Shout in the Dark

  *

  Colosseum

  BRUNO LOOKED AT his watch. It was a little after nine and the Colosseum had only just opened to visitors. A rough patch of shrubs and grass separated the Via Celio Vibenna from the Colosseum, a huge oval nearly two hundred yards by one hundred and fifty, its ancient walls towering over the surrounding parks and streets. From their hiding place close to the Arch of Constantine, he and Laura and Riccardo watched a red Fiat city car being parked in a disabled space close to the entrance. They had been expecting the two Germans to arrive on foot, but the young skinhead was driving this car, with Enzo sitting tensely in the passenger seat.

  Laura was in a state of confusion. She had clearly been sickened by the sight of Otto's charred body tied to the warped steering wheel yesterday, and today she said she was overwhelmed by the enormity of what they were taking on.

  "Let's stop," she begged. "Haven't we done enough?"

  Bruno also wondered whether to shout stop, to put off the killing of this unloved member of his family. Killing Otto Bayer had meant nothing because there was no blood tie there. The television broadcast showing the discovery of Otto's body in the barn would have terrified his half-brother Enzo and the young skinhead. They'd spend the rest of lives knowing someone was out to kill them. Always looking over their shoulders. Perhaps a life of anxiety would be a sort of justice.

  If only his half-brother had stayed as Enzo Bastiani; if only he had not become obsessed with his German father. But by using the name of the Sturmbannführer, Enzo had chosen to become the new Manfred Kessel, a man without a spark of humanity. A hated man. Eighteen years ago Enzo and this skinhead's father had murdered Laura's father.

  Bruno felt the sickness passing. Enzo was an unrepentant murderer. Today in Rome he would receive an appropriate justice.

  "I hate it here," Laura whispered urgently.

  Bruno signaled to her to be silent. "Riccardo, you'd better go to the upper level. Wait for the young German thug, the zoticone. Use your knife. Enzo will hear the commotion and go up to see what's happening. I want him to find the body. I'll follow him up and put a knife in his back in all the confusion."

  "Don't be a fool, Bruno," snapped Riccardo. "We're not playing games. We just want these scum out of the way. Who cares what order we do it in?"

  Bruno shook his head. "This is how I planned it. I'm here to pay back Sturmbannführer Kessel for … raping ... my Mamma." He felt another wave of nausea. Just saying the words was painful. "Riccardo, we want revenge. Of all people, Laura, you should want Enzo dead. Don't you want to plan and then savor his moment of death?"

  "Just get on with it." Laura was shaking now. "You've both got knives."

  "I think you're yellow, old man," said Riccardo, putting his arm on Bruno's shoulder. "You can't bring yourself to do it." He smiled. "If the task is too difficult, leave it to the young ones, eh."

  "I'll do it," Bruno insisted, his breathing fast but controlled. Enzo had grown up to be evil. Looking now at Enzo who was in the street, staring up at the outside walls of the Colosseum, he recalled the white marble stairways in the Via Tasso; the uniformed soldiers talking in strange foreign voices. He could never hear a German voice without seeing the high steel bed -- the Sturmbannführer with his Mamma. He shuddered. The Sturmbannführer and Enzo looked so alike.

  One moment he was hearing strident voices in the Gestapo Headquarters in the Via Tasso, the next he could see his little brother running in from the yard at home clutching his favorite blue knitted sailor doll. Had he really hated Enzo so much in those early days?

  Riccardo stood up. "I can't see the young one, but your brother may have gone inside. I'm going to find them. I'll kill them both if you like."

  Bruno jumped to his feet and grabbed hold of Riccardo roughly.

  "You stupid fool, you don't have a clue. That zoticone has gone up to see if it's safe. He knows about Otto Bayer. He's probably armed."

  "And if he is, I suppose you have some clever plan," scoffed Riccardo.

  Bruno smiled. "I'm going to talk to the skinhead. He wouldn't shoot me in front of the visitors. I'll lead him into one of the side rooms on the upper gallery where it's dark. Then I'll stick a knife in him when he's least expecting it. You two don't understand how it's done in the streets. I should have come here alone." He closed his eyes. From his jacket he produced a long, highly polished stiletto, one of a beautiful pair he had bought many years ago. The sun flashed from the slender blade.

  Once inside the Colosseum, Bruno watched Laura turn to Riccardo, fear in her eyes. "Take me away," she pleaded. "If Bruno wants to risk his life, that's up to him." A sudden sound of a passing siren broke through the noise of traffic. "The carabinieri," she said in panic. "They're coming for us."

  Riccardo's voice was raised and angry. He caught Laura by the arm and held her tightly. "This bimbo's not going to run away," he protested to Bruno. "She's in this as deep as we are. Let's go up and... Hell, the skinhead's already up there! He must have used the other stairway while we were talking."

  Without a further word he pulled Laura with him towards the steps to the upper gallery. Karl Bretz was leaning over the railings, studying the people below.

