They ended up in Grosseto on the mainland. The regional hospital was there, as well as the police and judicial facilities they would likely need for the entirety of the operation. Lewis, Fahrid, and Cornish were all under close care, all three unconscious at the moment. As soon as they arrived from the island of Giglio, the interested parties from England and Sicily gathered at the hospital to see about the conditions of the injured men.
Hathaway sought out Salvo, and found him morose and hunched over a cup of espresso from the hospital café. "Can we talk about Cornish?"
His question earned him a bitter look and a dismissive wave.
"I can't negotiate with you, I need a senior officer."
Any further attempts by James to negotiate directly were ignored, shut down, or otherwise rendered null and void. Hathaway sidled up to Laura as she hunched over her cuppa, waiting on word about Lewis's condition.
"You not only injured the commissario's family jewels, you may have done some damage to our success here."
Puzzled and peeved, she considered what he'd said. "How could I have done that, Hathaway?"
"With one well-placed knee, you took out a perfectly cooperative person with the authority to extradite Jack! How can you not be aware of that?"
"He's still mentally functional, Hathaway!"
"Mentally, maybe, but not emotionally. He's pivotal to this. I think we had his sympathy right up until you damaged his manhood."
She shrugged, unable to undo what she'd done.
Jean Innocent picked up her phone, glad at last to have news of how the Italian contingent were getting on.
"Hathaway, good evening, how are things in Italy?"
There was a momentary pause, then a snort. None of which boded well for the upcoming report.
"Well, Ma'am. Lewis has been shot by the mafia and is injured and unconscious in hospital. Jack Cornish also has been shot by the mafia and is injured and unconscious in hospital. But I'm okay, and Laura Hobson is uninjured. The Italians aren't certain they're going to allow extradition, but it obviously depends on whether Jack survives and whether their star witness—who, oh, did I mention? was also shot by the mafia and is injured and wavering on unconsciousness?—survives."
Jean took 12 full seconds to absorb this news.
"Hathaway? Are you telling me you haven't gotten the Italians to release Cornish yet? What are you waiting for?"
She was about to close the connection, but she heard James's immediate protestations.
"Ma'am, the thing is, with Lewis out of commission, I can't negotiate with the commissario; I'm not authorized because I'm not of high enough rank."
He pretty much could hear her frown as she mulled over what he was saying. To help her along, he continued. "We need at least a detective inspector to deal with him, according to their procedures. And I don't think Cornish will be willing, assuming he wakes up."
"Are you saying I need to come to Italy to complete the negotiations?"
Hathaway stared at his phone, wondering what part of "I'm not authorized" she didn't understand. "Erm, YES, that's what I'm saying. Someone ranking higher than me needs to be here!"
Jean Innocent could hardly be expected to carry her own bags. She and D.C. Alex Gray arrived in Tuscany mid-evening to do what they could to further the negotiations for Jack Cornish's extradition, with Hathaway and Fazio picking them up from the airport in a rented car. The entire way to the hospital, Jean gripped the car door handle with one hand and the seat with the other as Fazio sped through traffic, careening around turns, zipping past slower cars, and braking hard when necessary.
Jack, Fahrid, and Lewis were all still alive, the Englishmen both still unconscious, and Jean noted only one of them had a visitor: Laura sat with Robbie, her face drawn and pale. Jean greeted her with sympathetic eyes, then peered at Robbie's bandaged head.
"How bad . . .?"
Laura shrugged. "A bullet grazed his head. They think it shouldn't be too serious, but they're concerned that he's still unconscious." She glanced at Hathaway and Fazio. "These two guys have been a great team for getting information from the doctors." She gave them a grateful smile.
Jean turned to the two men, specifically addressing Fazio. "Erm, could you excuse us a moment? Scusi?"
Fazio nodded agreeably and went out to the corridor. Jean looked from Laura to Hathaway. "This commissario—what's he like to deal with?"
They spoke at the same time, except the last word of their two sentences differed considerably:
"He can be a real—
—prick."
—charmer."
Jean's eyes flicked from one to the other and back again. "Ah." Then, "Hathaway, I'd like to meet with him as soon as possible, get this all straightened out. And then assuming D.C. Gray has us successfully checked in, I can relax and get a decent night's sleep."
Hathaway glanced at Laura before answering. "Erm, Ma'am, they don't do things like that here. The commissario is probably at his hotel room for the night, and morning meetings come late here. Let's get Fazio back in here and see how early we can set something up."
They managed to set a meeting for half past eight at the hospital, since it was where they'd all end up, anyway. Secretly, Fazio thought it would be a miracle if Salvo showed before nine.
Jean strode briskly back to the hotel. She found Gray in the hotel bar, uncomfortably sipping a beer. He looked like a man who had been caught out, and he pointed embarrassedly to the half-empty glass.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, I didn't feel right sitting here not buying a drink and I didn't know how to order anything else."
She stared for a moment, then smiled. "That's fine, Alex, really. I myself could use something to relax with."
She caught a waiter's eye and ordered a glass of red wine. But Jean had caught the eye of more than the waiter. As she sipped, gazing around at the other faces in the bar, her eyes settled on a man who looked to be in his early 50s; he was tan and had vivid blue eyes and an aquiline nose, and wavy, jet-black hair just brushing the collar of his crisp white shirt. He noted the eye contact, and smiled.
"If you don't mind, Ma'am," Gray said, draining his glass, "I'd as soon make an early night of it."
"No, that's fine. I won't be long, either, I expect." Gray didn't notice how distractedly she spoke. But as he turned to go, the other man was ready to take his place next to his boss. He flashed a scowl that was returned with a smile of straight, white teeth. Then the man turned away from Gray and introduced himself to Jean—in English, but with an Italian accent like liquid gold.
