Never Coming Home (19 page)

It had been a good night, with the head he had on him this morning.

Alone and adrift in Dublin, what was there for a man to do but visit a pub or two, and sample the Guinness? It was what was expected of an American on the loose, after all. No one was going to say that Bobby Hoag was backward in upholding the honour of his homeland. He’d spent the day checking out potential red-carpet venues in the city, prior to meeting O’Hara, just as he and Devlin had planned. They’d be covering the west coast later, with O’Hara’s people. Duty completed, he’d done the tourist thing, and sunk a few dollars into the local economy. As he recalled, more than a few, along with chatting up – he’d learned the phrase and liked it – a few, what were they called – colleens – along the way. The Irish girls were beautiful, sassy and friendly, just the way he liked them, but now he needed to concentrate. The words on the paper weren’t that difficult. ‘Please call Mr O’Hara. ASAP.’ Followed by a number.

Bobby patted down three pockets, cursing softly, before he remembered. His cell had gone walkabout sometime last evening. Left on the bar of one of those pubs probably, after he’d programmed in the number of one of those beautiful girls. He’d retrace his steps today, but he doubted he’d get it back. Making a mental note to see about a replacement, he smiled at the girl behind the reception desk. ‘Is there a phone down here I can use?’

The connection went through, smart and fast. The woman at the other end was soft-voiced and efficient.

‘Thank you for calling, Mr Hoag. Mr O’Hara has asked me to make his apologies, but he’s not going to be able to join you in Dublin, as planned. He’s going to be tied up here in London until the end of the week. Would it be possible for you to meet him here, at his office, late this afternoon? Mr O’Hara would consider it a great favour.’

Bobby thought about it. Did he want to do a favour to an eccentric millionaire film fanatic, looking to return to his Irish roots? For three seconds Bobby wrapped his rapidly unfuzzing brain around favours, megabucks and hot babes, which left him nearly a second to wonder whether Devlin might be back in time to catch a meeting late in the day. ‘What time this afternoon did Mr O’Hara have in mind?’

Chapter Twenty-Four

‘At last.’

Kaz looked up from twisting her hair into a knot on the top of her head. She’d managed a few hours sleep, comforted in Devlin’s arms. She could hold it together, if she didn’t think too hard.

Devlin was scowling at his laptop. ‘I don’t fucking believe it. What is it with everybody? Munroe finally gets back – and now Bobby’s dropped out of sight.’ He turned the laptop so Kaz could see it. ‘Munroe wants to start another fucking treasure hunt.’

‘Piazzale Michelangelo.’ Kaz read the e-mail. ‘What’s wrong with meeting him there?’

‘He has an office,’ Devlin grumbled. ‘All this third statue from the right-hand corner crap
 
–’

‘Café.’ Kaz pointed. ‘He says he’ll meet you at the open-air
café at eleven. Maybe he has to be there for some other reason.’

‘Yeah.’ Devlin gave her a long, what-planet-have-you-landed-from stare. She stared back. Devlin was the first to laugh. ‘Okay. Looks like that’s where we’re going this morning. Whatever Munroe has, it had better be good.’

‘At least we’ll get to look at the view.’

Devlin grimaced and flicked out his cell phone, trying Bobby’s number, which went straight to voicemail. Again. He left a terse, crude message, which had Kaz raising her eyebrows. Shrugging, he grabbed her hand, hustling her towards the door. ‘Breakfast. I
need
coffee and carbohydrate.’

On a hill, on the south side of the city, the church of San Miniato al Monte was airy and light, the walls glittering with mosaic. They’d made good time reaching Florence. When Devlin suggested they look round the church, before meeting Munroe, Kaz was happy to agree. Now the sound of singing drifted across the cool space, intricate harmonies sending cat’s paws shimmering down Kaz’s back.

She and Devlin wandered towards the sound as it came to a triumphant, soaring close. Passers-by broke into spontaneous applause as the small choir of teenagers began collecting backpacks and jackets, heaped on the floor while they sang. Diverted, Kaz joined a group of tourists clustered around, asking questions.

‘This is our fourth city in twelve days.’ The girl, obviously American, was explaining. ‘It’s like, the trip of a lifetime. Our church put it together for us. We sing wherever we go, sort of like saying thank you.’ One of the boys came up, draping an arm over the girl’s shoulder. ‘Europe really rocks. Everything here is like, so
old
.’

