Return to Umbria by David Wagner (13 ebook reader txt) 📗

that evening in broth or on a dish with a sauce. On he walked, coming to a toy store. It reminded him that it wasn’t too early to think about birthday gifts for his two nephews back in Albuquerque. This was one of the advantages to having nephews: it gave him acceptable cover to browse toy stores and play with its wares. He looked at the display of toy cars and tried to recall what he’d given them last year. In his next e-mail to his sister he would have to ask; she would remember. He realized the time, reluctantly turned from the display, and continued to his destination.

The final few hundred feet to the police station were on a gravel path through a small and beautifully manicured park. It was a miniature version of the Borghese Gardens in Rome, complete with the tall umbrella pines that inspired Respighi. The rays of the afternoon sun were broken by the lanky trunks, casting long shadows across the grass and gravel. He stepped onto the path from the sidewalk which circled the park.

“Signor Montoya.”

Luciano Pazzi, looking no different than the previous day, appeared out of one of the shadows.

Rick did not try to hide his annoyance. “Signor Pazzi, if I had anything to say to you I would have called.”

“I suspected you would be coming to see the police again,” the man said. “It is curious that they need the help of a foreigner to do their work.” Pine needles crunched under his shoes as he walked closer. He stopped under one of the pines close to the path and turned his head upward. “Beautiful trees, aren’t they, Signor Montoya? Legend says they were brought here by one of the popes when he passed through Orvieto. Homesick for Rome, perhaps.”

“Listen, Pazzi—”

“I listen to people all the time, that’s how I earn my living. But it is not a one-way street, I am often the source of information for others. Unfortunately I can’t think of how I could be helpful to you, a tourist passing through Orvieto, so I have to rely on your sense of—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. The crack of a gun sounded somewhere to Pazzi’s left, and simultaneously a bullet thudded into the tree next to him. The man froze, and his mouth dropped open to reveal a row of crooked teeth. Rick instinctively dropped flat to the ground.

“Pazzi, get down!”

Another shot whizzed by, but fear had turned the journalist to stone.

“Pazzi!”

The third bullet found the lower part of the man’s neck. He instinctively grabbed the wound as he fell to the ground on his side. Dark blood poured through his fingers and seeped around his shirt collar. He still stared in disbelief, but without focus.

Rick crawled toward Pazzi while he looked toward where the shooter must have been. He saw only trees and shadow, but as he reached the wounded man the sound of a car speeding off rolled across the grass. He also heard shouting coming from the opposite direction, where the police station stood.

Pazzi now could see Rick and was trying to speak. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth as he made the effort. Rick put his ear close and tried to understand the words, which came out in a rough whisper. Pazzi’s mouth stayed open but his sightless eyes glazed over.

Rick looked up to see two uniformed policemen pounding along the gravel path toward him. Behind them was LoGuercio. Rick got to his knees and pointed toward the far end of the park.

“The shooter was over there, I think I heard him drive off,” Rick called to the policemen, who had come to a halt at the sight of the body.

“Get over there and see what you can find,” ordered LoGuercio, out of breath. He reached Rick and stared at Pazzi’s now lifeless body. “Tell me what happened, Riccardo.”

Rick rose to his feet and realized that his heart rate was higher than when he did his morning run. He took a few breaths before answering. “I was just starting through the park when Pazzi appeared. He was barely into his second sentence when we heard a shot. Pazzi froze and I hit the ground. The second bullet missed him and hit the tree, but the third did this. He died almost immediately after the bullet hit his neck, but I crawled over to him and he said something.”

“And that was?”

“It was difficult to understand, since the bullet hit his throat, but I think he said ‘sono morto.’”

“‘I am dead’? A bit dramatic, but certainly accurate.” LoGuercio bent down and examined the body without touching it. “If the shot had been a bit higher he would have died instantly. Which might have been better for him.”

He got to his feet and pulled out his cell phone. Rick stood silently while the policeman made phone calls. After three he punched off his telefonino.

“The crime scene unit is on its way, and fortunately the forensics person is too. She finished her work in Terni.” He looked up to see one of the policeman trotting back toward them.

“We found one shell, Sir, in the street near the curb. Aurelio is guarding it until the area can be roped off. If there were other shells the shooter must have picked them up.”

“I heard the tires of a car speeding off,” Rick said. “The guy could have used the car roof to steady his aim.”

LoGuercio walked to the tree and rubbed his finger over a small hole in the bark. “It looks like a nine millimeter slug, but I’ll leave it to the forensic people to pull it out and tell me for sure.”

Rick stood aside and watched as the park filled with officials and equipment. LoGuercio gave orders, including sending two of his men to the houses along the street to find if anyone had seen or heard anything.

Rick’s phone rang and he fished it from his pocket and checked the number. It didn’t seem possible that Piero