Everybody Knows

by Karen Dodd

  “I’m afraid I am, signora, but it is with great reluctance. You and your staff have been so good to me.”

  “I understand. Is it time for you to return home?”

  He remembered Testa’s words. Leave no destination, no forwarding address.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.” He looked at Gabriela, who had followed him down the staircase to the foyer. He felt a twinge of something he couldn’t quite name. The proprietor looked at him, an unasked question in her eyes. He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. “Gabriela seems happy here. Are you and your husband still willing to keep her?”

  Her eyes misted up. “Of course we are, but may I make a suggestion?”

  Nico nodded, afraid his voice might fail him.

  “She’s welcome to stay here as long as you’d like. But why don’t we foster her for you?” She swiped away a tear. “That way, once you get home and caught up on things, if you’d like her back, we could send her to you.”

  “You’d . . . you’d do that?”

  “Absolutely!”

  Nico hesitated.

  “You don’t have to decide right now.” She handed him a business card. “I have your mobile number. Keep in touch.” She scooped Gabriela up from the floor. “In the meantime, I promise you we’ll take great care of her.”

  He definitely couldn’t have a dog with him with what he was about to do. That would be exactly the kind of “distinguishing factor” Testa had warned him about.

  “I know you will, thank you.” He put out his hand and petted the little ball of fluff in her arms. “Be a good girl, Gabriela. And don’t argue with Groomba.” He referred to the automated lawnmower he’d observed from his balcony as it had daily run-ins with the hares on the property. “He’ll win every time.”

  * * *

  The first thing Nico did was return his car to the rental company, telling them he’d be leaving Malta to go back to Tropea, and asked for a ride to the airport. At the airport, he made sure the driver saw him enter the departures entrance and turned to see that he’d driven off.

  Next, he bought a ticket for the next flight to Calabria. But instead of going through security, he hung about looking in shops and having a coffee at a stand-up bar. All the while, he kept a close eye out for anyone who might show the slightest bit of interest in him. Finally, he looked at his watch, headed down the escalator, and walked out of the airport.

  As Testa had promised, a car of the specified make and color awaited him outside. The driver got out and in one fluid movement walked past him, exchanging the key from his hand to Nico’s. Before a second warning from the security guard instructing him to move out of the pick-up-only area, Nico pulled away from the curb and drove off.

  He’d been on the road for an hour and was satisfied he wasn’t being followed. Testa had guaranteed him that the car he was driving had been fully “cleaned,” meaning someone had gone over it with a fine-tooth comb, looking for any GPS tracking devices or bugs. Likewise, he’d given Nico explicit instructions on how to ensure his smartphone and other devices couldn’t be used to hack, phish, or watch him. He’d even walked Nico through how to set up all his devices so Testa could wipe them remotely if he was detained anywhere. That thought alone gave him the heebie-jeebies. Where he’d once thought of Testa’s extreme caution as cloak-and-dagger theatrics, the mounting toll of dead or missing individuals had rapidly changed his mind. Next to tracking down Ariana’s killer, Nico’s sole focus was to make sure he wasn’t the next victim to be checked off anyone’s hit list.

  He was on schedule to catch the next ferry to Gozo and make the short drive to The Fishing Eagle bar by the agreed-upon time. It turned out that the heavyset man who’d been wiping down the bar when Nico had last been there was Lydia Rapa’s brother. While Testa couldn’t assure Nico that the man could be of much help, he said he was definitely one of the good guys. If he knew anything about his sister being a whistleblower, maybe he’d be more motivated to cooperate after her murder. One could only hope.

  The sun was out, and the temperature had soared uncharacteristically high, when Nico turned into the gravel parking lot outside the bar. With a Closed sign at the entrance, it wasn’t surprising there were no other vehicles in the lot. He got out of the car and, upon being assaulted by the heat, shucked off his jacket and left it on the front seat.

