San Quirico D'Orcia, Tuscany Terry McLeod took his equipment back to his hotel room and packed his suitcase. If his face-to-face with Nancy King went badly, then she'd no doubt have him thrown out of the hotel within the hour.
He checked the bathroom, wardrobes and bedside cabinets to make sure he hadn't left anything important behind, then locked his case and put it down by the door.
The veteran photo-journalist knew his main strength was his pictures rather than his editorials, so he took time to rehearse his questions before setting off again in search of Mrs King. He decided he would start by pretending he was doing a feature on hotels and restaurants for a new magazine and that, like the Michelin Guide inspectors, he had to keep his identity secret until after he'd tested the cooking and hotel facilities. He'd promise her a page, or maybe two, of free publicity, and then he'd say he just needed some background details on the family, stuff such as: when had they moved in, what had they needed to do to the place to make it into what it was today, how was life in Italy? All that non-controversial stuff. After that he'd get down to the nitty-gritty: where was her husband at the moment, what exactly was he helping the Italian police with, was he now officially back with the FBI or was he working on his own as a consultant? And, of course, how were things between the two of them?
McLeod checked that the micro-cassette in his pocket dictaphone was fully rewound and tucked it up his sleeve, so he could secretly record everything she said. Sunday lunch had been incredibly busy and Nancy was enjoying a well earned rest in the cool shade of the patio, when she dozed off for five minutes. She woke with a start, and immediately looked around for Zack. When she'd shut her eyes, he'd been playing happily on his trike.
'Zack, where are you, sweetheart?' she called, as she trekked across the garden. She was in no mood for hide-and-seek. She'd played it a dozen times already and she'd promised Paolo she would review the Specials menu for tonight, while he and Gio made a quick trip into Pienza.
'Come on, sweetheart, Mommy's very busy. Let's go inside and get some chocolate.' Bribery usually worked. But this time Zack was obviously standing his ground and making her hunt some more. The handle on the kitchen door was too high for him to reach, so she knew that he had to be in the garden somewhere.
She searched among the apple, orange and peach trees, looking for evidence of his red sandals hiding behind some trunk or other. But she could see nothing. If he was lying down in the vegetable garden, she was going to be cross. He'd been told about that before. And if he was sitting in the herbs, stuffing them in his mouth again, then there really would be trouble.
Nancy strode over to the areas she'd told her son were out of bounds and shouted sternly, 'Zack! Come out right now.'
There was no answer.
'The game's over now, Zack; come on, please.'
Nancy's maternal instinct prickled. Her eyes darted around the gardens, across the pathways, among the trees.
No Zack.
And then she saw it.
At the edge of the terrace, where the ground had collapsed and where Vincenzo the landscaper had moved the temporary fencing to survey the subsidence, there was Zack's overturned trike.