The Lost Swimmer (28 page)

‘I don't think I believe him,' I said as we navigated the path. Anger was taking over: anger at myself for coming, anger at Charon's games, anger at Stephen for putting me in this position. I wanted to hurl rocks and scream.

‘He was fabricating it for effect.' Maria shook her head. ‘I saw him embellishing as he watched your reaction.'

‘I'm not so sure,' said Burton.

If Stephen really was with Priscilla my rage would be unstoppable. My head spun.

‘He was utterly loathsome. Let's get to the hotel and see if Marco has found anything,' said Maria.

•  •  •

Cameras pointed at my face as I alighted outside Della Mare's ceramics shop; microphones were thrust forward. Television presenters with big hair and higher heels thronged towards us.

‘Signora Wilding, did you murder your husband?'

‘How does it feel to be accused, Signora Wilding?'

‘Professor, are you denying any involvement?'

‘Rebecca, Rebecca, you must be distraught that your husband is missing?'

Startled, I darted back to the sanctuary of the van.

‘Good God!' Burton stared at the reporters in shock.

‘Someone's setting you up,' said Maria angrily.

A scrawny olive-skinned hand, bejewelled and young, wrenched my door open.

‘Professor Wilding, do you deny murdering your husband for his money?'

I laughed cynically as I struggled to pull the door shut. ‘Drive off!' cried Burton. I locked the doors and slammed the van into reverse, about to force my way through the pack when Marco came running from the shop.

‘Rebecca! Rebecca!' he bellowed and then spoke sternly to the press.

‘What's he saying, Burton?' His Italian was too rapid for me to understand.

‘He's telling them to piss off, basically. In no uncertain terms.'

Reporters started a stream of conversation in return.

‘And they're telling him it's public property where they're standing. They're not leaving,' Burton sighed.

Marco ploughed through the crowd. He ran around to the back door and I quickly undid the locks. I snapped them shut again as soon as he flung himself inside.

‘A pack of wolves!' he cursed. ‘Rebecca, I've been trying to phone you.'

‘Did you find something?' I pulled out my phone and saw that the battery had gone dead. I focused on it, terrified by what Marco was about to say.

‘Somehow it got reported in Australia. And now the press here are all over it.'

‘Marco, has he been found?' My voice sounded far away, as if someone else were speaking.

‘No, no. It's okay. We didn't find anything. There's nothing new.'

I let out a long breath.

‘Sorry,' Marco leaned forward and squeezed my shoulders. ‘I didn't mean to frighten you, Becca. But your children have heard. They've been phoning.'

The blood drained from me and Maria leaned quickly across to take my hand in hers.

Burton passed his phone over. ‘You must call them and explain.'

‘Too late. They're on their way,' said Marco. ‘They were heading straight for the airport.'

I tried to think what time it would be there. ‘When was this?' I muttered.

‘About four hours ago. Then the press started arriving here.'

‘But they couldn't get a flight that quickly, surely?' I dialled Erin's number. It rang out.

Everyone watched as I stabbed in another number. Cameras outside were pointed at me, lights pierced my eyes. I turned my back on them as Klair picked up.

‘Is James there?'

‘Rebecca, is that you?

‘Yes,' I snapped. ‘Can I speak to James?'

‘He's not here. He left his phone with me at the airport because it won't work overseas. Erin's going to try ringing you when they get to Singapore.' Klair paused. ‘Are you all right? Is Stephen really missing? They're saying you're under suspicion for murder.'

‘Of course I'm not,' I roared. ‘Look, I've got to go.' I hung up as she kept babbling. ‘I must charge my phone. What if Stephen's tried to call?' I wrenched open my door.

‘Rebecca, wait!' cried Marco but I was already running towards the small gate at street level that led to a flight of stairs cascading down the mountain to the hotel reception. Maria came after me, beating off reporters with tiny whirling arms, like a hummingbird. Marco moved to retrieve Burton's wheelchair; they'd have to battle their way inside to the lift. A reporter screeched. Maria had kicked the woman's shin. We reached the gate and fled downhill.