  As instructed, he went up a flight of wooden steps on the side of the building—the same ones he’d watched Lydia descend and make a hasty retreat the first and last time he’d met her. Since his last visit, a solid iron gate had been added at the top and a large Beware of Dog sign was on prominent display. On the wall to Nico’s left was an intercom. He pushed the buzzer, sensing he was being watched on camera. There was a pause. He heard a click, and the gate opened.

  He’d no sooner stepped through it than the large man he’d met only briefly a week before appeared. Either his T-shirt was too small, or his trousers too big. Whichever the case, his large hairy belly cut through the middle as a gulf might cleave two distant shores. Instinctively, Nico stepped back when the man’s herculean arm shot forward. He exhaled when he realized he was only reaching around him to pull the gate closed.

  You must be Brutus, Nico wanted to say. Instead, he put out his hand. “I’m Nico Moretti. You must be Giorgio.” Ignoring his hand, the man gave something of a grunt, turned his back and walked along the outside of the building. Nico assumed he should follow.

  They came to a hidden entrance that blended seamlessly into the faded wooden siding. When Giorgio pulled open the door, the largest dog Nico had ever seen leaped towards him, snarling at the end of a chain he silently prayed would hold.

  “Caesar!” his master shouted. “Go, lie down.”

  Instantly, Caesar lay down. Meek as a lamb. But as Nico gave him a wide berth, he felt the dog’s eyes cut through him like a laser through butter.

  He sat across from Giorgio, trying to relax while sipping from a can of beer. It hadn’t seemed prudent to ask for a glass of water instead. Giorgio chugged his beer back in short order and reached for another. He raised an eyebrow at Nico, who shook his head. The man’s head reminded him of a Chia pet—as follicularly abundant as Nico’s was sparse.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” Nico said. “It’s good of you to see me so soon after… well…Vincenzo said you might be able to shed a light on who might have wanted Lydia dead.”

  “Since my sister’s death, the police have browbeaten me,” the man replied without acknowledging Nico’s condolences.

  “How so?”

  “They took everything from her home—computers, mobiles, tablets, everything. Then they started hounding me. Did Lydia have a safe-deposit box? They even threatened to get a warrant to search her lawyer’s offices.”

  “Do you know what they were looking for?”

  “No, and it wouldn’t have done any good to ask them.”

  “You’ve installed some extra security since I was last here,” Nico commented.

  “Had to. Shut down the bar as well. The press was coming around at all hours of the day and night.”

  “Do you live here?”

  “Not normally, but I am right now. I couldn’t keep both places secure, so Caesar and I moved in here for a while.”

  Nico cocked his head and Giorgio explained.

  “I’ve had several break-ins both at my house and here at the bar. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was the police. They’re too damned lazy to apply for a warrant, even though they threatened to.”

  Before Nico replied, he considered his options. Whatever Testa had said to Giorgio when he arranged their meeting, the journalist apparently trusted him and he seemed certain Lydia’s brother had some valuable information, but regardless, Nico sensed he should tread lightly.

  “Giorgio, did Lydia ever talk to you about certain members of her party that she was . . . well, perhaps concerned about?”

  He sighed. “Everybody knew Lydia was the leaker of that report. I told her not to get
involved. But when she met that Calleja woman—the one who was assassinated—Lydia said her conscience wouldn’t let her stay quiet any longer.”

  “Did she ever share with you what the report contained or who initiated it?”

  Giorgio remained quiet. Without warning, he picked up what looked like a piece of sausage and threw it to Caesar. The dog caught it midair, his jaws snapping shut with an unnerving click. He repeated the performance several times. Whether it was for his guest’s benefit or part of the canine’s routine, Nico didn’t know. He tried not to flinch as he waited out the game between canine and master.

  Finally, game time was over. Giorgio rose from his place on the saggy couch and motioned for Nico to follow. “Come with me. Testa said I could trust you.”

  Yes, but can I trust you?

