“I’m sorry. We have no Howard Wharton here.”
The only thing is, we have to be in Rome by tomorrow.
Dana called Dominick Romano, the anchorman at Italia 1 television.
“It’s Dana. I’m here, Dominick.”
“Dana! I’m delighted. When can we meet?”
“You name it.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At the Hotel Ciceroni.”
“Take a taxi and tell your driver to take you to Toula. I will meet you there in thirty minutes.”
Toula, on Via Della Lupa, was one of Rome’s most famous restaurants. When Dana arrived, Romano was waiting for her.
“Buon giorno. It is good to see you without the bombs.”
“You, too, Dominick.”
“What a futile war.” He shook his head. “Perhaps more than most wars. Bene! What are you doing in Roma?”
“I came to see a man here.”
“And the name of this lucky man?”
“Vincent Mancino.”
Dominick Romano’s expression changed. “Why do you want to see him?”
“It’s probably nothing, but I’m following up on an investigation. Tell me about Mancino.”
Dominick Romano thought carefully before he spoke. “Mancino was the minister of commerce. Mancino’s background is Mafia. He carries a very big stick. Anyway, he suddenly quit a very important position and no one knows why.” Romano looked at Dana curiously. “What is your interest in him?”
Dana evaded the question. “I understand that Mancino was negotiating a government trade deal with Taylor Winthrop when he quit.”
“Yes. Winthrop finished the negotiations with someone else.”
“How long was Taylor Winthrop in Rome?”
Romano thought for a moment. “About two months. Mancino and Winthrop became drinking buddies.” And then he added, “Something went wrong.”
“What?”
“Who knows? There are all kinds of stories floating around. Mancino had only one child, a daughter, Pia, and she disappeared. Mancino’s wife had a nervous breakdown.”
“What do you mean his daughter disappeared? Was she kidnapped?”
“No. She just kind of”—he tried vainly to find the right word—“disappeared. No one knows what happened to her.” He sighed. “I can tell you, Pia was a beauty.”
“Where is Mancino’s wife?”
“The rumor is that she’s in some kind of sanitarium.”
“Do you know where?”
“No. You don’t want to, either.” Their waiter came to the table. “I know this restaurant,” Dominick Romano said. “Would you like me to order for you?”
“I would.”
“Bene.” He turned to the waiter. “Prima, pasta fagioli. Dopo, abbacchio arrosta con polenta.”
“Grazie.”
The food was superb and the conversation turned light and casual. But when they got up to leave, Romano said, “Dana, stay away from Mancino. He is not the kind of man you question.”
“But if he—”
“Forget him. In a word—omertà.”
“Thank you, Dominick. I appreciate your advice.”
Vincent Mancino’s offices were in a modern building he owned on Via Sardegna. A heavyset guard sat at the reception desk in the marble lobby.
He looked up as Dana entered. “Buona giorno. Posso aiutarla, signorina?”
“My name is Dana Evans. I’d like to see Vincent Mancino.”
“You have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Then I’m sorry.”
“Tell him it’s about Taylor Winthrop.”
The guard studied Dana a moment, then reached for a telephone and spoke into it. He replaced the receiver. Dana waited.
What in the world will I find?
The phone rang, and the guard picked it up and listened a moment. He turned to Dana. “Second floor. There will be someone there to meet you.”
“Thank you.”
“Prego.”
Vincent Mancino’s office was small and unimpressive, not at all what Dana had expected. Mancino sat behind an old, battered desk. He was in his sixties, a medium-size man, with a broad chest, thin lips, white hair, and a hawk nose. He had the coldest eyes Dana had ever seen. On the desk was a gold-framed photograph of a beautiful teenager.
As Dana entered his office, Mancino said, “You come about Taylor Winthrop?” His voice was raspy and deep.
“Yes. I wanted to talk about—”
“There is nothing to talk about, signorina. He died in a fire. He is burning in hell, and his wife and his children are burning in hell.”
“May I sit down, Mr. Mancino?”
He started to say, “No.” Instead he said, “Scusi. Sometimes when I get upset, I forget my manners. Prego, si accomodi. Please, have a seat.”