‘Don’t you see, Stacey? Hoffer had to have his chance, the rules said so, but I wanted him flat on his belly grovelling because I believed that, of all of them, he was the man most likely to be responsible for the death of my daughter. I wanted his scheme to fail so I allowed the best, the most ruthless mafioso I have ever known to wreck it for me.’
A wave of greyness scoured my body and I shivered as he sat back and calmly lit another cigar. ‘It’s just a game to you, isn’t it? The more complicated the better. You could have had Hoffer’s head blown off at any time you wanted. At home, in the street-but that wouldn’t have been good enough. It had to be a classi-cal drama.’
‘They always last longer.’ He stood up, his face calm, flicked ash from a lapel and adjusted his tie. ‘They’ll be here soon. I’ll send Marco with some clothes for you.’
The door closed behind him, I stared up at the ceiling blankly for a moment, then swung my legs to the floor, stood up and tried to walk.
I made it to the french windows, turned and went back. I was more than a little light-headed and my shoulder hurt like hell when I moved it, but at least I could get around which was all I needed.
I was rummaging through the drawers of the dress-ing table when Marco came in. He dropped a suede jacket, whipcord pants and a white nylon shirt on the bed and produced the Smith and Wesson.
‘Is this what you are looking for?’
He tossed it across. I pulled it from its holster, hefted it for a moment in my left hand, then swung the cylinder to one side and spilled the cartridges on to the coverlet.
I reloaded it carefully, snapped the cylinder home and pushed it back into its holster. ‘There was a wallet.’
‘That also.’
He produced it from his pocket and gave it to me, making no comment when I checked the contents.
‘Are they here?’
‘Most of them.’
‘And Hoffer?’
‘Not yet.’
I discovered that my hands were trembling slightly. ‘Help me get dressed. We mustn’t keep them waiting.’
SIXTEEN
they met in the salon and I sat in a wicker chair on the terrace behind a vine-covered trellis, Marco at my shoulder, and watched.
I had a perfect view and the acoustics were excellent. There were eight of them, including my grandfather, and in appearance they were a pretty assorted bunch. Three of them were real old-style capos, carefully dressed in deliberately shabby clothes. A fourth had taken off his coat, exposing cheap and gaudy braces. The others were all wearing expensive lightweight suits, although no one could approach my grandfather’s magnificence, sitting there at the head of the table in the cream lightweight suit he had worn on that first evening.
Hoffer wore dark glasses, presumably an affectation, and nodded soberly at what was said to him by the man on his right. He looked composed enough and I won-dered what was going on in his mind.
My grandfather lifted a small silver bell and at its ring the low buzz of conversation was instantly stilled. Every head turned towards him and he let the silence hang for a moment before saying, ‘Karl Hoffer asked for this meeting specially. I don’t know what he’s going to say any more than you do, but I guess we all know what it’s about, so let’s listen.’
Hoffer didn’t get up. He seemed calm, but when he removed his dark glasses for a moment he looked tired, and. when he started to talk the voice was grave and subdued. Altogether a most convincing performance.
‘When I faced the Council some months back in order to explain my conduct in certain unfortunate business transactions, I promised to repay the Society every penny of the money lost owing to my imprudence. I asked for six months, time enough for me to realise certain assets in the States left to me by my late wife. I know some of you here thought I was still buying time, that the Society would never see its money. Others, thank God, were willing to trust me.’