  Nico followed him down a dark stone staircase that led to a dank-smelling basement. In the dim light, Nico could make out various pieces of equipment and detritus that would be associated with running a bar. When he thought they’d reached a dead-end, he stood a safe distance behind Giorgio and wondered why the man was standing in front of a cement wall. Then, with a meaty hand, he reached behind a rusted shelving unit. There was a buzz, and the solid wall slid open. Without looking back, Giorgio stepped inside another room. Apprehensive, Nico remained where he was.

  “You’re not claustrophobic, are you?” his host asked when he noticed Nico hadn’t followed.

  “No, I’m just not sure that . . .”

  “That you can trust me?”

  Nico felt his face flush.

  “If I were out to do you harm, trust me, I could have saved myself the trouble and turned you over to Caesar already.”

  He had a point. All the same, if Giorgio’s intent was to lure him into a cement-encased crypt and lock him inside, he’d almost rather be the dog’s dinner. At least it would be over quickly.

  “As I said, Vincenzo Testa trusts you, and when he called and asked me to meet with you, I figured you’re one of the good guys. But hey, if you don’t want to—” He shrugged and turned his attention to a safe that was bolted to the floor.

  Nico took a deep breath and walked across the threshold.

  He watched as the man punched in a code, opened the door to the safe and reached in to remove a thin manila envelope. He handed it to Nico.

  “Before you arrived here on the day you met her on the ferry, Lydia gave me this. She said that if anything were to happen to her, not to give it to the police or any of the authorities.”

  Nico turned the envelope over in his hand. The flap was sealed, but the initials Nico saw written across the seal made his heart stop. It was Ariana’s unmistakable scrawl.

  “Who . . . Where did this come from?”

  “Like I said, Lydia gave it to me before you got here. Before they killed her.”

  Nico was flummoxed. Why hadn’t her brother opened it? “Didn’t you want to know what was inside? It might have had something to do with her death.”

  Giorgio turned off the light to the small anteroom and gestured toward the door. Something vaguely akin to a sad smile crossed his ruggedly lined face. “Let’s go upstairs to the bar. You look like you could use a drink.”

  Sitting at the bar, Giorgio poured them each a stiff rum, mixed with what could only be described as a splash of Coke. Cognizant that he had to drive, Nico took a gulp and poured the rest of the can of soda into his glass. The envelope sat conspicuously between them, still unopened. He watched as Giorgio wiped down the bar as he’d seen him do when he’d come to meet Lydia. It seemed to be a natural movement for him, like breathing.

  “You asked me why I haven’t opened it,” he said to Nico. “Whatever is in it won’t bring my sister back.” The bags under his eyes looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since Lydia had died. “Any more than it will bring the Calleja woman back.” He jabbed the envelope with two fingers. “She gave this to Lydia, and now they’re both dead. I want nothing to do with it. The less I know, the better.”

  But he’d kept his sister’s secret, Nico mused. He’d locked it somewhere it would never have been found had he not volunteered it. This great hulk of a man did want whatever was in the envelope to be seen; he just didn’t want to be the one to shoulder what was clearly going to be a heavy burden.

  Giorgio cleared his throat, breaking into Nico’s thoughts. “I’ve got some stuff to do out back. Take all the time you want, but I wouldn’t suggest leaving here with that—” he pointed to the envelope “—in your possession. It could be hazardous to your health.”

  He put down the rag and headed toward the back door. “Oh, and one other thing. Don’t go walking out the front door. Caesar will be right outside in case we have unexpected guests.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Alone with his thoughts and his half-finished drink, Nico stared at the envelope that seemed to burn a hole in the bar. Was the answer to who had killed Ariana and Lydia inside? If this was the list of names Ariana had been about to expose, would Nico be the next one to meet a nasty end? He pulled at the neck of his shirt as a trickle of perspiration rolled down his back. His hands shook as he picked up the envelope. For a potentially lethal missive, it weighed next to nothing.

