I hold the door open for the doctor and allow him to enter first while I ponder his words. Why did Albert go to such extraordinary lengths to protect me? He must have known things about me that I don’t. The thing is, in all of our time spent together, I never suspected anything. And, if nothing else, I like to pride myself on paying attention.
“Gabriel,” continues Romano, heading for the stairs. “Let me make some enquiries concerning the news Alice Callico told youabout what happened to Sylvie Leblanc. Professionally speaking, though, modern life support equipment is designed with built-in fail-safes. I find these events in the private ward of a prestigious hospital to be highly questionable. In fact, I am sensing something far more troubling at work.”
“I agree. But I don’t know where to start.”
“Then you must leave this with me. I have numerous professional resources at my disposal, from many disciplines. People who can make discreet enquiries on my behalf. If the truth behind the death ofProfessoreCallico involves a crime, then we will not stop until somebody pays. He was a great man, Gabriel. And our form of justice may not involve any long, drawn-out legal systems, if you understand my meaning. But I get a distinct sense of urgency. Can I ask you, if she met you again and her memory was intact, do you think Sylvie Leblanc would recognise you?”
“Absolutely. I only met her a few times, but we spoke at length together. I wouldn’t say we had much in common, but she was always polite and sociable.”
Now that I think back, Sylvie used to talk to me the way an overenthusiastic teacher lectures a promising but underperforming student. She asked about my health, about my swimming, and what other physical activities I undertook. Sometimes the questioning could feel intrusive. Whenever I mentioned our conversations to Albert, he would chastise me, saying that Sylvie was interested in the welfare of everyone around her.
Romano and I reach my room. I notice the bed is tidy and can only assume Lorenzo came in and straightened it while I talked with Alice. I go to the wardrobe to rummage through for a clean T-shirt. Romano places his bag on the bed and continues talking.
“I am not sure what’s happened between you,” he says, reaching into the bag. “But Lorenzo appears to have warmed toyou. This is very good. My concern has always been that he sees himself as an outsider, a maverick who cares nothing for his own safety and, as a result, could put others’ lives at risk. But I notice something has changed when he is with you. Whatever it is you are doing, please continue.”
What I find most interesting is that his observation fills me with warmth. I dig out a plain white tee and toss the item onto the bed.
“We’re kindred spirits. Both have suffered loss.”
Dimly, in the distance, I hear three successive pops that sound like a car backfiring. Dr Romano pays them no attention, keeping his eyes fixed on me.
“Gabriel, if you are going to disappear completely, we need to make some immediate and radical changes. Tomorrow, we will need to hand over your passport, phone and luggage. You mentioned friends you trust in London who know about you being here?”
“Josh and Nishan. They are completely on my side.”
“How often do you speak to them?”
“Only when absolutely necessary. We don’t have regular calls.”
As I finish speaking, Romano takes a deep breath and shakes his head.
“If this is to work, Gabriel, everyone must think the worst. You say Alice has already spoken to them. They will most likely speak again now that she has met you. They need to believe the worst. I know this will be hard on them all, but it is necessary.”
I nod my understanding. “What if they come looking for me?”
“We will inform them that you chose to move on and we assumed you had returned to London. There will be no evidence of your time here. And by then, you will have a new name, a new identity, and will look entirely different. Mrs Bellacci and I discussed this when we were in town. Have you ever worn your hair short?”
I pay little attention to my appearance, including my hair. Towel-drying and brushing after swimming or showering is the most effort I ever make. Albert encouraged me to have a professional cut, but I had always snipped the dark, messy locks or fringe myself whenever they became too unkempt. With dark brown hair and an unremarkable hairstyle, I blend into the crowd. A crop might have been too severe, too distinguishing.
“Never.”
“Maybe I’ll let Mrs Bellacci explain her reasoning later. And if you are willing, I would like to check your health and take a blood sample. For a few reasons. Firstly, I do this with my team every three months, or after they have completed a mission. For you, I would also like to hold onto the T-shirt Mrs Bellacci has taken. We will soak some of the blood into the cloth to make identification and confirmation easier—should the need arise.”
His reasoning, as always, makes perfect sense.
“Are you happy to do this now? Before we head back? A few simple checks?”
I nod my acceptance, and Romano produces an old-style blood pressure monitor with a small rubber tube and pump, together with a stainless-steel stethoscope. He pulls a set of weighing scales from beneath the bed, checks my weight, and uses a workman’s extendable tape measure to assess my height. After completing these simple checks, he reaches into his bag, unwraps a fresh syringe and draws my blood.
“Good. I’ve heard about your morning swims, so I have no questions about your exercise regimen. But don’t put on the tee yet. We have a death scene to create.”
What follows is almost comical.
We return to the garden where Mrs Bellacci and Lorenzo are waiting. Before I put on the hole-riddled T-shirt, Romano adds smears of my blood around the darkened edges. Mrs Bellacci produces a sizeable make-up bag and daubs deep mauve andblack onto parts of my chest, then gets me to rub a whitening paste into my face and exposed skin. Once satisfied with her handiwork, she leaves us and strolls back to the kitchen. Lorenzo’s enthusiasm for the task of staging the crime amuses Romano as much as me when he arranges me in various locations. He insists on using Romano’s phone to capture the results, barking instructions at me like an overenthusiastic movie director.
When he has finished, Romano and I join him to check the results. I am impressed at how lifelike—or deathlike—they are. The photo Romano decides to use shows me staring lifelessly at the evening sky, the bullet holes through my distinctive tee slick with blood, my face a deathly pallor. An involuntary shudder runs through me.
“Okay,” says Romano, squeezing my shoulder. “Hand this T-shirt to me, then follow Lorenzo. He will take you to the outdoor washing area to clean up and put on your fresh shirt. Then come to the kitchen so we can relax and enjoy dinner together. We will help you continue the search again tomorrow, but your training will also begin. Mrs Bellacci is more interested in what you already know rather than teaching new skills. I am eager for us all to be acquainted with each other’s capabilities. And I am sure you will find the training a welcome distraction from the less energising search of the library.”