Free Ring of Fire by Pierdomenico Baccalario Page A

…
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… told me just the opposite …
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…,” Joe retorts. “Isn’t that right …
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… Linch?”
    Little Linch stirs his spoon needlessly in his espresso cup. “I did what I was asked to do. I found our guy in Via del Babuino and started to follow him, pushing him toward the Tiber.”
    “And you never lost sight of him?”
    “No,” Little Linch lies, resting his spoon on the saucer, his hand trembling slightly. “Except for a couple minutes, maybe … when we reached the river,” he admits a moment later. “But that was because of the blackout.”
    Joe Vinile nods. “Something very …
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… unusual,” he admits. “But that didn’t stop us …
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… from leading him …
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… into the trap …
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… if I’m not mistaken …
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. …”
    Jacob Mahler leans down on the table with all his weight. “The Guardian had a briefcase with him.”
    Little Linch nods his head. “He did, yeah.”
    “But he wasn’t carrying a briefcase,” Beatrice breaks in. “Not when we saw him.”
    Joe Vinile raises his hands in a sign of helplessness. “He must’ve given it to somebody …
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… or thrown it into the river. Who …
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… can say?”
    A sharp sneer darkens the killer’s face. “Either we find that briefcase or it’s all over.”
    “But that would be impossible!” protests Little Linch.
    “You’re the one who lost track of him,” the killer hisses. “And believe me, finding that briefcase at the bottom of the river will be a lot easier than explaining to my boss that we lost it.”
    Beatrice looks worriedly at Joe Vinile and then at Little Linch.
    Jacob Mahler adds viciously, “And most importantly, it’ll be far less painful.”
    Joe Vinile shifts uncomfortably in his chair and asks, “So what was in …
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… that …
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… briefcase?”

9
THE BRIEFCASE

    T HE FIRST THING E LETTRA PULLS OUT OF THE BRIEFCASE IS A LITTLE black-and-white checkered umbrella. She rests it on the ground and announces, a little disappointed, “Your typical umbrella, I’d say.”
    A metal tag stitched into the edge of its cloth reads:
ANTICO CAFFÉ GRECO
VIA CONDOTTI
ROMA
    “Fortunately there’s more,” murmurs Elettra. This time she takes out something about the size of an apple, wrapped in dark cloth. The strong smell of camphor fills the air.
    “What is it?” asks Harvey.
    “Just a sec …” Slowly, Elettra unwraps it. Inside the cloth is an old toy. A round object made of black wooden rings of different sizes and a metal tip at one end.
    “Hao!”
whispers Sheng. “Is it my imagination or is that a top?”
    “It’s covered with writing,” Elettra points out, turning it around in her fingers.
    She hands it to Harvey, who studies it carefully. “These aren’t words. They’re drawings.”
    “Really?” Sheng breaks in, looking over his shoulder. “Drawings of what?”
    “I’d say this is … some sort of wolf, maybe?”
    Sheng takes the top from him, frowning. “Wolf,” he confirms.
    “Or a dog,” Harvey continues.
    “Dog,” Sheng confirms once again. The Chinese boy rests the top on the basement floor and makes it spin around.
    “There are more of them,” Elettra announces. She pulls three identical bundles out of the briefcase, each one containing a top. The kids’ expressions show how baffled they are.
    “This one’s covered with spiral designs,” says Harvey, looking at the first one. “And this other one … hmm … It could be some sort of tower, a truncated pyramid, a temple. …”
    Depicted on the last top are stylized eyes. Mistral examines it closely.
    Harvey huffs. “Yeah, but … sorry. Why would somebody chase a guy down for an umbrella and a couple of toy tops?”
    “How should I know?” says Sheng, making all four toys spin around on the floor.
    “And then there’s this,” Elettra says in a low voice, pulling one last thing out of the briefcase, this also wrapped in cloth.
    It’s about the same size as a shirt box. As Elettra slowly unwinds