“Right now is not a good—”
“Who, Dr Romano? You know, don’t you?”
The doctor takes a deep breath before answering.
“I told you I have been busy, and there’s more I’ve uncovered. The money for the attack on Eagle House came from an account owned by the Callico Corporation. Any release of funds needed to be authorised by at least one of the named trustees—Albert, Edward or Victoria.”
“Edward Callico,” I reply instantly.
Who else had anything to gain from my death?
“Yes. What would you like me to do about him?”
It takes me a few moments to understand the intent behind his words.
“No. I don’t want Edward touched. He did me a favour in the long run. We had our defences tested, Gabriel disappeared, and Edward believes I am gone for good. Maybe one day I’ll confront him on the street, just to see his reaction. But I would call this a win. Besides, I care too much about Alice and, for some ridiculous reason, she loves Edward.”
“Do you have any idea what might have forced his hand?” asks Romano.
“I can only think that he found out about the property in Monticiano.”
“Perhaps. I am not sure that adds up. Apart from his belief that the property was a folly, does he really need the land or the money? There may be a more compelling reason, but I don’t want to speculate. I just need proof. Will you allow me time to investigate?”
I have experienced Dr Romano’s meticulousness and am grateful to have his support.
“Of course. What’s our next move?” I ask.
“Clearly, you cannot stay where you are. I will find you a safe house on the other side of the Scottish border. And you need to approach Dr Leblanc in Carlisle, do you not?”
“I do. Dr Romano, I want you to know that I am fully committed to being part of this team. But can I ask if you have any official work for us right now?”
“Not at the moment. Why?”
“Because Mrs Bellacci made a valid point before the call. I seem to be exposing the team to unnecessary risks. Once we have settled in somewhere for a night or two, I will go and see Leblanc alone.”
“No,” says Lorenzo adamantly, although I notice Mrs Bellacci nodding.
“Yes, Lorenzo,” I reply, twisting in my seat to look him in the face and imploring him. “I almost got you killed. And I will not allow that to happen again. There may be safety in numbers, but a person working alone draws less attention.”
“Listen to him, Lorenzo,” says Dr Romano. “You know he speaks sense.”
Once Mrs Bellacci has plugged in the GPS coordinates sent by Romano, she puts the car into gear and we head off in silence, with the heat of Lorenzo’s gaze burning into the back of my head.
Chapter Twenty-One
Leblanc
We arrive at the next safe house around four in the afternoon, to a sky as grey as the landscape. Dr Romano must have called in a favour because the huge farmhouse on the outskirts of somewhere called Balchraggan in the north of Scotland appears neglected, bordering on ramshackle. All the downstairs windows are boarded up. According to the car’s satnav, the house is a seven-hour drive from the Lakes, which turns into eight after a discreet comfort stop at a garage shop, followed by a sandwich eaten in the car.
Ironically, we drove past Carlisle on our drive north. I was tempted to ask Mrs Bellacci to stop and drop me off, but I knew Lorenzo would protest. Besides, we need a few days to lie low after the attack on the lodge. Although he said nothing, I suspect Romano thought the same thing, which might have been why he chose the remote location.
Unlike the lodge at Lake Grasmere, no supplies have been provided for our arrival, and utilities are switched off. Everything inside has a thin veneer of dust, and there are none of the lodge’s modern conveniences. However, the farmhouse has seven or eight bedrooms, and when we pick our rooms, Lorenzo and I make sure we drop our bags in ones opposite each other. Although mine has a single bunk, he has a large double mattress on a sturdy pine frame, where I know I will lay my head at night. The rooms are cold, and the bedcovers musty with age, but they will suffice.
Only Mrs Bellacci is unfazed by the rudimentary facilities, as though she expected nothing more. Within the hour, we have the place tidied with lights on, water running, and a fire burning in the grate. Mrs Bellacci even manages to get the old iron stove in the kitchen to pump out heat. Another upside of having her along is that she insists on cooking. She pulls out her ingredients and favoured cooking utensils from among the array of specialist weaponry in the back of her car. That night, after each of us has taken turns to bathe—no shower in our highland retreat—we are treated to a meal of freshly made linguine. As always, she makes enough for ten, and she serves the meal with an unlabelled bottle of full-bodied red. After days of bland frozen meals, Lorenzo and I eat silently at the kitchen table, thankful and savouring each mouthful.
“What will you do?” asks Lorenzo. “When you meet Leblanc?”
I shrug while running a finger along the coarse surface of the oak table. “Find out what he knows.”