Present Day Hotel Rotoletti, Piazzale Roma, Venice Lieutenant Valentina Morassi picks Tom up at his own hotel a little after 8 a.m. She'd left a message there the previous night, and also at the Luna Baglioni.
The weather's cooler than it's been for some time, and Valentina is dressed in brushed-cotton, black Armani jeans, a short jacket of soft red Italian leather and a grey cashmere jumper over a long-collared white blouse. She has a weakness for clothes. More of her money goes on them than on food, which she thinks is probably a good thing, given that if it was the other way round she'd never fit into any of the stuff she likes to wear. It follows, then, that when Tom appears she instantly notices he's still wearing the same jeans, grey tee and grey hooded sweat-top that she first saw him in.
'Buongiorno!' he chirps, as he gingerly steps on to the deck of the Carabinieri craft. 'I'm not a seafarer, I'm afraid. My legs prefer a little terra firma.'
'And you an LA guy?' Valentina teases, steadying his arm as he lurches on to the back of the boat where the Italian flag flutters in a fresh breeze. 'I had you down as a Californian who'd spent most of his teenage years in the ocean.'
Tom flinches. 'You're way off the mark, Lieutenant. Truth is, I can barely swim. I'm almost phobic about it, actually.'
She looks at him quizzically, not sure whether he's toying with her. 'Come inside, I've got some coffee.'
Tom has to almost fold himself double as he follows her through a tiny door into a long, narrow cabin at the back of the wheelhouse. 'My best friend got killed by a jet ski at Malibu when I was a kid. I was in the water with him at the time.'
'I'm sorry.'
'Thanks. We got far to go?'
'Five minutes. Maybe ten. Depends on the traffic.' She undoes a steel Thermos flask and pours black coffee for them both.
Tom's amused by the idea of a traffic jam on the water. But as they make their way out from the midst of water taxis, gondolas and work boats around the Piazzale, he can see what she means.
'Major Carvalho and the medical examiner, Professore Montesano, will meet us there.' She thinks about mentioning his clothes, especially his lack of fresh ones, but checks herself. 'Have you been in a morgue before?'
Tom nods. 'Unfortunately, several times. Not for crime investigation reasons, but to accompany relatives of the newly deceased. Sometimes to identify a dead gangbanger or gutter bum who had no one else to stand for them.'
She smiles apologetically. 'I'm sorry. The morgue is really not a good place to start your day.'
Tom shrugs. 'I'd rather not go to one at all, but if I have to, then I'd prefer to start the day there than finish it there.' Twenty minutes later the words come back to bite him.
Gowned up and standing alongside the bleached body of fifteen-year-old Monica Vidic, he feels almost as low as the night he killed the two street punks in LA.
He's heard what Major Carvalho has just said. Understood it very clearly. But he still has to ask the question. 'Someone cut out her liver?'
Valentina looks guilty. 'Si. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this earlier. It seemed more appropriate to wait until you came here.'
'Are you all right, signor?' says the ME, registering the distress on his face. 'Perhaps we take a little break?'
Tom shakes his head. 'No. No, I'm fine. Let's get this over with.' He glances at Valentina, who looks away as if she knows he's remembering her comment that after this meeting the Carabinieri would be finished with him – completely finished. Well, it doesn't feel like that any more. Far from it. It feels like they are only just getting started.