The Memory Man

by Steven Savile

Ash nodded. ‘It’s my name.’

  ‘Ernesto has told me a great deal about you.’

  ‘Then you have me at a disadvantage,’ he said.

  ‘I seriously doubt that. The picture Ernesto has painted of you is of a methodical man, one who does his research. I do not think you would have come as far as Rome without learning something of me first.’ Ash shrugged, not denying it, not confirming it. ‘I merely wanted to know a little about you. I knew that Ernesto was liaising with your Division, so it seemed only prudent to ask him.’

  ‘Quite a coincidence.’

  ‘Fortunate, perhaps, but not a coincidence. I know so many people who share your line of work. It stands to reason that your paths will have crossed at one point or another. That is not coincidence, merely probability.’

  ‘Well, neither of you good people need me here,’ Donatti said, getting to his feet. ‘I think it best I leave you to discuss whatever it is you must discuss, and Peter, I look forward to our meeting again this evening. Until then, my friend.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to go,’ Maffrici said. ‘Honestly, you know all there is to know already, Ernesto. There’s no need for secrets between us.’

  ‘Ah, but there really is every need,’ Donatti said, giving a slight bow of the head towards Ash. ‘Peter no doubt has other questions he would have answers to, and in his place I would not want an audience when I was asking them, so I will do you both the courtesy of giving you a little privacy. As you say, he has come a long way, leaving you alone is the very least I can do.’

  ‘Thank you for understanding,’ Ash told the other man. It really would be better to do this without interruptions and having to worry about the Church man putting two and two together and realizing how close he was getting to home. And not having to ask him to leave saved them both the embarrassment.

  The judge reached to a push button beside the lamp on a table beside his armchair and the summons was quickly followed by the click of heels on the hallway’s marble tiles.

  The door opened.

  Maffrici told the woman, ‘Father Donatti is leaving, please see him out.’ The judge shook the emissary’s hand before he left them alone.

  ‘If alcohol is a problem, perhaps I can offer you coffee instead? It is after all, our national drink. We take our coffee very seriously.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Ash assured him.

  ‘So, to business then. What do you think you can ask me that the local police have not already done? Had I opened the package myself I would not even have bothered to inform the police about it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘As I am sure you are well aware, I receive a lot of threats. Too many. But if you go against the Mafiosi in this country you paint a target very squarely on your back. I am used to their crude attempts at intimidation. There are a lot of people in Rome who would see me hurt. That is just the way it is. Indeed, enough of my fellow judiciary have found themselves victims that I would be a fool not to think I am on someone’s hit list, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Occupational hazard,’ Ash agreed. ‘Even so …’ He took his notebook out of his pocket, even though he knew the questions he’d written in there off by heart. He’d taken the time to craft them in such a way, he hoped, that they wouldn’t immediately cause an international incident.

  He double-checked what he’d written then closed the book.

  ‘OK, I have to ask, even when you’re used to receiving threats, didn’t you think a finger through the mail was a little … extreme?’

  ‘It was not a horse’s head in my bed,’ he said, with a wry smile. ‘Yes, it was a threat. If you are trying to intimidate someone that threat needs to feel real. A finger makes it feel real.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t mention it to the police? I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘My wife is not as used to these scare tactics as I am. I try to shield her from this kind of nonsense, but sometimes I fail. You must remember, I’ve been sent bullets with my name engraved on them. I have been sent photographs of my grandchildren playing. I have been sent a lock of my wife’s hair—’

  ‘How the hell does that happen?’

  ‘They must have collected it when she was in the salon. We ran DNA tests to confirm it was hers. As you can imagine, that one was inventive enough to cause some concern.’

  Ash nodded.

  ‘And you called the police that time?’

  ‘I did, and believe me it proved to be futile. All it succeeded in doing was wasting a considerable amount of their time and resources.’

  ‘So, let me see if I’ve got this straight in my head, a finger is less threatening than a lock of your wife’s hair?’

  ‘Yes. It was not her finger, after all. There have been a lot of threats in between, but this was the only one that came inside my home. It became personal. Does that make sense?’

  ‘To a degree,’ Ash said, thinking about it. He wasn’t sure how he would have reacted in the man’s place, but he was right, there was something immediately more intimate about receiving a lock of your wife’s hair through the mail than some dead stranger’s finger. It was the message that made the finger a more pressing threat, which had been his line of thinking all along.

  ‘Now, your turn to answer a question for me, I think. What makes you suspect this is a credible threat?’

  Ash didn’t see any point in lying or telling half-truths. ‘You’re not the only person to have received a body part in the mail.’

  ‘So Ernesto said. A priest in Paris? Surely that has to be a coincidence. We are nine hundred miles apart. I don’t move in the same circles as a monsignor. I deal with the worst this country has to offer every day, and very few of them are ever repentant. And any who are, it is generally because they have been caught, not because they have found God. I’m sorry, I just can’t imagine we have any enemies in common.’

  ‘See, that’s what I would have thought as well,’ Ash said, baiting the hook.

  ‘You believe we do?’

  ‘Here’s what Donatti couldn’t tell you, Monsignor Tournard is not the only victim.’

