“The Italian police, in spite of several inquiries on my part, have refused to so much as mention Casselli’s name, and it seems that his continued absence from the scene has become something of an embarrassment for them. The Rome and Naples newspapers have become interested, though, and they have begun running daily photographs from their files, in an effort to spread the word that the police would like to have a chat with Leo Casselli. The search continues. We’ll get back to you with any news.”

Casselli turned the volume back down and returned to the papers in his lap. “What’s doing with the fucking chocolate?” he asked a man sitting in a smaller chair next to him.

“Don Leonardo, we continue to try and find a buyer for the stuff.”

“Where is it?”

“About fifty meters from here, in a refrigerated trailer.”

“And how much is that costing me?”

“Only the gasoline, Don Leonardo; the trailer, we stole and repainted.”

“I’m sick of that fucking chocolate,” Casselli grumbled. “We’re going to end up dumping it into the sea.”

“That is a possibility, Don Leonardo.”

He waved a hand in the air. “Tell them to get this thing moving.”

The man got out of his chair, walked to a wall telephone, and spoke into it. From outside, there came the faint sound of an engine starting, and Casselli’s living room began to move. His minion staggered back to his chair.

—

In Rome, Stone had watched the CNN report, too, and Jim Lugano had come into the room while it was running and had taken a seat.

“Good morning, Stone.”

“Good morning, Jim.”

“As I explained yesterday, two of Casselli’s building projects had permits for construction elevators on-site. One of them you’ve already visited, in Naples, and the other is in Ravello.” He laid a stack of photos on the table. “These are of the Ravello site.”

Stone picked them up and leafed through them. “I don’t see a construction elevator,” he said.

“That’s because there isn’t one. If you’ll look at the aerial shot—the one with the sea far below, in the background, you’ll see that the only visible access to the building is on the outskirts of Ravello, a narrow stairway cut out of the rock of the mountain, leading down to a broad deck, at what appears to be the rear of the building.”

“What sort of building is it?” Stone asked. “It appears to be cut into the mountainside.”

“Honestly, I don’t know. The building permit says it’s a storage facility, but for the life of me I can’t see why anyone would store anything there. The seaward side would have an impressive view, though, so it could be a residence.”

“So how would they get construction materials in there? Certainly not down that narrow stairway.”