Adriana greeted us with hugs and despair. ‘Caro, caro! Come quickly away from those monsters!' She ushered us into the small sitting room. ‘Vultures.' Adriana drew the curtains shut, plunging us into gloom. She switched on a lamp that cast a reassuring golden glow, and came and sat beside us on the white leather lounge.

‘I cannot tell you how sorry I am, Rebecca. The police have been here looking for you.'

‘What on earth has happened?'

‘They won't say. Even Marco could get nothing from them.'

‘Do you think they've found him?' My voice cracked and my legs went numb. ‘I must call.'

‘Caro, perhaps we might find a lawyer for you?'

‘But I haven't done anything wrong!'

‘Rebecca, maybe it would be a good idea?' Maria said, eyes wide with fear.

‘If you think so,' I mumbled, aware I might not be making the best decisions at the moment. ‘I'd like to ask Burton.'

‘Coming!' he called and wheeled in like the cavalry.

‘We think she should get a lawyer,' said Maria, and Burton nodded. ‘Who knows one?'

‘I do,' said Marco as he followed Burton into the room. He went to a small ceramic table and picked up a phone. ‘Is this okay?' He looked at me.

‘I guess so.' I was wondering how I'd pay for it.

Marco spoke quickly into the receiver and hung up. ‘He is the very best. A friend of my late parents. A criminal lawyer.'

‘Can we call the police?' I asked. Marco obliged, summoning Giotto. After a hushed conversation, Marco turned to me.

‘There's nothing. But the Commissario thinks you're hiding something. Evidently my waiter Alessandro has been aiding them in this view. Are you?' Marco looked at me directly.

I sat back, overwhelmingly relieved that I wasn't hearing Stephen confirmed dead. ‘No, Marco, I'm not. The Commissario can ask me whatever he wants. Once my lawyer arrives.'

S
ignor Vitale was model-thin with a full head of glossy black hair. Immaculately groomed in a white linen suit, blue silk tie and soft leather slip-on shoes, he exuded expensive. His English was perfect, spoken in a deep, commanding voice. I was glad that he was on my team and not batting for the opposition.

He ordered everyone else to leave the room and once we were alone he turned casually, leaning in ever so slightly as he held me in his hypnotic gaze. I kept a surreptitious lookout on my phone, wishing I'd asked Klair what time my kids were arriving in Singapore. I'd played and replayed their heartbreaking messages saying they were on their way, pleading to know what was going on.

‘Professor Wilding, I must put to you one question. Did you do it? Did you murder your husband? I promise I will tell no one, but I need to know.'

‘Of course not!'

‘If my wife had ruined the family finances I could be violent,' Vitale shrugged. ‘Anyone could be.'

‘We didn't even fight. He said he loved me, I went to sleep and he went for a swim. Well, I think he swam. I didn't even know about the finances until later.'

‘When he said he loved you, was this unusual?'

‘It didn't seem so at the time.'

‘So, you often say this to each other?'

‘It's not rare. Although in recent times it was perhaps a bit unusual.'

‘Why?' Vitale snapped.

‘We'd both been preoccupied. In hindsight, I can see that Stephen was sick with worry about his investments.'

‘And yet he told you nothing?'

‘We both had secrets,' I sighed.

‘And what are yours?'

Immediately I regretted speaking. ‘Nothing relevant,' I replied firmly.

‘I'll decide that.' Vitale stood and walked to the window, lifting a curtain back slightly with one finger and glancing out. ‘Tell me everything. It's the only way I can protect you.' He turned back dramatically. ‘Were you having an affair?'

I shook my head. ‘But I wondered if Stephen was.' I hoped this would occupy the conversation and I wouldn't be quizzed again on my secrets, which I had no intention of revealing.

‘We'll come back to that,' said Vitale smoothly. ‘What were you hiding from him, signora?'

‘Please, if we're to work together, I must stay focused on Stephen. The boatman from the grotto, Charon – I don't know his real name – told us he saw Stephen with a blonde woman fitting the description of a colleague, Priscilla Chiton. It's possible Stephen contacted her and asked her to help him disappear. I've worried for months if he was seeing Priscilla. And I might have stumbled upon her sandals in Crete.'