  He watched the judge’s reaction and saw the markers of genuine surprise in his expression. The big man shifted uncomfortably in his chair and leaned forward a fraction. There was a marked change in his demeanour. Suddenly he was interested.

  ‘There are more?’

  ‘At least three.’

  ‘Three? Who? How is this possible? Four victims, all recipients of dead flesh through the mail? Surely this should be front-page news?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to give you any names, and I have only told you this much because I’m sure that I can rely on your discretion.’ The hook was fully baited now. He waited for Maffrici to bite. He knew the judge would update Donatti the moment he left, especially if they were in this together – whatever this might be. It was a price he was prepared to pay.

  ‘Of course. I completely understand, but if I knew who these others were, perhaps their names would be familiar, trigger some sort of memory?’

  Interesting choice of words, Ash noted. Memory. Remember Bonn.

  ‘Believe me, the moment I get clearance to share their names, I will be back in touch.’

  Maffrici sank back into his armchair, the momentary fascination already fading as it became just another crime in a life of crimes.

  Ash needed to keep him on the hook.

  ‘Well, I can tell you that we are following a number of enquiries, looking for possible connections between the victims. There are some things I would like to share, perhaps they will mean something to you?’

  The judge didn’t respond immediately. He held the cigar between his lips, seeming to count to some silent tally in his head before letting the smoke leak slowly out. He closed his eyes for another long moment, savouring the flavour of the smoke, before telling Ash to, ‘Fire away.’

  Ash opened his notebook again, making a show of looking at the grid of names he’d written down, but again he knew them all off by
heart. This was where the games began. He’d deliberately written several lies in there because he didn’t want to simply come straight out with the EuropaChild and the orphanages they controlled. It was a dance. He wanted to see if Maffrici reacted differently to those names than how he did to others.

  ‘OK, first, do the words Forza Romana mean anything?’

  ‘The new fascists?’ he laughed. ‘Really, Mr Ash? Of course they mean something. What I believe you are asking is have I had any dealings with them? Perhaps pronounced judgement on any of their number? The answer is I must remain removed from political leaning in my job, so it does not matter to me if I pass sentence on supporters of Forza Italia or Romana, they are all the same to me.’

  ‘That can’t be easy.’

  ‘It isn’t, but I can only do my best.’

  Ash nodded. ‘Tell me, have you ever visited Tel Aviv?’

  ‘No. I have never been to Israel.’

  ‘Moscow?’

  ‘I’m sorry, what is it exactly you are trying to do here? Because it seems to me you merely making wild guesses with nothing to substantiate them?’

  ‘I have supporting evidence, trust me.’

  ‘Really? Because I’m not sure you do.’

  ‘I know it may appear scattershot, but that is the nature of my Division, Judge. All of our investigations cross national boundaries. It can make it seem as though there is nothing to link our suspects, but like any other force we are circumspect in our investigation. In this case, for instance, all of our victims thus far have some kind of connection to the Catholic Church.’

  ‘The problem is it is far too easy to make a connection to the Church. Everyone living and working in Rome is connected somehow.’

  ‘Indeed, and in your own case it is obvious that you would have more ties than I could possibly count. But, finding Donatti here, while a surprise, merely confirms what I mean about connections. The ties that bind you are at least tight enough to bring one of the Holy See’s fixers to your door. That would not happen for just anyone.’

  ‘So, you are basing your case around Church involvement?’

  ‘Let’s just say I’m keeping an open mind.’

  ‘Of course you are, Peter. Of course you are. But, and forgive the crude vernacular, you’re just pissing in the wind. You don’t know anything. Your questions prove that.’

  ‘See, that kind of response goes a long way to convincing me I know a lot, I mean, you’re trying to get a rise out of me. But you know what else it does? It tells me you do know something. And that just gets my blood pumping, mate. So, now for one of the big questions, what about the note?’

  ‘The note?’

  ‘You know the one, came on a little card right along with the finger. Short message with a meeting place. The police sent a body double to the rendezvous yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, the note. What about it?’

  ‘Was the meeting place familiar? Somewhere you would regularly go? Where you might be recognized?’

  ‘I’ve been there a few times. Not often. I hardly see how that could be important.’

  ‘Well, now, I think it might be, because all the victims were invited to places they were familiar with.’ Which he didn’t know for sure but saying it like it was a fact was a good way of working the judge. It was all about keeping him talking, and making him think that he knew more than he did without really telling him anything. ‘What it means, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is that whoever sent you that note knows enough about your habits to know you are familiar with the place. And that means you have been under observation, Judge. The killer has been watching you.’ He let that sink in. ‘And not only was he watching you, at some point he followed you there. He may even have sat at the table beside you. You could have raised a glass to each other or rolled your eyes at the score in the Juventus match. Doesn’t that worry you? Because I think it should. I think it tells you this guy can get to you, no matter how many bodyguards you surround yourself with. He knows you well enough to identify the third aspect of the Holy Trinity: means, motive, and opportunity.’

