Killerfest (16 page)

CHAPTER 28 - UNA BELLA DONNA

Scarne caught
a noon flight to Rome, which arrived just after 2 P.M. He didn’t know how far
Mendelsohn’s killer was ahead of him, if at all. Perhaps he took a later
flight, or a train. The only thing he was fairly sure of was that Gulle — it
had to be Khan’s henchman — wouldn’t drive the 800 miles from Brussels to
Camucia. But none of that mattered. He couldn’t try to warn the woman; she
might flee. Or wait to ambush Gulle, and then Scarne. If he was right about who
she was, she was dangerous. Anyone who could stage the tableau she did in
Quimper’s hotel suite was capable of anything.

At the car
rental counter in Fiumicino Airport, he found out that the quickest way to his
destination was on the A1 Autostrade, through Vita Castellana, Orvieto, Chiusi
and Montepulciano. Scarne’s rental, a white Lancia Delta, had a top speed of
144 miles per hour and he intended to keep it near 100 once out of Rome’s
environs. He’d driven in Italy before and knew that nutty Italian drivers would
probably pass him during the 130-mile trip to the Tuscan town.

***

Vendela Noss
was enjoying herself. Her new pool was a delight, set on a terrace overlooking
her small olive grove with a wonderful view of the 2,000-foot mount on which
the fabled city of Cortona sat. Not that she could see much of the beautiful
Tuscan countryside as she tried out her new mask and snorkel. The water had
been warmed by the late afternoon sun and she could have floated naked in it
for hours. But she arched down to the bottom of the pool and sat on the bottom,
considering where she could place a target. She was anxious to start practicing
with her new spear gun, which had just arrived and was lying on a nearby table
along with some other diving equipment. New challenges always excited Vendela
and she was determined to master her latest hobby. Obviously, the target would
have to go in the deep end. Perhaps she could tie it to an old lawn chair with
a couple of cushions behind it to prevent the spear from going through. She
wondered what the optimum range would be. Well, she would experiment and then
ask an expert on one of the islands on which she planned to vacation. She hadn’t
decided where yet, though she was again leaning toward the Caribbean.

She kicked to
the surface by the side of the pool and was startled as two powerful hands
gripped her arms and lifted her violently out of the pool and then slammed her on
to a nearby lounge chair. Her mask and snorkel were ripped away and a man
straddled her and put his hands around her throat. 

***

Scarne had
made it to Camucia in just under an hour and a half. He knew he was at a
disadvantage. Whoever killed Mendelsohn undoubtedly knew Vendela’s last name
and, possibly even her whereabouts. Mendelsohn would have spilled his guts long
before his guts were spilled. The killer probably knew what the woman ate for
breakfast.

But Camucia
was a typical Tuscan town. Everything revolved around a central square. At 4:30
P.M. he walked into what looked to be a popular trattoria frequented by locals.
He was carrying Mendelsohn’s computer and asked to speak to the proprietor. A
man wearing an apron came out wiping his hands on a towel. He had probably been
preparing for the night’s dinner trade. The place smelled deliciously of
fresh-made bread soup, which Scarne knew to be a Tuscan specialty.

Scarne’s
Italian was rusty, and was flavored with the dialect of his grandfather, a
Sicilian U-Boat captain captured in the Second World War who eventually settled
in Montana near where he had been held as a P.O.W. But it was good enough to
get his point across when he flashed his private investigator’s credentials and
said he was trying to find the owner of the laptop, which had apparently been
stolen and was recovered by his company during a probe of black marketeering by
Albanian gangsters. It had many bank accounts and passwords listed and it was
important to find out if the Albanians were able to access the accounts. The
only problem was that he only new the first name of the owner: Vendela.

Scarne knew
the story was ridiculous. He was counting on the restaurant owner being more
into cooking than computers, and was rewarded when the man said, “Questo deve
essere Vendela Noss. Una bella donna!”

It turned out
that the Noss woman was a frequent visitor to the trattoria.

The owner
suggested that Scarne contact the local chief of police, hinting with raised
eyebrows and a sly smile that the “capo della polizia” and Noss were more than
casual acquaintances. Scarne said he would, although he no intention of doing
so. But in the meantime, could he get directions to the woman’s home. 