‘Her sandals?' Vitale frowned.

‘In the Venetian fortress in Heraklion. I thought Stephen might have met her there.'

‘And the sandals?'

‘She wasn't wearing them. She'd left them on the stairs.' I stopped and rubbed my temples, remembering that I'd seen the Englishwoman put on the sandals. ‘Sorry, I'm a bit . . . I saw a woman, from a distance. Forget about the sandals.'

‘And you thought the woman looked like . . .' He checked his notes. ‘Signora Priscilla Chiton? Have you told the police any of this?'

‘Not yet.'

‘Then please don't. It's very confused. You'll whip up the Commissario. He's a man who runs on instinct. Our problem is he's convinced you are guilty.'

‘Without a shred of evidence, because I'm not. Don't they know how to conduct an investigation down here? And that waiter Alessandro is a maniac.'

‘We all know each other very well. It doesn't pay to be rude.'

‘I'm not being.' Impatience rose. ‘My husband's missing and every minute the police stand around presuming I'm guilty is time wasted from the investigation. Surely you can see my problem?'

‘If he has gone missing, how do you propose we find him?'

‘For a start I'd like the boats and helicopter to keep searching. And for the police to interview all the crews on the ferries and check any closed-circuit-television footage. What about the wharves in Sorrento and Naples? The train station? The airport? Although I doubt Stephen went to the airport because he couldn't use his passport without the police knowing.'

Vitale stared at me like I was something quite repulsive – something that could be squashed.

‘His passport's missing,' I added.

‘And you don't think he met with foul play?' Vitale's voice was quiet, his dark eyes bright with suspicion.

‘It can't be ruled out, can it?' One of my knees started jittering of its own accord, beating out a tattoo. I put a hand on it firmly to pin it down.

‘I hope for your sake that your theory he ran away is correct,' said Vitale, suddenly gentle. ‘I think perhaps our instincts about our loved ones are also worth listening to. And I get the strongest feeling speaking with you that you think your husband is still alive.'

I bit my lower lip to try to stop the quivering. I nodded but couldn't find any words.

Vitale crossed the room and took my hand. ‘I shall ask the Commissario to keep looking. But now, take me through moment by moment the day your husband disappeared.'

•  •  •

Two hours later Vitale was satisfied that I was ready to meet the police again. He organised for Napolitano to come to the hotel, not wanting me to have to run the gauntlet of the press. Before the Commissario arrived, I called Erin's phone but it kept ringing out.

Maria bustled in with a plate of food. It was dinnertime and I found I was surprisingly hungry. I devoured the spaghetti marinara and salad gratefully but refused the wine. Burton watched without saying a word.

‘You're unnerving me,' I finally said.

‘I've contacted the Australian consulate in Rome. They're sending someone as soon as they can but they're short staffed, particularly as you haven't been charged with anything yet.'

‘And she won't be!' said Maria.

Burton took my glass of wine and gulped it down.

‘Careful,' warned Maria, ‘we need you on board, Burton. Rebecca, what's Vitale like? If you're not happy we'll find someone else.'

‘He's good. He's on my side, I think,' I added vulnerably.

Minutes later, Vitale led Napolitano and Giotto into the room. Maria quickly cleared my plate away and she and Burton were asked to leave.

‘We have discovered something unpleasant,' said Napolitano, pulling up a chair that grated on the tiled floor. ‘You have something to tell me about Coastal University?'

For the first time that question made me flood with relief: at least it wasn't Stephen's death he was announcing. ‘It's where I work.'

‘Something else?' He waited as both Giotto and Vitale took notes. Vitale looked like an animal waiting to pounce. I hoped he really was on my side.

I said, ‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘Does fraud sound familiar?'

I tensed and fell silent.

‘Does it, Professor Wilding?' Napolitano raised his voice a notch.

‘You'll have to be more specific.'

‘You're under investigation for misappropriating a very large sum of money. In the millions of dollars.'

‘No, not millions.'

‘I believe it is. I spoke to Professor DiStasio.'

‘I would have thought that's confidential. And it's only alleged. Several people are under investigation.'