  ‘People are watching me all the time, Peter. You have seen that for yourself. What other measures could I realistically take? An armoured car to and from the court? Wearing a Kevlar vest as I sit in judgement? I cannot show these people that I am afraid. They would get too much mileage out of that. My position would become untenable. I cannot show the slightest weakness.’

  ‘I get that, Judge. I really do. I can understand all about saving face, about jutting your chin out and telling the world to take its best shot. That’s incredibly human. Stupid, but human. I just need to make sure you get it, this isn’t some idle threat. This isn’t just a lock of your wife’s hair. This is credible. You are in danger here.’

  ‘I’m touched by your concern but, as I told you, I have nothing to tell you because I don’t know anything.’

  ‘The note talked about Bonn.’ Maffrici shrugged. ‘You’ve never been there?’

  ‘Been there?’

  ‘Or anywhere else in Germany?’

  There was a pause for a moment; a beat; a split second where Paulo Maffrici seemed almost human. He shook his head. He held out a hand as though to say look, I have nothing, not even words. ‘Berlin,’ he said eventually. ‘I attended a conference there once. But it was years ago. And Munich, but I was even younger then. It isn’t a country I’ve had cause to visit.’

  ‘Not Bonn?’

  ‘No, not Bonn.’

  ‘Hmm. Have you come across the EuropaChild Foundation? A children’s charity?’

  He breathed in deeply through his nose, then shook his head. ‘No. It doesn’t sound familiar. Should I have?’

  ‘Possibly, but as you can see, it’s just one of several lines of enquiry that I’m following.’

  ‘I really am sorry I haven’t been more help,’ Maffrici said, rising from his chair. The move signified that their meeting had come to its natural end, whether Ash had more questions or not.

  The rather expensive carriage clock on the mantel above the fire told him he still had twenty minutes to wait before his taxi was due to return, but that was fine, because he knew categorically the judge was lying to him. That momentary relief about Bonn had been a sure sign he was lying.

  He knew precisely what that note’s sender had been imploring him to remember, and he was relieved that Ash didn’t. That was the only way to read that relief.

  The woman with the heels showed him out. She didn’t engage in any small talk or offer so much as a glimmer of a smile this time.

  The bodyguard on the terrace watched him walk down the gravel driveway away from the house. Another armed guard stood beside him, making a show of resting his hand on his Beretta. Ash stooped halfway down the track and turned to look back at the house.

  The judge was standing at the window, watching him.

  He was already on the telephone.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The taxi was waiting for him.

  He waited until he was back in his room to make the call.

  ‘I’m going to stick around a few extra days,’ he told Laura once he’d brought her up to speed. ‘He knows something. He knew the foundation’s name, it was obvious by the way he reacted. I didn’t tell him what they were involved with, and he didn’t ask. Someone who didn’t already know would ask, because it helps you position it in your mind. It’s how we make connections. But that’s small fry. He knows about Bonn.’

  ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘Initially, just watching. The hotel is sorting out a hire car. I’ll collect it after lunch.’

  ‘Then why go back to the hotel? Just enjoy the sights.’

  ‘This is the kind of place where everybody knows everybody else. It’s weird. They all stop and embrace each other in the street and loudly proclaim their joy at the encounter, kissing each other cheek to cheek to cheek. If I’d had the driver drop me anywhere but the hotel word would have made it back to Maffrici. I’m absolutely sure
of it. That guy’s like the fucking Godfather.’

  ‘You don’t think you’re being a little paranoid?’

  ‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean people aren’t out to get you,’ he barked out a bitter laugh. ‘You got anything?’

  ‘And there was me thinking it was going to be all about you. Nice of you to ask,’ she said.

  ‘OK, what have you got?’

  ‘An owner for the finger.’

  Ash stood up and walked to the window. It offered a view of the gardens, and across the street another hotel that was almost a mirror of it. ‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense.’

  ‘That would be one Monsignor Jacques Tournard.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘I assume you’re going to tell your friend Donatti?’

  ‘I’m not sure that he’s any friend of mine.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Oh, let me count the ways. First, he calls me up at the crack of dawn, ostensibly to invite me for a drink, despite the fact I didn’t tell him I was in the city. Then he turns up at the judge’s house. He was there when I arrived. The pair were thick as thieves.’

  ‘Well, a judge and a Vatican emissary, you’d have to assume that Rome is the kind of place where their paths would cross on a fairly regular basis.’

  ‘Only Rome and Vatican City are different countries, not just different districts. The Holy See has its own police, its own justice system. Maffrici is a Roman judge. Never the twain shall meet.’

  ‘Seems a little extreme, but maybe you’re right. I don’t claim to understand the subtleties of international politics. But the way I see it, Donatti goes wherever the Church’s influence reaches, and speaking as a born-again atheist I’d say there’s nowhere the Church’s influence is more pernicious than in Rome. Roman Catholic, the clue’s in the name.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that I give him the benefit of the doubt?’

  ‘I’m just saying that he could be useful, right? It’s his city. He’s the Church’s fixer, that’s how you described him. He’s going to know everyone who could be useful. That doesn’t mean there’s anything underhand going on. Besides, I thought you liked the man.’