  KARL BRETZ WAS growing impatient waiting for Herr Kessel to join him. What did the old fool want him to do: check every alcove and passageway for bogeymen? The place looked like a derelict railway viaduct with huge arches, or an abandoned factory from the age of steam. It was a wonder anyone came here, the place was in such a mess. He moved away from the railings and went to the top of the staircase to look down. A man with swept back hair waved to him as though he knew him. Karl felt uncomfortable. No one in Rome would know who he was. The man had a woman with him, and they were climbing his way. He decided to stand back in one of the archways and see what happened next.

  As he entered the darkened area he stopped. The man and the woman were coming with him into what he could now see was a small room. The woman was attractive, with dark hair down to her shoulders. The man was a typical Italian, smartly dressed, with thinning hair swept back to reveal a high forehead.

  He felt paralyzed, like the time his mother caught him with his hands inside his pants. The man shouted something in Italian. The words meant nothing, but the way they were said sounded like a threat. He shook his head. Whoever these two were, they had no business with him.

  Suddenly the man produced a knife and lunged forward with a yell, a stream of Italian words pouring from his mouth. Karl stumbled back, trying to stay on his feet. There was no way he could get his handgun from his pocket in time, but he could deal with a knife attack. As the man came forward he caught him by the wrist, bringing the man's hand high above his head. He twisted the arm and brought it down on his shoulder. The man dropped the knife. As Karl looked down, the woman ran forward and kicked him in the crotch. He swore as he made his way out into the bright sunlight, his eyes streaming from the pain.

  Karl knew he had to get out of this place. There were several exits and he went for the nearest. The fools pushing their way up the stone steps were in his way, but their shouts of protest as he knocked them aside made the people below let him through. Herr Kessel was nowhere to be seen.

  A quick run across the grass brought him to the red Fiat. He wrenched the door open and slid in, fumbling with nervous fingers to put his key in the ignition. The pain in his crotch was pounding in time with his rapid heartbeats. As the engine fired he put his foot hard on the gas and turned into the main road, driving away from the danger. He wasn't running away out of fear, but common sense told him to forget about Herr Kessel. The Italian man and woman with the knife were insane. The last he saw of them they were standing on the grass on the other side of the road, looking helpless.

  LAURA FELT Riccardo keeping tight hold of her arm, but she pulled herself free and ran across the busy street. A tram was coming, packed with passengers. She cleared the orange front of the tram by inches and ran into a bar. Riccardo had not come with her. She sat at the b
ack and stared at the shelves of bottles. A drink was essential. As she got up to order a brandy, she caught sight of a phone on the wall. Marco would come and rescue her. For perhaps the first time in her life, apart from the talks she'd had with her father, she was feeling the need for a priest's advice. Her hands were shaking as she pressed the buttons for Marco's number in the Piazza di Santa Maria Maggiore.

  "This is Laura Rossetti, " she gasped.

  "Hi Laura." The voice sounded so calm.

  "Marco? Thank God you're there. I'm at the Colosseum. Something dreadful is happening. I'm caught up in a terrible situation. I..."

  "Slow down, Laura."

  Marco's comforting voice was having the required effect. She felt more composed now. "Marco, can you get a taxi and come here straight away? Bruno and Riccardo... Hell, Riccardo's here now. He wants me... Let go!"

  MARCO PRESSED the receiver close to his ear. He could hear someone shouting, and a woman screaming his name into the phone. Was it some sort of trick, or was this a genuine cry for help?

  "Laura," he called into the mouthpiece, "Laura, can you hear me?"

  The phone was dropped with a crash. A few seconds later, an unknown man's voice spoke clearly. "If you're Marco, you ought to know that your fancy woman has been taken away." The voice became sarcastic. "What are you, some sort of useless lover? Her husband is in one hell of a state. Take my advice and stay off the nest for a few days. You could be in trouble if he catches you."

  There was a roar of raucous laughter from the bar as the other customers shared the joke. Marco put the phone down. Riccardo and Laura in a fight at the Colosseum, and Laura urgently asking for his help? He had enough cash for a taxi. He just hoped he'd be in time to prevent Laura getting hurt.

  RICCARDO WAS squeezing her arm so tightly that Laura screamed out in pain.

  "Who the hell were you phoning?" Riccardo demanded.

  "A taxi. I want to go home. And let go of my arm, you're hurting me."

  Riccardo slapped her across the face. "Liar. There are taxis waiting over there if you want one. You were phoning your priest. What did you want to do -- confess?"

  "I don't want to be mixed up in this anymore. And I dropped my phone back there in the bar."

  "You can get your phone. We don't want to leave any evidence behind. We're not mixed up in it anymore. Bruno doesn't want us. He told us to go." He caught hold of her other arm as well. "I'm taking you straight back to your apartment, and then I'm going to work. Make sure someone sees you when you go in. If Bruno kills his brother, you're going to need a good alibi."