Lindsey waited for him to go on.
Berry did. “I think there’s more to it than that. Something that the Signore maybe didn’t want to talk about on the telephone.”
Lindsey was in the bathroom by now, his shirt off and a towel draped around the upper half of his body. Fatigue hit him without warning and he leaned against the sink. When he regained his equilibrium he said, “I’m going to take a shower and put on fresh clothes.”
“Good idea. Don’t use all the hot water.”
* * * *
The concierge got them a taxi and the driver recognized the address that Lindsey gave him. He had some English. It seemed that everybody in Italy did. “Via del Portico d’Ottavia, sì, you go to ghetto ebrei. You try the Carciofi alla Giudia. Most best food in Italia.”
Lindsey wasn’t sure whether the Roman cabby was as