***

When he drove
up to the villa, the first thing Scarne noted were that there were two cars
parked in the turnaround. One was a metallic-blue Mercedes convertible. The
other was a Peugeot with rental plates. He got a bad feeling.

He heard a
splash, followed by a loud thump. He ran around the back of the house to a pool
area. At one end of the pool, which looked new, was a table on which appeared
to be scuba equipment. At the other end Boga Gulle appeared to be strangling a
naked woman. She was fighting back fiercely and Gulle, for all his brute strength,
was having a hard time of it.

Scarne
sprinted toward them, pulling his gun at the same time.

“Gulle!”

At the sound
of his name the Indian assassin turned his head. He must have also loosened his
grip on the woman’s neck because she was able to break his grasp and claw at
his eyes while kneeing him in the groin. He grunted in pain and slapped her.
The blow knocked her off the lounge. Gulle stood and reached into his belt,
pulling out a long dagger with a curved blade.

Not again,
Scarne thought, his mind flashing back to his last knife fight in a shower
stall in the Caribbean. Thank God, this time I have a gun.

“Drop it,
Boga.”

Gulle came
towards him, smiling.

“Don’t be a
fool. I will kill you if I have to.”

Gulle was
lighter on his feet than Scarne could have imagined. He only managed to get off
two quick shots, which didn’t seem to slow the fierce killer at all. Gulle
smashed into him and they tumbled to the ground, Scarne’s gun flying. He
managed to grab Gulle’s knife hand before he was able to inflict more than a
superficial slash to his arm.

The next thing
Scarne knew they were both in the pool. Gulle had apparently dropped his
dagger, but that was little consolation to Scarne, who was being driven to the
bottom of the pool with both his opponent’s hands around his neck. He fought
savagely, but the water blunted his blows. Meanwhile the vise-like fingers
around his throat tightened. I know I shot him twice, Scarne thought wildly. I
would have been better off with a water buffalo. The water was turning pink.
The bastard must be losing blood. He had to weaken soon. Except he didn’t. They
stared into each other’s eyes. Gulle’s were red with hate. Scarne began to see
large black spots swimming in his vision and knew he had lost. He stopped
thrashing.

Gulle grinned,
his yellow teeth bared. Suddenly his eyes widened. His grip ebbed slightly and
his mouth opened and it seemed as if he was sticking his tongue out at Scarne.
But it wasn’t his tongue. It looked like the tip of an arrow. There was a
larger swirl of blood. Then two other hands pried Gulle’s fingers from Scarne’s
throat. Cut off from oxygen for so long and almost unconscious, he reflexively
inhaled, not the thing to do at the bottom of a pool. Water flowed into his
lungs before he could gag.

Then everything
went black.

CHAPTER 29 - KISS OF LIFE, OR DEATH

When he came
to, Scarne was being kissed by a beautiful woman. Well, not actually kissed.
Her mouth covered his, but her hand pinched his nose while she blew breath into
his lungs. He gagged and coughed, spewing water onto the deck. He looked into
the pool. Gulle floated slowly by face down, with a spear sticking out the back
of his neck. A thin trail of blood spiraled in his wake.

“Two bullets
and a spear,” the woman murmured, her voice slightly hoarse. “They don’t make
them like that anymore. I’m almost sorry we had to kill him.”

Scarne rolled
on his back and looked up.

“You have
beautiful breasts,” he said.

She laughed.

“Thank you,”
she said, “Although I know that’s the lack of oxygen talking.”

She stood up.
Her total nakedness didn’t seem to bother her. She was something to see. The
only flaw in her appearance were some red welts around her neck.

“Rest for a
moment, and then we will talk.”

She walked
over to a lounge and picked up a robe, which she put on. When she came back,
she was holding Scarne’s gun. She pulled up a chair for him and then got one
for herself. She placed them far enough apart so that Scarne knew she could
easily shoot him before he closed the gap. He climbed painfully into the chair.
He had landed hard on the pool deck and the cut on his arm began to sting. She
threw him a small towel.

“Wrap your
arm,” she ordered. “And tell me who my new pool ornament floating out there is,
and then who you are.”

“I’m the guy
that saved your life,” he said.

“And vice
versa,” she countered. “As far as I can tell, we are now even.”

“Well then, I
guess I’ll be going.”

