The Tuscan Mystery Trilogy Page 18

  The air was clear and several degrees cooler than on previous mornings. Everybody in town threw open their windows and let the clean air wash through the houses.

  The phone rang. Gino picked it up, on the second ring, muttering an inward prayer.

  “Pronto”

  “Signor Rossi, this is Doctor Baroni from Pisa hospital. We thought you would be pleased to know that your son has regained consciousness.”

  “God be praised! Is he alright?”

  “Well it’s early days yet, but he is fully conscious and asking for you.”

  “Asking for me,” repeated Gino with wonderment. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  “Good. I’m on duty till two this afternoon, so if you would like to come and see me before I leave, there are one or two things I would like to discuss with you.”

  “Of course doctor. Good-bye, and thank you.”

  He put the phone back and brushed at the tears that were coursing down his cheeks.

  “Alda Alda, the boy’s woken up! Quick, wake up we must leave immediately.”

  “Gino, what did you say?” came a distant voice from the bedroom.”

  “I said, Marco is awake. He’s woken up and is asking for us.” He shouted as he clambered up the stairs. The door burst open and his wife rushed out and clasped him to her. They wept together.

  Di Girolamo was in a good mood. He whistled as he opened his mail and called through to his colleague,

  “Have we got the results of that check yet, the fingerprint on the shovel with Salvatore’s prints?”

  “Not yet”

  “Phone down and chivvy them along a bit. I feel very hopeful about it. I feel very positive this morning.”

  The phone rang, and his colleague answered it.

  “Yes I see. Thank-you very much doctor. Do the parents know? Good. Yes I’ll tell him. Good-bye.”

  He came in and said, “The boy, Marco Rossi, has woken up. They won’t let us to talk to him yet, but felt you should be informed.”

  “There what did I tell you? I knew that today would be a good day. Excellent. All we need now is the confirmation about that print and I’ll feel really happy.”

  He picked up an envelope marked URGENT. PERSONAL AND PRIVATE. There was a photograph and a note. He tipped them out and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves he kept in his desk drawer. He glanced at the photograph, then picked it up and examined it carefully. He put it down and picked up the note. It was laboriously printed; in places the pencil had gone through the paper, but even so the writing was shaky and wavered across the page.

  SATAN IS AMONGST US. HE HAS TAKEN ON THE FORM THAT IS NEITHER MAN NOR WOMAN: HE IS HERE!!! WE MUST BE VIGILANT. THE BEAST IS AMONG US!! FAST AND PRAY. YOU MUST SEEK OUT THE BEAST AND DESTROY HIM. HE HAS KILLED THE INNOCENT. HE HAS CORRUPTED THE INCORRUPTABLE. SUFFER LITTLE CHILDREN TO COME UNTO ME SAITH THE LORD BUT THE BEAST HAS TAKEN THE LITTLE CHILDREN HAS CORRUPTED THE INCORRUPTIBLE. MINE EYES HAVE SEEN THE GLORY OF THE LORD MINE EYES HAVE SEEN THE CORRUPTION THE FOULNESS OF THE BEAST. SEEK OUT AND DESTROY THE BEAST. WE MUST FAST AND PRAY BRETHREN. ONLY THE PURE SHALL BE SAVED. DEATH WHERE IS THY STING? WE SHALL ALL BE SAVED THROUGH GOD. IN PAIN WAS HE BROUGHT FORTH. THE LORD GIVETH. THE LORD TAKETH AWAY. HIS ONLY SON DIED FOR US. THE BEAST HAS TAKEN THE ONLY SON.

  FAST AND PRAY. THE LORD WILL GIVE STRENGTH TO THY HAND. FAST AND PRAY

  Di Girolamo opened the file on his desk and took out the letter that had come with the photograph of Marco Rossi. It looked like the same hand to him, but no doubt an expert could say so with absolute certainty. The writing was shakier than in the first letter, and the contents less coherent. Even so he felt sure that this was from Assunta Fagiolo. If he was right, then she was obviously deranged. He was uncertain what he should do about it.

  “Call the Maresciallo for me, ask him if he’ll see me,” he called. “Preferably now if possible.” He took off his gloves. The photo laughed up at him. Who was it? It reminded him of someone, but the red wig and the wide-open mouth distorted the features. Was it really important or had this photo so unhinged the old lady that she had chosen to send it to him as emblematic of evil, rather than as a clue for the solution of her son’s murder.

  Miriam wandered through the house talking over her shoulder to Hilary who walked behind her with a notebook and pen.

  “Both the televisions of course, but the only thing that really makes me angry is the computer. It’s got my latest book on it, and I’m over halfway through it.”

  “Didn’t you save it on a disk?”

  “Well I did for the first few chapters so they’re somewhere in the desk, but then I didn’t bother.”