"Good evening, miss. I apologize for being so forward, but I couldn't help noticing what a beautiful smile you have. May I get you another glass of wine?"
She realized hers was already empty, and nodded her assent. "Yes, thank you. Lovely." Lovely . . . his voice is so lovely.
"I'm Giorgio. And you are . . . ?"
Gray grimaced at the man's transparent ploy, and headed off to his room, confident that Innocent had the sense to brush the fellow off when she'd had enough.
Salvo was there at half-past eight on the dot, joining Fazio, Gray, and Hathaway. But there was no sign of Jean Innocent. His eyes wide with regret, Salvo held out his hands, palm up, helplessly. "I want to let you have him – but where is your authority?" Gray scrambled off to see if he could find her, while Hathaway could merely shrug.
At an impasse, Salvo sent Fazio to find some coffee and something to eat. It didn't take the junior officer long to return from the hospital café, but after a single bite, the commissario threw his roll back in the bag in disgust. His expression did not need a translator. Fazio bolted for the exit and James eagerly offered to go with him. Fortunately, they didn't have too far to find a bakery with more suitable pastries, a few hundred meters from the hospital's main entrance was all it took. Congratulating themselves on their success, they strode quickly back to where they'd left the commissario. But he was gone.
They looked down the corridor, checked around the corners, and even popped into the men's room, but he was not to be found. As a last resort, they split up; three minutes later, Fazio rang James on his mobile.
"I found him, James. He's with Fahrid."
They entered the room quietly. Salvo sat beside Fahrid's bed, holding the lad's hand in both of his. His eyes were moist. Fahrid gave the two newcomers a small smile.
"He's been talking to me in Italian," he explained to James. "I have no idea what he was saying, but it sounded so nice. He was saying something about François."
"Your friend, François?" James asked.
"I think he meant someone else."
Salvo sighed and squeezed Fahrid's hand as he rose. "Arrivederla, Fahrid." He smiled gently, as though there was no question Fahrid would be fine.
They went out and Fazio handed over the coffee and pastry. This time, Salvo carefully sniffed the offering before his face registered satisfaction. And the two bagmen were rewarded with a luminous expression of bliss after the first bite. But just then, Laura burst around the corner, her face beaming with happiness.
"There you are! Robbie's awake!"
Salvo shot a glance at Hathaway. Let's go! it clearly said. Breakfast was forgotten.
They gathered in Lewis's hospital room, much to the dismay of his nurse. Laura held Robbie's hand and beamed at him. He was conscious, aware, and eager to deal with matters concerning Jack Cornish.
Salvo began with an apology and an explanation (via Hathaway):
"I'm sorry to have stretched this out so long. When Fahrid appeared, and I had a real chance at making a case against Cornish, I had to reassess my decision. I hope you understand. My questore put unusual pressure on me to not give you satisfaction." He repeated, adding meaning by his emphasis: "Unusual pressure."
Lewis checked with Hathaway, "Questore, that's his Chief Super?"
"Higher than that. More like Chief Constable, Sir. Salvo is the head of his station."
"Oh." Lewis had assumed he and the commissario were of equal rank. He asked his next question directly to Salvo, using the Italian phrase he'd heard the man repeat. "By pressione insolito you mean that, erm, criminal influence you mentioned earlier?" He mimed zipping his lip.
Salvo shrugged, but with a knowing expression.
"And you submit to that kind of pressione insolito?" Lewis couldn't quite keep the disgust from creeping into his voice.
The Sicilian's eyes darkened, and he stared hard at Robbie. Fazio took a step backward, and Hathaway, noticing this, took a step forward.
Keeping his eyes fixed on the inspector, Salvo reached his right hand inside his jacket. Hathaway sucked in a breath.
Salvo pulled out a notebook, flipped to a page, then commandeered Fazio's mobile, thumbing it as he raised it to his ear. James exhaled, relieved, and Fazio gave him a funny look. Embarrassed, James grinned foolishly. "I thought for a second he was going to . . . Never mind."
Fazio snorted. "He gets angry, yeah, but never out of control. Anyway, we've already seen that your boss can survive being shot at."
Hathaway listened in as Salvo spoke into the phone. His tone was just barely on the respectful side of curt, and he lied blatantly, saying that the hoped-for witness had been unable to identify Cornish. He had known this, he said, but had maintained the ruse to try and flush out the mafia. The shout from the other end of the line was loud enough even for James to hear – Well, you brought them out alright, it's taking a lot of effort here in Vigàta to quell the backlash.
Without replying, Salvo cut off the call. Then he made a quick bow of his head to Lewis. "Cornish—you." He waved his hand to connect Lewis and Jack, then took the papers from his jacket and handed them to his English counterpart.
Lewis gaped at the apparent swiftness of the decision, but when he glanced at the signatures on the last page, he saw the one that had been missing was now filled in. His eyes shot to Salvo's.
"How did you . . . ?" He pointed to the final signature.
Salvo tipped his head in Fazio's direction. Fazio muttered something to James, who conveyed the information. "The helicopter stopped in Catania on the way north so Fazio could get it. Salvo wanted to have it in case he decided in your favor."
Lewis squinted. "So it was up to him all along, there on the island, only the Questore didn't know that."
"Yeah, pretty much."
Salvo stepped forward and warmly shook Robbie's hand. Lewis returned the Sicilian's generous smile, and the two inspectors knew they had built between them mutual trust and respect, despite everything. And Salvo glared at Fazio, daring him to say anything, anything, the least bit congratulatory.
Fazio knew better. "Too bad we couldn't make our case, Sir." Fazio's expression conveyed far more truth than his words.
"Sì. Che peccato!"