She laughed.
It was as nice a laugh as a woman pointing a gun can have, Scarne thought.

“Maybe. Start
talking.”

There didn’t seem
to be any reason to lie, so Scarne didn’t. When he finished, she said, “Poor
Gaetan. He did his best. And I have to compliment you on putting it all
together. I think I remember seeing you at the Killerfest. Did you follow me
out to the cab stand?”

She didn’t
miss much, Scarne realized.

“Yes. Did
Quimper slip you his room key at the bar?”

“Of course.”

“I am an
idiot.”

“Don’t be so
hard on yourself. He was a dead man just as soon as I got the assignment. But
that’s old news, Jake. May I call you Jake? Good. Now we have another problem.
This lunatic Khan must be punished. The question is, what am I to do with you?
I really don’t want to kill you.”

“That makes
two of us.”

She smiled.

“Other than
the fact that disposing of two bodies is a lot more trouble than one, I like
you. And you did save my life. Although you probably now want to kill me. Could
you? I mean kill a woman?”

“I once shot a
woman I loved,” Scarne said. “I don’t think I would have a problem with you.
But I have a plan that might leave both of us alive. You might have to hold off
on going after Khan for a little while, though. Want to hear it?”

***

They pulled
Gulle from the water. The spear had entered his neck just below his skull.

“That was an
incredible shot, Vendela.”

“I cannot tell
a lie. I was aiming for the middle of his back. I’m just learning how to use
the damn thing. The water distorts the vision and, of course, affects
direction. Now, kindly pull the shaft all the way through his mouth so we can
lay him on his back for the photos. Careful, don’t cut your hand on the tip. It
is barbed and very sharp. Use that towel.”

Because the
spear had apparently passed through Gulle’s thick neck muscles and his spine,
Scarne had difficulty pulling the spear out. Some gruesome sounds emanated from
the dead man’s throat before he succeeded. Vendela Noss looked on impassively,
which didn’t surprise Scarne, remembering her tableau in Quimper’s hotel suite.
He had gone back to his car for Mendelsohn’s computer and his iPhone, with
which he now took perhaps a dozen shots of Gulle, lying wide-eyed with blood
seeping from his mouth. Vendela was scrolling through the computer, which was
balanced on her lap.

“Gourmet
Club,” she said. “That’s priceless. Gaetan loved to eat, everyone knew that. No
one would suspect anything.”

Scarne was
curious.

“Do you know
the other, er, cooks?”

“There is the
man, Armand, the one from France. We were lovers and I gave him a reference to
Gaetan. He was bisexual, so they really hit it off. We still exchange Christmas
cards. The others I don’t think I know.” She closed the laptop. “I will keep
this computer. Our little arrangement covers everything in it, no?”

“Of course.”

“You found
me,” she mused. “I don’t suppose it would be that hard for me to track down my
fellow club members.”

“To what
purpose?”

“With Gaetan
gone, they might be at loose ends. Perhaps it is time for me to move into
management.” She reached to the table next to her and hefted Scarne’s gun. “Do
you mind if I also keep this? Another pistol without serial numbers may prove
useful to me. You might have trouble leaving Europe with it anyway.”      

“Sure. What
will you do with Gulle’s body, and the car?”

“They will
present no problem. I have friends in the local Mafia.”

“Of course you
do.”

She laughed.

“And in the
police.”

“So I’ve
heard.”

“There will be
no inquiries,” she said. “Are you sufficiently recovered to help me put him in
the trunk of the car? Then you will probably want to clean and dress that cut
and wash up. I have some fresh clothes that you can change into. While you are
doing that, I’ll make you something to eat. And you are welcome to stay the
night. Our friend will keep until the morning.”

She saw his
expression and laughed.

“Don’t worry,
I won’t have sex with you. Not that I don’t find you very attractive. I do. But
I don’t sleep with men I’ve just met, unless I am on a job and plan to kill
them. Besides, I think you need your rest.”

***

Scarne left
the next morning, after hammering out the details of their plan over breakfast.
As she had proved the night before with dinner, Vendela Noss was a wonderful
cook. She made him poached eggs sauteed in olive oil with prosciutto and
parmesan cheese.

“How long do
you think it will take,” she asked as she poured him more coffee.

“No more than
a month, would be my guess.”