The Lost Swimmer (26 page)

The Commissario walked up beside me, grinning. He clapped. ‘Brava, brava. A stellar performance, Professor.' He laughed sarcastically. ‘Perhaps Carlo Lotti is a debt collector?'

‘If you won't help me, Commissario Napolitano, then I'll find people who will,' I said and strode out. Marco trailed behind.

‘That man's insane. He's completely incompetent. And he thinks I murdered Stephen!' I was shouting.

‘Shh, shh,' Marco waved his hands.

We hit the night air, cool and fresh compared to the heavy atmosphere of the police station. ‘I have to get to Naples,' I said as my head spun and a lump of bile rose in my throat.

‘The Commissario's a hero. The last thing you must do is put him offside,' said Marco, glancing back nervously at the police station. Nobody had followed us out.

A wave of nausea belted me and I bent and vomited into the gutter. ‘I have to find someone who'll help.' I vomited again, as if my stomach were heaving out of my body. I tried to focus. ‘Could you please take me to a bus or somewhere I can get to Naples?'

Marco handed me a handkerchief, uneasy. He chirped his car unlocked. ‘Come on, I'll drive you,' he murmured.

‘Thank you.' My heart was racing, my head pounding as I hurried into the car.

‘This is a very small place,' Marco said as he fired up the engine. ‘You must be careful.'

But careful was the last thing I intended. I would do whatever it took to find Stephen. At the turn-off where the bougainvillea shivered and bounced in the long twilight, I wound down my window and tried to breathe, fighting a deep fear.

I
n a cramped office in the central Naples police station, Marco was explaining the situation to an officer in her late twenties. Stylish and commanding in a crisp blue uniform, she cast a sceptical glance my way.

‘Professor Wilding?' she asked as though it were in doubt. ‘My name is Nina. I am a good friend of Marco. So, I am at your service.' She shook my hand with a firm grasp. ‘I am very sorry to hear about your husband.' Her English was assured and she rolled her r's with a slight American twang. ‘I am also sorry to say that Carlo Lotti is known to us here in Naples. In fact, it was I who went to his house to enquire about your car accident. We also wanted to question him for robbery. He wasn't home but we met up the next day as he tried to board a train to Roma. He has been our guest ever since. We caught him red-handed with stolen goods.' She gazed at me with concern. ‘Unfortunately this was the day after your accident. Carlo Lotti could not possibly be involved in the disappearance of your husband.'

I felt hollow as the news sunk in.

‘I am sad to hear about Signor Wilding's gambling problem,' she purred gently.

‘Nina, don't you think it's strange that no body has washed up? And the sea was so calm that night? Could he have been murdered?' I asked, the thought unbearable.

‘I find that very unlikely. You were in the hotel and it's not the most accessible of places.'

Had the road that Stephen hated protected him? I longed to hear his voice complaining about it.

‘But it's possible?' I pursued.

‘Random killings in this area don't happen.' Nina shook her head with certainty. ‘Professor, until there's a body, you're free to go where you like, but of course you won't leave the area?'

‘No.'

‘We have checked that he hasn't used his passport or accessed his accounts, but there is only so much we can do. I am very pleased that Marco has offered to help. I would suggest you ask around. If your husband has run away because of his bad debts, someone must have seen him somewhere. He might have hoarded cash and planned this.' She gave an unsettling smile – but she had also reignited my hope. Stephen would, of course, build up cash if he intended to run away.

‘A pleasure to meet you,' said Nina, standing. ‘I am sorry it had to be under these circumstances. We will do what we can. Good luck.' She disappeared into the loud, bustling bowels of the station.

Marco and I found our way out, past a seedy group of shuffling humanity, victims and abusers, and a large contingent of police.

‘Nina is a professional. She keeps an open mind,' said Marco once we were in the street.

‘I think Stephen's alive,' I said intently, checking my phone; nothing from Stephen but a message from Burton popped up. He and Maria had just arrived at Naples airport. I called him immediately, relieved. ‘We'll come and get you.'

•  •  •

Marco's face dropped in disbelief when he saw my dynamic duo. Burton was sitting stock still with anticipation in his gleaming wheelchair. Maria stood beside him, Burton's coat wrapped around her. She looked ancient.

