Part 19 (1/2)

”I'm not in love.” She made a little face that seemed to say, At least not yet.

I told her the story of how I'd called Theo, how he had a corporate share on a plane and said he'd be in Naples by midnight.

”And then what?” Maggie asked.

I shrugged. ”I guess I didn't think much after that. He said he couldn't stay more than a day or two.”

The clerk handed the credit card back, and Maggie tucked it into her wallet. ”Do you really like this guy, or is this a reaction to finding Alyssa in Sam's apartment?”

I winced at the memory. ”If anything it's a reaction to Sam and me saying goodbye. It was just so...so final.”

”If it's a reaction to that, why not just pick up an Italian guy? Why have the kid fly all the way over to Italy?”

”It was his suggestion, not mine.” I thought about it some more. ”And there's just something about him.”

”I can't believe I haven't met him.”

”Well, you will tonight.”

The rooms at the hotel weren't large but they were beautiful. The floors were tiled in blue and yellow. A tall window overlooking the street and bay was covered with ta.s.seled robin's-egg-blue drapery.

While Maggie took a nap, I went back downstairs to the concierge desk. I was here in Naples to talk about the Camorra, but I had no idea where to do that. Once again, all roads pointed to Elena.

The concierge was an older gentleman who looked as if he took his profession very seriously.

When I asked for information about traveling to Ischia, he nodded somberly and gestured to a seating area to the left. ”Please,” he said, ”sit down and I will bring you information.”

A minute later, he had spread maps, ferry schedules and hotel pamphlets over the table. He sat down across from me. ”Okay,” he said, ”you tell me what you want to do in Ischia.”

”Is there a place called Poseidon?”

”Poseidon, yes.” Now he sounded pleased. He riffled through the materials and pulled out a white brochure with blue-and-green lettering.

”I was told that this is a place for healing waters.”

”Si, si,” he said. ”The island is...how you say...volcano? And so the water on the island is like medicine. Full of minerals. You may go different places on Ischia to sample the waters. Poseidon is one of the best.” He made a gesture, his fingers and thumb together, and brought it to his lips as if he tasted something delicious.

”How do the waters heal exactly?” I asked.

”Well,” he said, ”how do I explain?” He looked upward, lifted his shoulders high and dropped them slowly, showing me that they did the Italian shrug as well in Naples as they did in Rome. ”You sit in the waters. There are different temperatures with different minerals. You move from one pool to another. You relax, you are quiet, you eat well, you do not drink alcohol.” Another shrug. ”When you leave, you feel wonderful.”

”Sign me up.”

He opened the Poseidon brochure, and explained that Poseidon Gardens was essentially a park that charged daily admission. You spent the day in the different pools or on its beach and then you went home at the end of the day. We'd have to find somewhere to stay, he said, and showed me different brochures with hotels of varying costs.

”Thank you,” I said. ”Now, if I may ask you something different about Ischia?” What the h.e.l.l, I thought. Give it a shot.

”Of course.” He nodded gravely. ”This is my job.”

”I have heard that Ischia is a place where some Camorra people are from. Is that true?”

The concierge drew his head back and looked around swiftly. He looked back at me, his eyebrows pushed together, a stern expression on his face. ”Why do you ask about the Camorra?”

I shrugged, giving my best impression of the Italian version. ”I just wondered.”

He shook his head. ”No, no. Please. You don't ask about the Camorra.”

”Why not?”

He sighed deeply. ”The Camorra has done nothing but bring ruin to this city. Did you see the garbage outside?” He gestured with an arm toward the front door.

”Yes. I saw it.” I thought of the children kicking b.a.l.l.s and playing next to that garbage.

”That is all because of the Camorra. They take over the garbage, the recycling, so they say, but they cannot handle it. It was so bad, the Italian military had to step in.” He made a disgusted face. ”And did you see down at the docks? Did you see all the big s.h.i.+ps?”

I nodded.

”The Camorra, they s.h.i.+p goods from China.” He shook his head, made a sad expression. ”But they dump the waste into the waters. Everyone becomes sick.” He shook his head again. ”My mother, my family, ah! So many of my family have died because of the terrible waste that the Camorra puts into our water. Miss, you do not want to ask about the Camorra. No one around here wants to talk about them. This is not something for turistas.”

I sat back and nodded. ”I'm sorry,” I said simply. Then, ”I know it's not a matter for tourists, but my father died, and I think it was because of the Camorra.”

The concierge swallowed, his mouth twisted a bit. He looked over his shoulder at the front desk. The few people behind it were on the phone, talking to guests. ”What do you mean when you say this?”

”I believe my father was working on a case having to do with the Camorra. He died many years ago. I am trying to find out what happened.”

The man's face softened. ”What is your name?”

I held out my hand. ”Isabel.”

He shook it. ”And I am Carlo.” He gathered the brochures and pamphlets in his hands. ”Come. Let's go somewhere where we can discuss this.”

He led me past the side of the front desk and up a double staircase trimmed in silver and gold. Upstairs was a set of meeting rooms. But it was as if we were inside a grand palazzo, the walls decorated with art from all different periods-sketches, paintings, sculptures. Carlo took me into a meeting room where staff was cleaning up from a previous event. Coffee, tea and other refreshments still sat on a buffet table.

Carlo pointed at the table. ”Please have something to drink.”

I helped myself to a sparkling water with lemon. He said something in Italian to the cleaning staff, who left the room. Carlo poured himself a cup of coffee and we sat at one side of a table designed to seat ten people.

”Now,” Carlo said. ”This is unpleasant, but...okay. What do you want to know about the Camorra?”

I told him I just wanted the basics. What did the Camorra do or specialize in? Were they also in the United States? I really didn't understand much of anything about the group.

He took a sip of his coffee, then crossed his hands in front of him, lacing his fingers tight. He nodded. ”The Camorra is not a group. Here in Naples, we do not even call it Camorra. We call it the System, and the System is not a group, either. It is made up of many clans. But for our discussion, let us call it the Camorra, okay?”

I nodded.