Charmed and amused, Kaz turned, to find Devlin was staring off into a corner of the church.

‘What is it?’ She put her hand on his arm.

‘Something caught my eye. It was nothing. You ready to go and look at the view from the Piazzale?’

‘Just like all the postcards.’ Kaz shaded her eyes with her hands, picking out landmarks. Behind them, across the square, a long flight of steps and a winding path led down from the church they had just left. Below, on the other side of the Arno, the Duomo lay serene, embedded in the city’s roofs. It shimmered in the heat, looking almost like a model of itself. The Piazzale was a plateau between, crowded with tourists. Cameras clicked and sightseers exclaimed.

Devlin stood a few paces behind Kaz. His eyes were on the Piazzale, not on the Cathedral and the maze of Florentine streets, basking in the sun. At least his own personal rain cloud had stopped following him around.

Amongst the stalls peddling cheap souvenirs there were a couple of booths with tables and chairs, selling drinks and ice cream. Before he’d figured out which might be the one, a man stepped out from behind one of the stalls. Devlin gawped at the baseball cap, the loudly patterned shirt and the low-slung camera.

Munroe?

Devlin followed the garish figure towards the dark shade beside a stall that was selling plastic replicas of Michelangelo statues and fifteen kinds of printed T-shirts.

He put a hand on Munroe’s arm. And felt him shaking. In an instant every muscle tensed. His fingers jerked, moving automatically towards his shoulder, then dropped. The gun and holster hadn’t been there for a while now. ‘What?’

‘You have to get out of here.’ Munroe was leaning up, fingering the shirts, the rictus of a smile plastered over his face. Making like a tourist and covering Devlin’s presence beside the stall. ‘It’s all gone bad. That stuff you wanted. We can’t get it. You need to leave. Take the woman and go back to London.’

‘What do you know?’ Devlin eyes skittered around, body tense. ‘Talk to me, damn it!’

‘I can’t say any more.’ The whites of Munroe’s eyes were showing. ‘I’m too fucking scared. I’ve got to get out, Dev.’ His voice hardened. Briefly Devlin saw the ghost of the old Munroe. ‘I’ve done you a favour, coming here. Rossi has already gone and I’m following in the next few hours. This Elmore thing is a fucking mess. Stop digging.’

Munroe stepped around the back of the stall and out of sight.

Devlin stood completely still for a moment, before turning to locate Kaz, still looking at the view. He reached up quickly to thumb rapidly through the T-shirts hanging above him.

‘Where did you get to?’ Kaz greeted him with a smile, but Devlin could see the pain, deep in her eyes. His gut contracted. How did you ever do normal again, after you’d lost a child? He wanted to gather her up, right here, and pour everything he had into her, until he made it right.
As if
. All he could do was keep her safe.

He exhaled. ‘Just looking around.’ He held out the gaudy carrier bag.

‘What is it?’ She rifled the contents curiously, pulling out the T-shirt with the print of Michelangelo’s
David
on the front, mouth curving. ‘Thank you.’ She tilted her head, provocative. ‘Although I still think that his hands are too big – in comparison, I mean.’

‘Comparisons are odious. I read that somewhere.’ Devlin forced himself to relax and respond. ‘I don’t think Munroe is gonna show.’ He scanned the crowd. ‘You seen all you want here?’

‘I don’t know if I ever could.’ She was laughing but the eyes were still dark, way too dark. Again it caught him in the gut. ‘But yes, I’m done,’ she agreed, with a sigh. ‘You ready to leave?’

‘How would you feel about another look at the church?’ He kept it as casual as he could, pulling her into his side, reclaiming the bag. ‘Something I want to check out.’

‘Whatever you want.’ She looked surprised, but not suspicious. ‘You’re sure we’ve waited long enough for Munroe?’

‘Yeah. I don’t expect to see anything of him now.’ Devlin turned back in the direction of San Miniato, trying not to stiffen up, not to keep running his eyes around the crowd. ‘Munroe wants me, he knows how to get in touch.’

The choir had been persuaded to sing again. Devlin made sure that Kaz was focused on the music, safe in the group of tourists making up the impromptu audience. He drifted up a shadowy aisle to slide into the vacant seat beside Rossi.