‘My dear, my dear, you poor thing, how are you?' She ran up. ‘What a terrible, terrible tragedy! Have they recovered the body?'

‘No, and I'm not sure he drowned, Maria.' We kissed each other on both cheeks as she wrapped her tiny wings about me.

‘Whatever do I make of that?' she exclaimed as Burton took my hand and squeezed tightly.

As we drove back to the hotel I filled them in on Stephen's disappearance.

‘We'll start canvassing tomorrow,' said Burton. ‘Between us, if Stephen did run away, we'll find someone who saw him.'

‘And I'll take friends and scour the coastline in my boat,' said Marco. ‘We'll check every cove again, in case the police missed something.'

As we arrived at Della Mare it glowed silver beneath a moonlit sky, perching like a Cubist eagle on its cliff. Marco hurried inside to check if the lift had been fixed, and came back relieved. ‘It's working,' he said confidently, and proceeded to wrestle Burton's wheelchair around to the side of the car. ‘I'll see your friends to their rooms, Becca. You get some rest.'

Maria darted about, trying to help Marco, trying to soothe me. ‘Are you sure you don't need company, Rebecca?' she asked, looking spent, a feverish tiredness driving her.

‘Thanks, Maria, but you must sleep.' The words stuck in my throat. Under her kind gaze the muscles of my face suddenly gave way to tears. Maria flung herself against me and hugged me so hard I gasped for air. ‘It's just so unbelievable. Stephen's debts, his disappearance, that foul Napolitano accusing me of killing him,' my voice rose to a wail as sobs shook my body. ‘Please help me find him.'

‘Of course we will, of course we will.' Maria rubbed my back with a firm, warm hand.

‘Don't worry, Bec.' Burton wheeled close, his voice soothing and authoritative. ‘Together we'll get through this. Let's come to your room and go through everything again. Just like a dig: we'll sift through and look at every tiny detail.'

We opened the balcony doors for air but sat inside, not wanting anyone to hear us. Our voices low and urgent, we circled around everything again. Once Marco had brought coffee, handed out keys to neighbouring rooms for Burton and Maria and then gone to bed, we could finally add the fraud and suspected affair to our deliberations. How did it all fit?

‘Bec, when I was ringing you earlier,' said Burton, ‘I wanted to tell you what happened at the bank archive. When we went back to photocopy, all the paperwork had vanished. There's no record of it anywhere.'

Maria nodded, wide-eyed. ‘And the accounts have been blocked now, so Sofia can't access them.'

‘We were sure no one had seen us – well, no one we didn't trust or hadn't bribed,' continued Burton, ‘but someone was looking and they'd taken everything. Do you think there's a connection?'

I rested my forehead into the palm of my hand and it felt like lead. Thoughts snapped in an electrical fizz. My head swam and I felt sick. I couldn't make sense of anything. Maria took my hand.

‘There's nothing more we can do at this moment,' she said gently. ‘Burton, you go to your room. Rebecca, I'm here with you. Sleep. All of us. That's an order.' With that she kicked off her shoes and lay down on my bed. Stephen's side of the bed. My face crumbled again. Burton, dismayed, moved close.

‘Thank you,' I whispered, kissing him on the head. His blue eyes looked up, filled with sympathy. I moved him out the door and then fled to the bathroom where I drenched my face in cold water and silently wept, my body racked with pain, until I was so exhausted I could barely make it back to the bed, where I collapsed beside Maria. Still my mind wouldn't turn off. I lay thinking haphazardly, my brain a stew of nightmare scenarios and a fierce attempt at logic that went nowhere. And I worried desperately how I would tell James and Erin their father was missing.

•  •  •

The day was fresh and crisp, the sea lapped calmly beneath a startling blue sky. I rose quickly, not wanting to wake Maria.

I looked over the balcony, scanning far along the coast, but I couldn't see the helicopter or police boats. My stomach wrenched. Had they given up the search already? Gratefully I remembered that Marco was going out with his friends today.