  He stuck a thumb under a corner of the flap and worked it open. Again, he paused. Once he’d seen what was inside, he couldn’t unsee it. With a slightly steadier hand, he pulled out the contents: a single piece of paper, typewritten. But as hard as he might, he couldn’t get his eyes to focus. The print before him seemed to flutter up and down, and his vision was blurred. For God’s sake, pull yourself together! He put the paper on the bar, and starting at the top, he scanned the document.

  Santa madre de Dios! This was it. In his hands, he held a list of names—twenty or thirty of a select group of Baldisar Bank’s clients and their respective countries. As Ariana had noted, there were a couple of Russian oligarchs, several heads of state of countries the European Parliament had sanctioned and, last but not least, a well-known member of Italy’s Mafia— a relative of the defendant in the case Nico had recently lost. At first glance, it would seem that while all the individuals were, at the very least, corrupt, if not downright dangerous, none of them appeared to have anything else in common. Except, opposite each one were the words Heritage Pharma, and the amount invested in euros. The numbers made the cases Nico and the Justice Department prosecuted look like chump change. He hadn’t even come close to calculating the commissions Baldisar Bank was earning off some of the world’s most diabolical individuals.

  He would never have thought that having the dog with the snapping jaws outside the door would have brought him comfort but given what he held in his hands, he felt a sense of relief. He contacted Testa on the encrypted messaging app and awaited his callback. When his mobile rang, he snatched it off the bar.

  “Send me a photo of the list,” Testa instructed when Nico had finished describing what he’d found. “Then give me a minute to look at it. Don’t hang up.”

  Nico did so, then sat quietly with the phone to his ear.

  “My God, Nico, you found it!” Testa’s voice burst down the phone. “This is the list that Ariana was about to expose.”

  “I don’t get it, though,” Nico replied. “If she had the list, why didn’t she give it to you?” He looked around the bar. “And why did Lydia Rapa have it?”

  “All good questions,” Testa agreed. “This is only supposition, and I could be wrong. But over the years Ariana and I worked together, I got to know her patterns and behaviors. Although she used technology, she had a deep distrust of it. She worried her information and sources could be hacked, even when they were stored in the cloud. Having said that, I think she probably had digital copies of the list and gave the original to Lydia for safekeeping.”

  That made sense and matched what Nico knew about Ariana. “But wasn’t it Lydia who was purported to be the leaker? Even her brother has acknowledged that. In which case, she would have had the original list herse
lf, wouldn’t she?”

  He heard a sigh at Testa’s end. “I know. I can’t figure that part out either. Did Lydia say or do anything unusual when you met with her?”

  Jesus, define “unusual” these days, Nico thought. Since Ariana’s death and all the ensuing things since then, he’d lost all sense of normalcy. Something niggled at the back of his mind, but it hovered frustratingly out of reach. He remembered sitting on a bench in the sunshine with Lydia and little Gabriela. When he’d asked about Ariana’s son, Lydia had become tense, asking him how he knew about Max. Once he’d mentioned knowing Francesca, she’d relaxed a bit.

  Suddenly, what he was trying to grasp clicked into place. He’d had the sense Lydia was about to tell him what she knew about Ariana’s investigation when her phone pinged. She had looked at the screen and immediately jumped up, saying she had to go. It was then that she wrote down Elle Sinclair’s name and number and handed it to him before running down the stairs to her car below.

  “Do you know who Lydia got a text from?” Testa asked after Nico recounted this to him.

  “I haven’t a clue. But minutes later, she was run off the road right in front of me.”

  “Like someone knew exactly where she’d be.”

  “Yes. Exactly like that.”

  Testa was silent for a moment before speaking again. “OK, we need to get Lydia Rapa’s phone records immediately preceding her death,” Testa said. “The local police would have them. It would be one of the first things they would have looked into following her death. Or they should have.”

  “How am I going to get her phone records? I have no jurisdiction here unless I’m working a joint case.” When the Gozo police had interviewed him after the incident, Nico got the distinct feeling they wouldn’t be at all forthcoming in providing information to an outsider, albeit an Italian prosecutor.

  “What about Giorgio?” Testa asked.

  “What about him?”