The Burial Hour (Lincoln Rhyme 13) - Page 121

"Why do you say that, Procuratore?"

"Did it not occur to you that rather than being lauded for my choice, I might be ridiculed for inviting to Italy detectives whom the serial killer managed to elude in New York?"

Rhyme and Thom smiled.

"Thank the Lord that the press are sufficient idiots that they missed that contradiction too. But in the future you will be straightforward with me. Do I not have the persona of a purring kitten?"

"Allora, Procuratore, the fact is..."

"You behave as if you are afraid of me!"

"I think many people are afraid of you, sir. With all respect."

"Why is that?"

"You are stern. You are known to bark, even scream at people."

"As do generals and artists and explorers. Of necessity."

"Your book..."

"My book?"

Ercole looked down at the man's pocket; the gilt-edged, leather-bound volume was just visible.

"What of it?"

"Allora, you understand."

He snapped, "How can you assert I understand something if I have just asked you to explain?"

"Sir. You write down in it the names of people who offend you. Who you wish to get even with."

"Do I now?"

"I have heard people say that. Yes, I have."

"Well, Forestry Officer, tell me how many names you see, names destined for the pillory." Spiro handed the book to Ercole, who took it timidly.

"I--"

"Read, Forestry Officer. Read."

He cracked open the pages and Rhyme could catch a glimpse of dense and very precise Italian script. The lettering was minuscule.

Ercole frowned.

Spiro said, "The title. Read what is at the top of the first page. Aloud."

Ercole read: "La Ragazza da Cheyenne." He looked toward Rhyme and Thom. "It means The Girl from Cheyenne."

"And below?"

"Capitolo Uno. First Chapter."

"And below that, please continue. Translate for Capitano Rhyme."

Ercole puzzled for a moment. He cocked his head and read in a halting voice, as he translated, "'If the four twenty-five train to Tucson had not been attacked, Belle Walker would have married her fiance and her life would have settled into the same dull, predictable routine as that of her sisters, and their mother before them.'"

Tags: Jeffery Deaver Lincoln Rhyme Mystery
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