The Sacred Cut

She turned back to the window again. The girl was remaking the face, shifting the stark gaze of the creature’s coal eyes straight at the house. Falcone was watching her, finger to his cheek, thinking. About more than a snowman too, Teresa guessed. There’d been a storm hanging over all of them since the events in the Pantheon two days before. The media hadn’t gone to town on the story beyond the plain details: that a killer had been apprehended by the state police. Then the headlines seemed to wane. The papers and the TV people liked stories with begi

Great, she thought. Nic finally gets a girl and she lives in America, a different world, across a distant ocean. Probably jobless too, though with that beautiful blonde hair and a pretty, magnetic face that went from cool to angry to childlike in the space of a couple of seconds it wouldn’t take long. God, she thought. Can’t men pick them?

After all, Gia

“Who am I kidding?” she murmured, suddenly furious with herself. “I’m the catch of a lifetime.”

She watched Laila place the carrot in the centre of the snowman’s face, turn to Falcone and smile. Such an open, untainted smile, one she’d not managed to get out of the girl however hard she tried. One that, to her alarm, Falcone returned with just as much sudden, unbridled warmth. Then his phone bleated and the old Leo resurfaced. An urgent desire for a glass of grappa rose in Teresa. She walked into the living room, saw Gia

“Move over, you big lunk,” she grumbled, then shuffled down beside him and poured herself a big glass of the clear stuff.

Those smart, piggy eyes opened and looked at her. “Yes?”

“Yes what?”

“You look like you want to get something off your chest.”

“No, I don’t!”

He shrugged. She was going to have her say anyway and he knew it.

“I wish you were right, Gia

“I know.”

He was being infuriating. It was deliberate.

“This cousin of yours. They’re farmers or something? It’s not enough. You can’t just explain the situation and watch the child’s eyes light up listening and then suddenly she goes, ”Aahhh.“ ”

He thought about it. “This is true. But I think she’s a country girl, really. You can see the city harms her. A move might help. Just a step in the right direction. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s Christmas. Can’t we leave all the worrying to one side for a day?”

He was right. It was another of his infuriating habits. No one could cure Laila in a day. But getting her out of Rome, with its vicious round of traps waiting to ensnare even the most street-smart of kids, was surely a good idea.

“OK,” she conceded. “But will you kindly disagree with me when I want an argument? I hate punching thin air.”

She wanted to pummel her fists on his big chest. She wanted to take him home, throw him in her bed, ignore all the precautions and see what happened when you stopped thinking about the future for once.

“No,” Gia

“What’s going to happen?” she demanded quietly.

“Why ask me?” He shrugged. “I’m the last person to know about anything around here.”

To her amazement, Peroni hadn’t sulked-not seriously-when he discovered what she, Nic and, to an extent, Falcone had cooked up between them to try to persuade Thornton Fielding to give himself away. Peroni was, she now understood very clearly, as straight a cop as anyone could find in Rome. The idea of trusting someone like Kaspar-even for what seemed to be the best of reasons-that there simply was no choice-was one he’d found deeply uncomfortable.

“I said I was sorry, Gia

And also, she thought, you’re just too damn honest to get away with deceptions.

“I just felt awkward that you put your job on the line. Going into the embassy. Calling the Carabinieri, for God’s sake. I mean… That’s just downright rude!”

“Sorry,” she said meekly. “Won’t happen again, honest.” Then, more seriously, “So what happens to us?”

The shadow of a grimace flickered on his ugly face. “Between Leo, Nic and me we seem to have pissed off plenty of people. You should be OK, though. Leapman’s got bigger things to worry about. Besides, you’re a civilian. You can support me. That was a good meal, huh? Bet you didn’t know I could cook, too. I could have a meal waiting for you on the table when you come home. Be a househusband.”

That wasn’t fu

“I’m not too good at being handsome. Or… talking from time to time.”

She put a hand to his cheek, lightly, because it was still bruised from the beating Kaspar had given him, and there were black scabs hardening over the marks he’d been carrying for years.

“You’ll do just fine,” she said. “I meant what’s going to happen about you and me, actually.”

“Ah,” he said softly. “You mean will I walk away once this is over? Will I run back to my wife? Or decide it’s just better being single after all?”

“That and a few other things.”

“As everyone seems to have been saying these past few days, it’s a new world, girl. Who the hell knows what will happen tomorrow?”

“Who the hell wants to know anymore?”

Peroni put his slab of a hand on the side of her face, tousled her hair with his fat fingers, then threw his arms around her and instigated a bone-breaking, bear-like hug.

“Season’s greetings, Teresa,” he whispered. “Let’s go home soon, huh? Laila gets picked up in an hour or so anyway.”

“I’ve got that spare bedroom. If you like, she could…”

He smiled. “You don’t have to do that.”

No, she thought. It was u

“It’s a deal,” she said, and watched Leo Falcone come in through the back door, Laila behind him, the tall bony inspector looking pleased as punch.

He stood there, smirking.

“Leo…?” Peroni asked hesitantly.

THE STUDIO WAS A MESS. Cobwebs hung down from the ceiling in thick, extended clumps. Canvases stood on easels, half-hidden by old sacking. There were suitcases on the floor, brimming with dust. Scarcely a soul had been in the room since his sister Giulia moved out to Milan almost five years before. The beauty of the place was obvious all the same. Floor-length French windows ran down the southern side of the house, allowing in so much light it could be dazzling in summer. For a painter, for anyone who dealt in the visual, Nic Costa thought, this would be the perfect home. Giulia even slept in this room sometimes, falling asleep on the little couch, covered in spatters of colour, exhausted.