned…’
‘But why?’ Dario squeezed her hand. ‘The factory, the school was on its knees, and we didn’t know which way to turn. Then you arrive and suddenly good things begin to happen.’
‘I know, but are things happening a littletoofast? You’re all still grieving, trying to come to terms with what happened to Giancarlo. Elena said that’s still a mystery. What did she mean? I know she’s been worried about the media attention the documentary will bring. Why? It was an accident, wasn’t it? She doesn’t say as much, but I could sense she was nervous about agreeing tothe documentary in the first place, but she was pushed into a corner without time to think it through properly. Now there’s no going back and it’s…’
Dario put his finger on her lips. ‘Yes, we are still grieving and always will. But Giancarlo, he loved the life. I tell you as his oldest friend, he would be so happy. And I know Elena, she is happy too because Stefano is more like himself these days.’
Lucy bit her lip. ‘It’s not my business, but is there something I should be aware of?’
Dario shook his head and smiled. ‘Don’t worry. That is my responsibility. You focus on what you do best.’
‘What? Baking cakes you mean?’ she quipped, trying to smile.
Dario leaned forward and lightly kissed her freckled nose. ‘And turning Giancarlo’s wishes into reality. I believeserendipitàbring you into our lives.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Now I must go back to work,’ he said, secretly wishing he could stay.
‘Of… of course. Crimes to solve. Me too,’ she said, her voice shaky, her cheeks burning. ‘I don’t mean… I mean I have students waiting for me – and cakes to bake.Ciao,Officer Bianchi –e grazie mille.’
‘Ciao,Lady Lucia,’ he said, brushing her cheek with a gentle kiss.Prego.’
Lucy now had a new favourite Italian word:serendipità.
Giancarlo! I’m coming for you! Don’t move, my friend! You are safe! I’m coming! Wait for me!
Jumping out of his patrol car, he flicked on his torch, and looked down. The silver Alfa Romeo was overturned, steam hissing from its engine, horn blaring. As he slithered and scrambled down the cliff face,the wavering flashlight revealed the blue Napoli football club sticker on the rear window and the child seat at the back. Sweat trickled down his face. The smell of acrid smoke burned his nostrils. His heart plummeted as the registration number confirmed his worst fears.
Sirens screamed in the distance, flashing lights spiralling ever closer, bathing the rocks and the sand in a dazzling, eerie blue. All at once, there was a loud bang then a boom that sent him reeling to the ground, followed by an explosion of white light.
Dario came to with a start, in a tangle of sheets and a cold sweat, his heart banging wildly in his chest. He glanced at his phone. Half past five.
He staggered out of bed to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face.
Dario had been on duty that fateful night and first on the scene. Since the vandalism of the teashop, the nightmare resurfaced more frequently, and his suspicions had ratcheted up several notches.
Why, oh why had Giancarlo insisted on escorting Mr Conti all the way to the airport departure gate? He’d played straight into the criminals’ hands. The CCTV cameras in the airport car park had been re-angled towards the ceiling, so no footage was captured, and given that there was nothing left of his car but a mass of molten metal, Dario’s theory of brake tampering had been dismissed.
An early assumption that Giancarlo must have been drunk at the wheel enraged Dario; he was one of the most careful and considerate drivers he knew, even more so since Stefano was born.
When the autopsy brought that line of investigation to an abrupt end, a verdict of careless driving was quickly reached and the case closed.
Dario stared out towards the horizon, where the sea and the sky blurred into one.
Again and again he replayed the events of that night in hismind, dissecting every moment, driving himself mad with what-if’s, should-have’s and if-only’s.
It was irrational, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty for having been unable to save his friend. He had long told himself this mental torture had to stop before he was dragged down a psychological black hole. But how? How could he prevent these negative thoughts from entering his head?
Being a protective and loving godfather to Stefano hadn’t alleviated his guilt; no matter how many football matches he took him to or games they played, it was still there, lurking in the shadows.
‘I know it is not easy,’ Padre Paulo had told him, ‘but you must find positive memories to balance your guilt, to allow you to move forward. You couldn’t be with Giancarlo at the end, but think of the many times youwerethere for him. Try to do something positive with these feelings – to help not only you, but others too.’
These words of wisdom were starting to awaken something in Dario: a way to forgive himself by channelling all that grief, anger and guilt – to bring about justice, not only for Giancarlo, but potentially for others too.
‘You are stirring up a hornets’ nest,’ his senior officer had warned him.
‘Sir, I’m concerned that it will reflect badly on the force,’ Dario said. ‘It could look like we closed the case in haste because we didn’t want to delve too deep. I admit we have no hard evidenceyetlinking them to the crime, but please allow me to show you this,’ he said, producing an iPad.
‘Just before you exit for the airport, there is a petrol station ontheautostrada.I have been given access to their CCTV footage, captured on the date and time in question, and look.’
Dario played the video, pausing it as the image of an Alfa Romeo, with the passenger seat occupied, appeared on the screen, swiftly followed by a black Cupra. ‘The registration number of the Alfa Romeo confirms that the vehicle was registered to Signor Moretti.’