‘Thanks for waiting.’ Like Rossi, Devlin kept his eyes facing front.

‘No problem.’ Rossi was sitting forward, arms on his knees. ‘Better you saw Munroe first. He was down in the square?’

‘Mmm. He said you’d left.’

‘Not yet.’ Rossi continued to gaze ahead. ‘I think our partnership is officially at an end. He’s gone over to the dark side.’

‘Is there a dark side?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Rossi’s voice was very soft.

Devlin inhaled. ‘Dark side or not, Munroe was scared.’

‘With good reason.’

Devlin risked a side glance, meeting Rossi’s eyes. Rossi grimaced. Devlin could see a light film of sweat on the other man’s face. Automatically his shoulder muscles tensed.

Rossi twitched the bag, identical to the one containing the T-shirt that Devlin had bought in the square, from between his feet.

‘Everything we found is in here. Don’t open it in front of Kaz. There are pictures.’ He passed over the carrier. Devlin dropped the bag with the T-shirt inside it, frowning.

‘You’re going to be okay?’

Rossi nodded. ‘There’s a job in Johannesburg. Probably take me six months. Plane leaves this afternoon.’ He stood up. ‘You look in there.’ He indicated the bag. ‘You’ll piece it together. There’s stuff that doesn’t mean crap to me. I think it’ll make sense to you.’

‘It’s bigger than Elmore.’

‘Much bigger.’

Devlin stared across the church at a statue of the Madonna. Mother, holding her child. ‘Thanks, Rossi. Looks like I shouldn’t have got you into this, so I owe you. Take care.’

‘You, too.’ Rossi stood for a second. ‘You’re going to have to fix this, Dev.’ The grin was crooked. ‘You do, then I guess we can call it quits.’ The smile faded and the eyes went bleak. ‘If you don’t, then none of us is safe.’

Chapter Twenty-Five

Devlin walked around from the back of the car. Kaz raised an eyebrow. ‘Trunk wasn’t fastened properly.’ He opened the door, and dumped the carrier bag with the T-shirt on the back seat, before getting in. Kaz was fiddling with her seatbelt. ‘I think I should take you home. Back to London.’ He leaned an arm on the steering wheel. Kaz had stopped moving. He waited.

‘Yes.’ The sigh came up from somewhere very deep inside. ‘There’s nothing more we can do here, is there?’ She turned towards him. Her lower lip was caught in her teeth. She was holding it together. The sight tore at him. And there was nothing he could do about it. Except, maybe now there was something. Depending on what he found in the bag he’d just put in the boot.

‘The police in Florence wanted you to sign some papers, right?’ She nodded. ‘So, we go and do that now?’ Another nod. Her eyes were swimming. ‘You want to go back out there, to the vineyard?’

‘No.’ It was barely a whisper. ‘She’s not there any more.’ He saw the shudder that ran through her, as she hauled her emotions back under control. ‘Let’s just go and get the formalities over.’

The alarm was loud and insistent. Kaz touched Devlin’s arm. ‘Is that ours?’

‘Looks like it.’ Devlin was striding towards the vibrating car. They’d parked as close as they could to the police station – but the only available space had been several streets away.

‘Oh!’ Kaz’s hand went to her mouth as she saw the cubed glass from the shattered window glittering on the floor. Devlin was shaking his head as he silenced the alarm. She walked towards him.
How much more? What next?

He’d opened the door and was carefully pushing out the remains of the glass. She touched his arm as a man approached them. Devlin straightened up. ‘Did you see what happened?’

‘Not much. I heard glass breaking, and then the alarm.’ The man gestured to the small sandwich kiosk at the corner of the street. ‘I was cleaning up. Someone ran past, but I didn’t see his face.’ He raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. ‘Is anything missing?’

‘Just a couple of bags from the back seat – souvenirs,’ Devlin confirmed, shrugging. ‘Thanks.’

Kaz leaned forward to peer in. The T-shirt bag was gone and a small parcel of postcards she’d bought. She shook her head, dazed. ‘Should we go back to the police station?’

Devlin was looking around, his eyes hard and sharp. She saw the shift of concentration as he came back to her. ‘It wasn’t anything of value. You want to spend another hour filling in forms?’