Se connecterLorenzo had drawn San Michele on the back of a market flyer. A long rectangle with a bell tower at one end.Two doors, a main one and a small one on the south side. A choir loft over the entrance."Two on the roof, Nando said. They'll want the bell tower for the street and the loft for the aisle." He tapped the loft. "I'd put one of mine in the loft tonight, before the priest locks up, and one in the tower. I'd rather they found nobody on the roof than found us.""And inside?" said Alessandro."Six men in the pews with the mourners. Ordinary coats. Marco knows every face in this town, so anyone he doesn't know sits near the front, where we can see their hands."Blair looked at the drawing. "He says the doors will be shut.""At eleven the sacristan shuts the main doors for the Mass. That's custom, so it won't look like anything." Lorenzo didn't look up. "It may be the whole idea. A shut church is a room with one door and the wrong people in it."Nobody said anything about the small doo
Peppe Calafato was in surgery for four hours and came out of it alive. Blair heard that at two in the morning from Marco, who had been sitting outside the theater since noon, and she lay awake after that with her eyes on the stripe of hall light on the ceiling, hearing the cheese woman say, tell me how. She slept in the end, not for long.On Sunday morning they went back to the cannery. Marco had left the steel door open again without being asked.The two prisoners sat on kitchen chairs a few yards apart. The scooter rider was called Nando Spadaro, twenty-two, with the shaved head and the swallow on his neck. Someone had cut his trouser leg away and bound his thigh with a pressure bandage, and there was a dark stain coming through it. He was grey and sweating and looking at nobody. Santino sat very still on the other chair with his bound hands between his knees and his eyes on the concrete.Lorenzo took the chair in front of Nando and talked to him for ten minutes, courteously, about
The cart was on its side. The oranges had gone everywhere, down the stones and under the stalls and into the gutter, and the whole lane smelled of crushed fruit. Marco's man with the red balloon lay on his face a few feet away with one hand still closed around the string. The balloon floated above him, bumping gently against an awning.A woman in an apron was kneeling beside Peppe. It was the one from the cheese stall. Blair hadn't heard her come. She had both hands on the wound, hard, and was looking at Blair with a white, set face. "Tell me how.""Both hands. Lean. Don't let up for anything, not even if he asks." Blair took her wrists for a second and moved them an inch. "There. What's your name?""Nunzia.""Nunzia, you're doing it right." She got up and ran.Rosalia was on the cobbles behind the cart with her back against the stool. Someone had dragged her there. Her black dress was dark in a wider patch than it ought to have been, below the ribs on the left side, and her cigarette
The harbor market started early and was loud by nine. Fish lay in rows on beds of ice. A man with a megaphone was selling socks, nine pairs for five euros, and from somewhere a radio was playing a song Blair half knew. The smell was fish and wet stone and the cut stalks of artichokes.She had dressed for running: jeans, trainers, a dark jacket with deep pockets. She had nothing in the pockets but the orange from Rosalia's kitchen, which she hadn't been able to eat. Lorenzo had been firm about the rest. If the carabinieri came, nobody was going to find a pistol on Miss Capri. Marco's men were armed, and there were seven of them somewhere in the crowd in ordinary coats, one with a string bag, one with a child's red balloon he'd been handed and clearly hated."If I say down, you go down," Alessandro said, low, at the entrance. "Don't think about it. Don't look for me. Down.""I know.""And if you see anything, you say it.""I'll say it."He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of h
Lorenzo had spread a map of the harbor market over the whole study table and weighted the corners with a stapler, a whisky glass, and Alessandro's phone. Stalls were drawn in pencil. Three entrances had been ringed in red, and there was a cross on the church roof at the north end and another on a pharmacy sign."Ferraro's objection went in at noon," he said. "Cusimano has until Tuesday to answer it. That is the only good news I have. As for Salvo's message, I don't believe it. Renato has never in his life told anyone anything. Either Randazzo is careless, or Renato wants us to read that message.""Which?" said Alessandro."Both are possible. I'd prefer to be wrong about the second." Lorenzo touched the map with the end of his pen. "The market runs from seven until one. Your father walked it every Saturday for thirty years, at half past nine, and bought a lemon from the same cart. The don buys a lemon, everybody sees he isn't afraid. You do it too. Renato knows the hour.""Then we skip
Lorenzo had said no. He said it twice, once in the study and once in the hall, and the second time he said it to Alessandro's back. They went anyway. Marco's men took the corners of the street and the roof across from the blue door, and Alessandro parked where the car could not be boxed in, and then he stood for a moment with his hand on the roof."She shouldn't face him by herself," he said. "If he's coming, I'll be in that kitchen when he does.""I know," said Blair. She had a paper bag in her hand with a pencil case in it, the good kind, with a zip. She'd bought it that morning with Marco trailing her to the stationer's like a worried uncle.Concetta had not forbidden it. She opened the door in a clean blue dress with her hair combed, and looked at the two of them, and stepped back to let them in. There was a cake on the table with ten candles in it. Her mother sat in the corner in black with her rosary. Two neighbor women stood by the sink. Nino sat very straight at the head of th







