You Find Him – I'll Fix Him

  There was a chance that Veroni had only noted down the conversations Helen had had with her blackmail victims, but surely she must have said something to Carlo or Myra over the telephone at one time that was worth recording in the report?

  I sat thinking about this for several minutes. Then I asked the bar steward to get me the Rome telephone book. He handed h to me as if he were doing me a favour and asked if I would like another drink. I said not at this moment.

  I nicked through the pages of the book, looking for Veroni's name, but it didn't show. This didn't mean much. He probably ran his agency under a fancy name.

  I crossed over to the telephone booth near the bar and called Jim Matthews.

  It took me a little time to wake him up and get him out of bed.

  "For the love of mike!" he exclaimed when he came on the line. "Don't you know it's Sunday, you crazy lug? I didn't get to bed until four this morning."

  "Quit beefing," I said. "I want some information. Have you ever heard of Veroni, a private detective who handles special cases and is very expensive?"

  "No, I haven't," Matthews said. "You've got the name wrong. I know all the private dicks in this city. Veroni isn't one of them."

  "He couldn't be someone you've missed?"

  "I'm damn sure he isn't. You've got the name wrong."

  "Thanks, Jim. Sorry to have got you out of bed," I said, and before he could start cursing me, I hung up.

  I told the bar steward that I had changed my mind about a drink, carried the whisky back to my table and went through the report again.

  Out of the fifteen men whom Helen had blackmailed, I was the only one, according to the report, who not only had the motive, but the opportunity of killing her.

  I spent another five minutes turning the set-up over in my mind, then I finished my drink, and, feeling a little high, I went back to the coffee bar.

  Sarti still sat where I had left him, twiddling his hat and looking sad. He rose to his feet as I came across to join him and sat down when I did.

  "Thanks for letting me read this," I said, and offered him the sheaf of papers.

  He recoiled from it as if I had waved a black mamba in his face.

  "It is for you, signer. I wouldn't wish to keep it."

  "Yes, of course. I wasn't thinking." I folded the papers and put them in my inside pocket. "Il Signor Veroni has copies of these papers?"

  The corners of Sarti's mouth turned down.

  "Unfortunately, yes."

  I lit a cigarette and stretched my legs. I wasn't feeling scared any more. I now had the idea what was behind this set-up.

"Is il Signor Veroni wealthy?" I asked.

Sarti raised his black, bloodshot eyes and looked inquiringly at me.

  "A private detective is never wealthy, signor," he said. "For a month you work, then for three months, perhaps, you wait. I wouldn't say il Signor Veroni is well off."

  "Do you think we might make a deal with him?"

  Sarti appeared to consider this. He scratched the top of his scruffy head and frowned down at the bronze ashtray that stood on the table by him.

  "In what way – a deal, signor?"

  "Suppose I offered to buy these reports from him," I said. "You must have read them."

  "Yes, signor. I have read them."

  "If Carlotti got hold of them, he might jump to the conclusion that I was responsible for la signorina's death."

  Sarti looked as if he were going to burst into tears.

  "That was the unfortunate impression that I got, signor. That was the only reason why I begged il Signor Veroni not to do anything for three days."

  "Do you imagine Veroni's high sense of duty would prevent him from making a deal with me?"

  Sarti shrugged his fat shoulders.

  "In my work, signor, one always looks ahead. It is a good thing to be prepared for every contingency. I thought it was possible that you would wish to keep these reports from Lieutenant Carlotti. I mentioned the fact to il Signor Veroni. He is a difficult man: his sense of duty is over-developed, but I have been friends with him for a long time and it is possible for me to put my cards on the table. I know his ambition is to buy a vineyard in Tuscany. It is possible that he could be persuaded."

  "Would you undertake to persuade him?"

  Sarti appeared to hesitate.

  "You are my client, signor. When I accept a client, I give him my whole support. It is how I built up my business. This is difficult and dangerous. I could be prosecuted, but, nevertheless if you wish it, I would be prepared to take the risk to give satisfaction."

  "Your motives are as impressive as il Signor Veroni's," I .said.

  He smiled mournfully.

  "I am here to serve," he said.

  "What do you imagine a vineyard in Tuscany would cost?" I asked, looking directly at him. "Did you think to ask him?"

  He met my eyes without any effort.

  "I did touch on the subject. Il Signor Veroni isn't entirely without means, signor. It would seem he is lacking half the required sum: ten million lire."

  Ten million lire!

  That would clean me right out. During my fifteen years as a newspaper man I had managed to save just that amount.