"Exactly! The biggest camp in Campania is the Capodichino Reception Center located near the airport. And there are North African food vendors there."

"Refugees," Ercole said. "Like Ali Maziq." To Rossi: "Could this be the pattern Procuratore Spiro was thinking of?"

"I would say we don't know enough yet. The Composer might have in mind as his next victim another refugee. But it might also be someone connected with the place. An employee."

Sachs said, "Send Michelangelo and the tac team to the camp. And tell the security people there. And I'm going too."

Rossi looked her way with a wary smile.

"I know, I know," she said. "Spiro won't be happy. But I'll deal with him later." She looked him over. "Are you going to stop me, Inspector?"

Rossi made a show of turning his back to her and staring at the evidence chart. He said, to no one in particular, "I wonder where Detective Sachs has gotten herself to. The last I saw of her, she

was at the Questura. And now, gone. I would guess she is off to see the sights of Naples. The ruins of Pompeii, very likely."

"Thank you," she whispered to Rossi.

He said, "For what? I cannot imagine."

As she and the Forestry officer headed for the door, Rhyme noted that Ercole dug into his pocket, fishing for something. Then, for a reason Rhyme could not figure out, the young man's face tightened with dismay as he produced a set of car keys and dropped them into Sachs's outstretched palm.

Chapter 33

Their deduction was a solid one--that the Composer might be looking for victims at the refugee camp near the airport.

The forensics were good: Aviation fuel suggested an airport, and the ingredients in Libyan food suggested refugees' meals or vendors near a refugee camp like the Capodichino Reception Center.

And yet...

As sometimes happens with the most solidly and elegantly constructed theory, this was marred by a tragic flaw.

It had been made too late.

The Composer had done exactly what Rhyme and the others had guessed. Though with one variation: He had not bothered using a kidnapped person's gasping breath as the rhythm section for a waltz. He'd simply slashed the victim's throat and, after leaving his trademark noose, fled.

Amelia Sachs and Ercole Benelli had arrived about a half hour after the team at the Questura had deduced that the camp might be the site of the next kidnapping. Already present were a dozen Police of State and Carabinieri, along with some officers of the Financial Police, specializing in immigration laws. Sachs had spotted the flashing lights and the crowd just outside the camp, at the far end from the main gate. There, the chain link had been cut open, making an impromptu exit.

Perhaps a hundred people ganged outside--and from the vigilant way the officers were watching those present, Sachs assumed that many were refugees who'd slipped through the gate to view the incident. Others, workers from the vendor stands, protesters, journalists and passersby, milled about as well, hoping for a look at the carnage, Sachs supposed.

Sachs mounted an earphone and hit a call button, then slipped the live cell back into her hip pocket, sitting just above her switchblade knife.

"Sachs. The scene?"

"Beyond contaminated. Must be fifty people surrounding the body."

"Hell."

She turned to Ercole. "We have to get those people away. Clear the scene. Clear the whole area."

"Si. I will do that. I will try. Look at all of them."

He stepped away from her and spoke to some of the Police of State officers, who at first paid little attention to him. She heard him mention the names "Rossi" and then "Spiro." And the men grew wary and attentive and began clearing the crowd in earnest. Some men and women, apparently soldiers with the army, assisted.

Sachs told Rhyme she'd call him back, she had to secure the scene, and disconnected.

"Find out who's in charge."

"Yes."

Tags: Jeffery Deaver Lincoln Rhyme Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net