Chapter Four

Both inspectors returned to the room. I must have fallen asleep. My head was on the table. I mopped up the drool at the side of my mouth with my sleeve, the one they'd forcibly rolled up to reveal a pink dot that held no relevance to me.

They had their usual files to hand, yet they each had one extra this time. Red files and blue, the kind that seemed urgent to process, report, discard, who knew what else.

As usual, Inspector Reid began, taking out papers from his top file with intrinsic care, as if they were made of human skin, not trees.

'Where to begin?' He sighed, peering at the other inspector, perhaps waiting for a suggestion. He then turned to me with his fabricated smile and said, 'What do you know about your father's history, Miss Travinni?'

'What's he got to do with this?'

'Possibly plenty. Now, do you know of his past?'

My lawyer came through the door just in the nick of time, even if he was unprofessionally late.

'Traffic,' he declared, brushing down his tie and sitting beside me.

'They're asking questions about my father,' I told him.

'Ah … and why is that?' he asked the inspectors.

Inspector Reid handed him a photograph. It was of a man and woman, both decapitated and covered in blood.

I heaved and looked away.

'Explanation please,' said my lawyer to Inspector Reid.

'Miss Travinni's father was suspected of being involved in the killing of Mr and Mrs Savino.'

'My father wasn't perfect by far, but he was no murderer,' I ranted.

'So concluded the case,' said Inspector Reid, 'thanks to the witness changing his story. Albeit after a car accident that left him temporarily paralysed. He claimed he had been drinking that day and imagined two men at the beheading, not one. The case was dismissed as mistaken identity. Although it is widely known, even to the police, that Mr Travinni had friendships with the kind you'd rather avoid.'

'Who?' I asked, intrigued. My father was a closed casket, even before death. I realised I hardly knew anything about him to defend.

'You're Italian. Have a guess,' said Inspector Reid.

I looked to my lawyer. He raised a fine brow.

I laughed insidiously. 'What are you saying? Vito Corleone is my Godfather?'

'A real Vito could be yes, possibly.'

'Oh, come on. Talk about labelling.'

'It's not quite a label when an Italian man is in close connections with the Mafia, now, is it?' said the other inspector, always finding his voice when it mattered the most – at the nitty-gritty.

'There's more,' said Inspector Reid.

I braced myself.

'Here is the photograph of the baby your mother tried to smother to death.'

'Now you're going too far!'

'Please listen,' said Inspector Reid. 'The courts overruled the case when she was found to be suffering from postpartum psychosis. The fact that the child happened to be a distant relative of the Savinos was just a coincidence?'

'I don't have to listen to this.' I began to rise, but my lawyer held my hand down on the desk. He closed his eyes and nodded his head.

'There's even more to add to this riddle of a situation,' said Inspector Reid, retrieving the red file. I dreaded to think what could be placed in it, when blue was so vile. 'The man you claim to be Chad Glover doesn't exist. Not in this town, anyway. We were about to look into uncovering his identity through other means, but guess what? The miraculous body has disappeared.'

'He's been stolen?' I couldn't believe it.

'No, Miss Travinni. He's disappeared all by himself. Unless a member of the hospital team likes to collect bodies to take home and embalm, it's the only conclusion.'

'Well, have you questioned the hospital team?'

'Of course.'

'Which is it?'

'Broadhurst Hospital.'

'I work there.'

'We know. We've had a talk with members of staff and they claim you were acting suspiciously frail on the night of the shooting, as though you were nervous about something going wrong?'

'Let me get this straight. You think I'm a part of the Mafia and also a magician?'

'Somewhat, yes.'

'I'm not the Mafia! My father is dead! My mother knits for her nephews, for goodness' sake! And I don't know the man who was shot on that train!'

'Your brother, Miles, has been acquitted of arson, alleged kidnapping, and grievous bodily harm. On all accounts, the cases have been mishandled; perhaps there was a generous payout?'

'Stop!' I clamped my hands over my ears.

'We haven't even delved into the rest of your relatives.'

I screamed, got up and threw my chair against the wall. It ricocheted across the room, just about missing the other detective. Before I knew it I was being held down and tasered. I continued to thrash and kick.

'The Taser isn't working on her,' someone shouted.

I looked up at the three men huddled around me. More people entered, all of them eyeing me like an ancient relic.

'What are you?' muttered Mr Reid. 'What the hell are you?'