GENESIS (GODS CHAIN) (23 page)

It was a lovely evening as
Francesca
drove into the quiet cul-de-sac off Via Cesare Colizza
where
Michaelangelo
lived
.
The
neighbourhood
was good enough for Pompey
,
and so it was also good enough for
Michaelangelo
.
Although t
he journey took about twenty minutes
, Francesca decided that the view was worth it
.

Michaelangelo
’s home was on the bottom floor flat of
a
three story building
,
whose
light blue
-
grey stonework
,
tall
,
arched door
way
and attractive wooden shutters
indicated that the building
was a superb place to live.
It was n
ot too far
away to commute and
yet
outside the hustle and bustle of city life
.
The light
,
marine
-
sloped roof was almost flat.
Francesca admired the
large
,
paved courtyard
which was
surrounded by
a
tree and shrub garden
as she approached
.

A few cars were parked at the front
,
in the courtyard.
Francesca stopped her automobile and looked at the building; it
looked
exactly like the last time she visited
—
clean and quiet.
Getting out of her antiquated Mini Cooper, Francesca
looked around for
Michaelangelo
’s Puma.
There were a few cars sitting
there—
a couple of Fiats, a Citroen and an Alpha
,
but
Michaelangelo
’s
Yellow 1978 Puma GTE Coupe
was nowhere in sight
.

Mmm
...
this does not look to
o
good
—
no car!
All this way for nothing
....
she wondered what the chances were of
him being at home without his car,
and
decided there was nothing
to do
but to knock on
his door.
She
entered the building
’s front entrance, shivering in the
cool
darkness
of the entryway
.
Taking off her sunglasses
, Francesca
pressed his door buzzer
and waited
.
There was n
o answer.
She continued to press th
e buzzer
a few
more
times and waited
, but
n
o one came to the door.
Francesca
knocked on
the door and
then
turned the door knob gently.
The door was unlocked.
             

‘
Michaelangelo
! Hello, are you in?’ she shouted apprehensively
, feeling unsure about the unlocked door
.
Wh
en she heard no response,
Francesca
opened the door wider and looked inside. H
is rooms seem
ed
undisturbed
,
filled with
bamboo
furniture and
comfortable
,
light
-coloured
mosaic cushions. Magazines with automobiles and racing
cars
were
stacked here and there,
and a few pictures of old cars
adorned
the
brown- and red-toned
walls.
Green
Swiss cheese
plants stood in pots
,
as did ferns near his music system.
Francesca noted
the
sharp smell of cigarettes
that drifted
about his flat
,
catching the tips of her nostrils.
He smoked, but it was cigars,
she
remember
ed, her sense of unease rising
.
A coffee cup sat on the small table.
She touched it lightly
as she
walk
ed
past
the living room
and into his bedroom
,
popping her head
around the doorframe
slowly.

The room was empty and his bed looked unused.
A
computer
was
set
up near the bedroom window.
She looked at it
and switched it on
;
i
t fired into action after about
two
minutes
of warm up, and then gave
a logon.
Francesca
was familiar
with the
screen and was able to enter
Michaelangelo
’s
personal
profile, which
was protected
,
but she gain
ed
entry
by using the password she’d notice
d
him using
recently
at work,
as he often
logged in from his office desk remotely to his home PC.

             
Francesca decided that since she had already entered his house and logged on to his computer,
she might as well
look at his
b
rowser
to see what
web sites
he’d
visit
ed
recently.
The following list caught her eye:

www.vintageautocars.com

www.sicily.com

www.vaticanbank.com

www.cashinhand.com

Nothing suspicious here
,
she
decided, knowing his interests as she did
.
She closed down his PC and went to the bathroom
and
then the kitchen
, touching her fingertips to the old kettle
.

‘Ouch!’
she yelped,
surprised
. The kettle was hot!
H
e must have been in here recently!
she realized.

Francesca opened the back
door
,
which was
also un
locked
,
and
scanned
the open country and hills beyond
.
He has dashed for it, I think. It is so odd
...
what is he afraid of?

Francesca
returned to
the living quarters and felt the coffee cup
—
it too was warm.
She lifted a gaming magazine
from the top of the coffee table
and
noticed
something was circle
d
with a pen
:
Dammusi Finances and Gambling.
He always liked
gambling
...
maybe he is in financial difficulties?
Something else was bothering her, in the back of her mind,
however,
agitating her
.
B
ut
she
could not pinpoint
what the problem was
.

There did not seem
to be
evidence enough
of foul play
to call the
p
olice
,
but where the fuck was he?
I’ll try phoning him on the mobile
again,
she decided.

‘Oh shit
,
’
she muttered as she looked at her phone,
realisin
g
that she had
run
out of power
.
‘
W
hat a bugger.’ Francesca locked the back
door of the flat and also locked the front door before she left, pulling the door firmly behind her. Then a deep voice
echoed
from the stairs behind her.