Brimstone

"You didn't know him?" Pendergast asked.

"By reputation only." Inhale, exhale. "My colleagues at the polizia have a file on him already, which naturally they will not share with us."

"I could supply you with far more on Bullard, but it would do you no good. The information will only distract you, as it did me."

Esposito turned to the two carabinieri who were whispering together behind him. "Basta' cù stì fessarie! Mettiteve à faticà! Marò

D'Agosta suppressed a laugh. "I understood that."

"I didn't," said Pendergast.

"He was just telling those men in, ah, Neapolitan, 'Cut the bullshit and get back to work.'"

"My men are foolish and superstitious. Half of them believe this to be the work of the devil. The other half think it the work of some secret society. As you know, Florentine nobility is rife with them." Inhale, exhale. "It appears to me, Mr. Pendergast, that we have a joker on our hands."

"On the contrary, our killer could not be more serious."

"But all this-chest è 'nà scena rò diavulo?Come, now. All this may scare my men half to death, but you?"

"I assure you there is a most purposeful design here."

"I see you already have a theory as to what happened to Mr. Bullard. Perhaps you will be kind enough to share it with me?" The colo

"I am grateful," said Pendergast. "But for now, there's little more I can tell you than what I mentioned last night. We're investigating two mysterious deaths that took place recently in New York State. Locke Bullard was a possible suspect. At the very least, he was involved in some extremely shady dealings. But as it happens, his own death patterns the first two."

"I see. And do you have any ideas? Conjectures?"

"It would be unwise for me to answer that question. And you wouldn't believe me if I did."

"Va be’. Well then, what now?" He leaned back, picked up yet another cup of espresso, and tossed it back like a Russian tosses back a shot of vodka.

"I would like you to do a search of all deaths in Italy over the past year in which the body was found burned or partially burned."

Esposito smiled. "Another favor .    " He let his voice trail off into a cloud of smoke. "Here in Italy, we believe in the principle of reciprocation. I would like you to tell me, Mr. Pendergast, what you will be doing for me ."

Pendergast leaned forward. "Colo

Esposito gazed at him for a moment, stubbed out his cigarette. "Well then. You're looking for a burned corpse in Italy " He laughed. "That would involve half the homicides in the South. The Mafia, Camorra, Cosa Nostra, the Sardinians-burning their victims after killing them is a time-honored tradition."

"We can safely eliminate homicides related to organized crime, family or business feuds, or any for which you've already caught the killer. We're looking for one that is isolated, perhaps an older person, probably rural."

D'Agosta stared at Pendergast. What was he driving at? There was an eager glint in his eyes. He was clearly hot on some trail and, as usual, wasn't sharing it with anyone.

"That will narrow things down tremendously," said Esposito. "I'll get someone on it right away. It might take a day or two-we are not nearly as computerized as your FBI."

"I am most grateful." Pendergast rose and shook Esposito's hand.

The policeman leaned forward and said," Qua

As they exited into the sun, Pendergast turned to D'Agosta. "I find that I need to call on you again for a translation."

D'Agosta gri

"Appropriate." Pendergast inhaled. "What a fine day. Shall we go sightseeing?"

"What'd you have in mind?"

"I hear Cremona is lovely this time of year."

{ 61 }

D'Agosta stepped out of the Cremona train station into the warm sunlight of late morning. A wind had sprung up and was shaking the leaves of the plane trees in the broad piazza that lay before them. Beyond was the old part of the city, a cheerful medieval jumble of red-brick buildings rising from a maze of narrow streets. Pendergast chose one of these-the Corso Garibaldi-and began striding down it quickly, his black suit coat flapping behind him in the stiff wind.

With a sigh of resignation, D'Agosta hastened to keep up. He noticed the agent hadn't bothered to consult a map. Pendergast had spent most of the train ride talking about the history of the nearby marble quarries at Carrara, and the extraordinary coincidence that the source of the purest white marble in the world was located only a few dozen miles downriver from the birthplace of the Renaissance, giving the Florentine sculptors options other than black or green marble. He had deftly deflected D'Agosta's inquiries as to the reason why sightseeing had taken them here.

"Now what?" D'Agosta asked, sounding a little more irritated than he intended.

"Coffee." Pendergast swerved into a café and approached the zinc bar. D'Agosta felt his irritation swell.

"Due caffè, per favore," Pendergast said.

"Since when did coffee become your favorite drink? I thought you were a green-tea man."

"Usually, yes. But when in Rome-or Cremona, as the case may be .    "

The coffees arrived, in the usual tiny espresso cups. Pendergast stirred his, tossed it down in the Italian ma

"My dear Vincent, please don't think I'm being intentionally mysterious. In certain kinds of police work, there can be great danger in propounding theories. They take on a life of their own. They are like wearing colored spectacles, becoming the truth we see even when it is wrong. So I hesitate to bandy theories-especially with someone whose judgment I respect as much as yours-until I have proof in hand. That is why I have not asked for your theories, either."

"I don't have any theories."

"You will, before the day is up." He tossed a two-euro coin on the counter, and they went out. "Our first stop is the Palazzo Comunale, a fine example of medieval civic architecture, containing a notable marble chimneypiece by Pedoni."

"Heck, I've always wanted to see that chimneypiece."

Pendergast smiled.

A ten-minute walk brought them to the heart of the city and a crooked piazza. On one side stood an enormous cathedral with a soaring tower. Pendergast gestured at it as they passed. "That is said to be the tallest medieval tower in Italy. Built in the thirteenth century, the height of a thirty-three-story skyscraper."

"Amazing."

"And here is the Palazzo Comunale." They entered a massive, unadorned medieval palace built of brick. A guard nodded at them as they passed the entrance, and D'Agosta wondered if it was Pendergast's air of utter self-confidence, or something else, that allowed them such easy entry. He followed Pendergast up a flight of stairs and down several stone corridors to a small, barren room. A glass case stood in its center, and an enormous Venetian glass chandelier hung from above, bristling with lightbulbs and giving the room the brilliance of a movie set. An armed guard stood nearby.