I phoned reception and Adriana confirmed he had left at dawn. Maria sat up, stretched her tiny wings, then quickly bustled into action, throwing on a bright red sundress and wrapping a rainbow-coloured scarf around her head, pinning it into her black, perfectly-styled hair.

After setting Burton up at a table overlooking the sea, Maria and I struck out for the beach. I wanted to see everything in the daylight. Burton immediately started tapping notes into his computer, making a list of possible people who might have seen Stephen.

‘We'll eat after!' called Maria. I marvelled at her agility as she flashed along, balance-perfect as she navigated the loose gravel path with ease. I quizzed her for more details about the bank, desperate to know everything in case it might help us discover a link.

‘Sofia had never seen anything like it, Rebecca. The first day we went to the archive, she bribed the man in control and he was fine – he went off for a cigarette and we were away. It took us a while because as you can imagine, nothing was well ordered. Files plonked here and there, boxes of stuff that had never been dealt with. They're all chain smokers and the air was thick with cigarette odour, quite revolting. Sofia and I gathered anything that looked promising and Burton sorted through it. If it weren't for his meticulous eye we would never have found the papers. They'd slipped between two other files.' Maria flung her arms in the air in a gesture of prayer. ‘There was your passport photo, and Burton swore it looked like your signature. To all intents and purposes, if we didn't know better it just all looked above board – like you'd opened the accounts, no big deal.'

We were suddenly stopped by the gate, which was locked. I groaned. How would I get Maria over? I felt a stab of memory for Stephen, the day he'd tossed me up, how much we'd laughed. Had he been desperate even then? I fought back tears, my eyes so sore and swollen they'd close completely if I cried again.

‘It's all right, dear.' Maria's focus was on the barricade. She pulled a hairpin from her scarf and proceeded to twist it expertly from side to side in the lock until there was a loud click and the gate sprung open.

Maria hurried through. After I followed, she suddenly stopped, then scurried back to the gate and, hairpin in hand, locked it again. ‘Just in case,' she mumbled, then bustled on. I struggled to keep up.

‘Now, where was I?'

‘My passport photo.'

‘Ah, yes. So, we scrutinised the application. Sofia said it was very standard – and definitely the sort that was set up in person.'

‘Set up in person? I thought it was authorised from Australia?'

‘No. Set up in person, in Athens,' Maria replied firmly.

‘I know the date it was set up from the university records. April twenty-ninth,' I cried, elated. ‘I wasn't in Greece then – I was working at Coastal. It was first semester. That means I can prove it wasn't me.'

Maria stopped so abruptly I bumped into her, nearly tumbling us both into the dirt.

‘But it wasn't April, Rebecca. It was February second. And I know exactly where you were. You were travelling home – you'd just been to the conference in Crete.'

‘But I didn't even go into Athens that time. I just changed planes at the airport. And the bank statements I've seen clearly show the accounts were set up in April.'

‘I don't know. Possibly the bank moving slowly? It was only an application.' Maria's brow puckered. ‘But now we don't have the paperwork, so we can't check anything.'

I felt a chill – whoever was doing this had checked I was in Greece in February last year and knew that it would be hard to prove I had waited at the airport for the flight back to Australia. I would have had plenty of time to go into the city.

‘So, tell me about how the paperwork disappeared?' I asked as we moved off down the hill again.

‘The main boss came back from lunch.'

‘The one Sofia had bribed?'

‘No, that was the guy in control of the archive, Vasson. Not the boss. This is Greece, don't forget. Lots of excess layers. So, it's hard to hide Burton, and the boss starts asking questions. But Vasson, God bless him, makes up an altogether different story for why we're there.'

‘Couldn't you just take the papers with you?'

‘That would be a criminal offence. Sofia felt it best to return at lunchtime the next day: Vasson would let us in, and we'd photocopy everything.'

‘And that's not an offence?'

‘Evidently not as bad,' Maria shrugged. ‘But when we came back, the papers had gone. Burton was positive he knew where he left them. And not in the official file, of course. Which makes it creepier. If someone from the bank branch had come for them, they were misfiled so they wouldn't have found them.'

‘Vasson?'

‘Sofia thinks not. Vasson certainly seemed to be as surprised as we were when we returned and couldn't find them.'