Chapter Eleven

“I will sleep no more but arise, You oceans that have been calm within me! how I feel you, fathomless, stirring, preparing unprecedented waves and storms.”
Walt Whitman

A thin shroud of frost crusted over the body, bleaching his skin ghostly pale. The ice had stiffened his hair to a crown of crisp curls that I imagined would snap at the slightest touch. My eyes ran over his white suit, black shirt and muted gold earring in his ear. Slamming the lid down, I staggered back. I hurried back inside to the staff lounge, snatched up my handbag and rummaged for Inspetorre Giannetti’s card. Finding it, I grabbed my phone. A black screen gaped guilelessly up at me. I set it aside and thought furiously. I whirled around. Yes, I was right. There was a landline in this room, attached to the wall. I scrambled for the handset and punched in the detective’s number. 

I waited, the phone clutched to my ear, my eyes fixed on the door. I had no idea who was involved or who I could trust. There were too many coincidences now. Inspetorre Gianetti’s phone rang and rang, the slow burr tormenting. I froze. The squeak of shoes on tiles echoed along the hallway. Someone was coming! 

I replaced the receiver onto the wall with a click. George strolled into the room, a cup of coffee in his hand. I wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts, slid Gianetti’s card into a pocket and forced a smile. He blinked at me. 

“Hello, I didn’t know you were here,” he said, returning my smile eventually.

“Yes, I am waiting for Gabriel, he got called out. But I’m not feeling too well, so I was just ringing Sofia to see if she could come and pick me up,” I rambled. “But there’s no answer yet. I hope you don’t mind me using the phone, the battery is dead on mine.”
“No problem at all. Sorry to hear you’re not feeling well. Anything I can do?”

His concern and offer felt genuine.
“It’s just the heat,” I said, dismissively. “I’ll be much more comfortable at home.”
“No doubt,” he agreed and sat down at the table

He began leafing through a wad of documents. I slid back down onto the couch, desperately considering my options.

 

There was no denying the body in the freezer was the same man I’d seen on the ferry from the mainland. Was his companion someone at the institute or connected to it? The voice had been English and George was the only Englishman at the institute but I couldn’t be sure if the voice had been his. Perhaps the man on the ferry was the mysterious benefactor who had purchased the Salacia. Perhaps he had no connection to the research centre at all. Did anyone at the institute know about the body in the freezer? Thinking about it, I didn’t recall seeing the freezer during our first visit. Was it a new fixture, purely to store the dead body in? 

What if the man in the freezer and Vittorio’s were deaths related? The only common link they had was Gabriel; he knew Vittorio and he worked at the institute where the dead body was being kept. Had Gabriel murdered them both? He was also connected to the missing Francesco? Was Gabriel responsible for his disappearance too? I rebelled at the thought, but a tiny thread of doubt wove deeper into my mind. Secrets surrounded me now, each one a missing puzzle piece. What did I really know? About anyone or anything? I needed help. There was no way I could contact the Inspetorre with George right there. And I still needed to leave. I had to call Sofia. 

“I was wondering, Jenny,” began George, interrupting my thoughts. “If you could do me a favour.” 

Annoyance prickling my nerves, I looked inquiringly at him.

“I have a parcel of coffee and biscotti to send to my grandmother in England,” he continued. “But I thought instead of me paying the international postage, you could take it back with you and drop it off at your local post office.”

It was an innocent enough request, but my suspicions were now on high alert.
“Oh, I’m not sure,” I hesitated. “There’s little room in my suitcase, the biscotti would be crushed.”

“I’ve wrapped it well enough to avoid that,” he assured me.
“Still, I don’t know …”

“If it’s that big an inconvenience, forget about it,” he retorted harshly. 

My cheeks smarted. He shifted around, his back to me. I stared, bemused. The surreality of the afternoon was burgeoning into a fevered stupor. I felt uncomfortably warm again, the walls of the room narrowing. I refilled my glass from the bottle Elena had left and raised it to my lips.

The shrill bleating of the phone punctured the air, shocking my heart into a violent leap. The glass in my hand jolted, spilling water onto my legs. George shot up and reached for the receiver. 

“Pronto.”

He listened and then his head pivoted to me. I was dabbing half-heartedly at the water on my legs with a napkin.

“Jenny,” he said. “Did you call an Inspetorre Giannetti from this line?”
My pounding heart jerked. It must be the Inspetorre returning my call. But I couldn’t tell him anything with George listening, even if I tried to be vague. I couldn’t say anything to arouse his suspicion, whether he was innocent or not, it wasn’t a risk I could take. My mind panicked, furiously contemplating what to say. I blinked vacantly up at him.

“No,” I answered, unperturbed. 

 My fingers idly tapped the arm of the couch but I could feel his focus narrow in on me. George continued in Italian and then hung up. 

“Strange,” he murmured.

He sat back down. The need to leave was imperative now. I’d wait five minutes and then call Sofia, I decided. 

“I can drive you home,” offered George, as if privy to my thoughts. “Save your friend coming out all this way.”
I scratched the inside of my wrist.

“Oh no, it’s fine, honestly,” I said, forcing a smile. “I can’t expect you to do that.”
George shrugged.

“It’s on my own way home, it would be no trouble.”

I did not want to get into a car with him. I did not want to go anywhere with him. Something about his behaviour was triggering alarms in my head, warning me to stay away. He straightened his documents, slid them into a folder and shoved them into his bag. He stood.

“Come on,” he ordered, snatching up his keys from the table. “I can’t leave you here alone. And I need to lock up the building for the night.”
“I can wait for Sofia outside,” I suggested. 

He sneered patronisingly down at me. 

“Don’t be silly,” he mocked. “Let me drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine,” I insisted. “I’ll just call Sofia now.”
I rolled to my feet and stretched for the phone. George suddenly gripped my wrist.

“There’s no need,” he stressed coldly.
I stared wide eyed at him. 

“Let me go,” I said, my teeth grinding.

His eyes bored into me, as if he were trying to exert his will over mine.

“I said, there’s no need,” he repeated.

I tugged my arm away from him, but his grip tightened. My wrist throbbed.

“Let go!” I cried, hitting his upper arm with my fist. 

He seized my free hand and twisted it back. I blenched, the contorting muscles tightening painfully. I lashed out, kicking his shin with as much force as I could. He grunted, glaring at me and squeezed his hands tighter. He shoved me. My back cracked against the wall. I glared at him, hatred and rage blazing in my eyes but George only smiled. 

 

A door clattered shut. Short, hurried squeaks floated down the hallway. I sagged. George’s smile faded and his head cocked, listening. Stefano skidded to a halt and flung open the door. George released me. I looked at the blooming marks imprinted on my skin and seethed. I wanted to shout at him, but I was trembling with shock. I turned to the door. Stefano’s red hair resembled a windswept bird’s nest, his forehead a sheen of sweat. He braced the door frame, catching his breath, and gazed at both of us, his eyes bright, excited.

“What’s up with you?” grunted George. 

Stefano ignored his tone and flashed his teeth. 

“He’s OK,” he panted, his cheek ruddy. “He’s OK!”

“Who?” asked George, scowling at him.

Stefano sucked in a deep breath and grinned. 

“Francesco.”