Free City of Devils: A Novel by Diana Bretherick Page A

olives, small balls of rice that had been deep fried until golden, tiny white cheeses and sandwiches cut so small that they looked as if they belonged in a doll’s house. Ottolenghi smiled at James’s expression.
    ‘Cafifè Norman is famous for its stuzzichini. We will be offered a plate of them with our drinks.’
    He nodded in satisfaction. Despite the glories of their lunch, the walk and the tour had given him an appetite; or perhaps it was the sight of hunger in the eyes of the poor. James felt guilty that he could enjoy all of this when those they had seen earlier would be grateful for even a morsel of what they were about to eat. But of course it didn’t last. He reasoned that depriving himself would not help anyone so there was little point in worrying. As they walked through the cafe, marvelling at the food on display, the sights he had seen less than an hour ago quickly began to leave his memory and by the time they sat down had quite gone.
    They settled in a corner and Ottolenghi ordered some wine. This was smoother and lighter than Paolo’s though it still had a fruity taste.
    ‘Chianti, from Firenze,’ Ottolenghi informed him.
    ‘It’s good,’ James said as he sipped at it gratefully. It was particularly welcome, as the autumn sunshine had given way to a distinctly chilly evening. ‘What do you make of last night?’ he asked, longing to talk about the murder.
    Ottolenghi looked at him thoughtfully. ‘It’s difficult to say. It was clearly pre-meditated. Odd about the note too, and written in blood. A strange business.’
    ‘I wanted to ask the professor about it but—’
    ‘He obviously doesn’t wish to discuss the matter,’ Ottolenghi interrupted.
    ‘But surely we should investigate; after all it is hanging over him, and if the university hears of it then . . .’ He tailed off, not quite knowing what the consequences might be.
    ‘I suppose you’re right. They might stop the symposium and that would be a great blow. It might also give some ammunition to his enemies. Still, the professor must know that and I wouldn’t like to act against his wishes. He can be very stubborn.’
    ‘Who are these enemies?’ James asked, thinking it strange that someone of Lombroso’s professional stature could be under threat.
    Ottolenghi counted them off on his fingers. ‘Fellow academics, the university authorities, the judiciary, politicians, the police, the Church; he’s upset all of them at some point or another. If he gives any of them the slightest opportunity to bring him down they’re bound to take it.’
    James was shocked. ‘Surely that’s all the more reason to at least try solving this murder, even if we have to work with Machinetti.’
    Ottolenghi shook his head. ‘Ah, Machinetti. There’s a story in that. There’s no love lost between him and the professor.’
    ‘Could they not put that to one side – just for this?’
    ‘I doubt it. I think it runs pretty deep. All I know is that they worked together on a case once and it didn’t go well. Ever since then they’ve been at loggerheads and the professor flatly refuses to have anything to do with him.’
    ‘Perhaps we could make one or two informal enquiries,’ James suggested. ‘He couldn’t object to that, surely?’
    Ottolenghi sipped his drink as he considered this. ‘Well, I imagine it couldn’t do any harm to revisit the scene of the crime. But that will have to wait until tomorrow. You have to get through your initiation first and we should concentrate on that for now.’
    James agreed. ‘Who is likely to be there?’
    ‘Well, you’ve met Horton already I hear, so you know him.’
    ‘Yes, although I can’t say I warmed to the man. There was something odd about him but I can’t quite place it.’
    ‘Then there is Borelli, if he can get back from Paris in time.’
    ‘Who’s he?’
    ‘He’s a lawyer, a professor at the university and a close friend of our professor’s. They have worked together on several