  “Well, I think that’s the lot Miriam. We’ve done all the rooms now, so I’ll take this down to the police station. Do you want to come with me, or are you going to stay here and get depressed?”

  “Oh I’ll stay here, but I won’t get depressed. I’ve got to start thinking about a new couple to help with the house. I’ll phone around some agencies.”

  “You’d better vet them very carefully this time.”

  “Oh I will. You know, I think I might offer a very large reward for my computer, and no questions asked. What do you think?”

  “Ask the police what they think first.”

  “You ask them for me. My dear, it will give you an excuse to see Di Girolamo. He’s such a fascinating man, don’t you think?”

  “I’m going. I see you’re back to normal. Don’t forget you’re coming to me for lunch. I’ll send Amanda for you.”

  “Salvatore! Buon giorno, I have wonderful news.”

  “For me! Dottor’ am I getting out of here?”

  “No, no, no. Wonderful news for me! Your thumb print was on the shovel that was used to hit Ettore Fagiolo, contributing to his death.”

  “What!”

  “You heard.”

  “Oh my God! I want a lawyer.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes I do, now! Get me one. I’m saying nothing till I’ve spoken to a lawyer.” He turned his back on Di Girolamo. He was going to be forced to barter now, or he would be facing a murder rap, but he needed expert help.

  Di Girolamo returned to his office but stopped in the corridor when he saw Hilary. He walked towards her, offering his hand to shake hers and smiled. “Good morning. Have you brought the list of missing items?” He looked down at her hand, it was tanned; the fingers were fairly short with short unvarnished nails. A working hand, which held his firmly.

  “Yes, here it is.” She waved it at him.

  “Thank-you. How is Signora Greene?”

  “Oh. She’s fine, in good form. Actually she’s asked me to talk to you about something.”

  “Oh yes? Well come into my office and you can talk to me there. We could even have a coffee. Do you like coffee?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Send in two coffees please,” he called. “Right come in and sit down.” She did.

  “Now what do you want to talk to me about?” he smiled again. She was quite surprised he looked so good tempered.

  “You’re in a fine spirits this morning, are you?”

  “Oh very.”

  “Well it’s just that one of the missing things is her computer, and she desperately wants it back. It’s got half a novel on it.”

  “Half a novel?”

  “Yes, she writes. Didn’t you know?”

  “No, I didn’t. What sort of thing does she write?”

  “Romantic novels. She’s quite well known, and sells very well, so this half a novel is rather important.”

  “I see. Romantic novels!” He laughed. “So you want me to speak to Salvatore about it? Yes, come in. Thank you.” He took the tray of coffee and set it on the table between them. He handed her a cup of coffee.

  “Thank you. Well, she’s pretty desperate. She was talking about advertising for it, you know, a large reward and no questions asked.”

  “I don’t really think that will be necessary. I’m sur
e Salvatore will be reasonable. He’s not in a very comfortable situation. I feel certain he will do anything that might make things a little less unpleasant for him. Tell her to do nothing for the moment. By the way thank you for helping me out with her, you know, explaining the situation to her last night. I was worried I wouldn’t do it well and she seemed rather fragile.”

  “Yes, I suppose she is, in a way, though she hides it well, but this hasn’t been too bad. It could have been a lot worse. Besides, they’ve taken nothing of sentimental value. She’ll be fine now. She’s phoning the agencies already, looking for another couple.”

  “Good, and thank you once again. You’re a good woman to have around.”

  “You mean you don’t suspect me any more? Are you sure I’m not dangerous?”

  “Not quite sure, but let’s say, not in that way.”

  After she left, he said to himself, “I must be crazy. What kind of a stupid remark was that? She must think I’m mad.”

  There was a knock and the Maresciallo came in.

  “I faxed the letters to Rome and the hand writing expert looked at them straight away. He says the letters are by the same hand.”

  “It’s always nice to have official confirmation. So, Ettore’s mother is at it again. What did you think of the letter?”

  “Crazy”

  “Yes, but should we intervene? Would it be more harmful to intervene or leave her to stew?”

  “I’m generally against intervention. ‘Time will heal’, is my motto. She’s still grieving, so I say give her some time. She’d die of shame if we interfered.”

  “She’s looking after a senile old man, on her own, so either she’s still got some contact with reality, or she’s a danger to herself and to him. Is there any discrete way of knowing if she’s capable of looking after him?”

  “I suppose I could get a neighbour to look in with some excuse. My niece lives nearby, so I could ask her.”

  “Is she tactful? Does the old woman know her? Does she like her? Because if not, she won’t like some busybody neighbour poking her nose in.”

  “Well I think she doesn’t mind her. She doesn’t like anyone much. She doesn’t have any real friends. My niece is a schoolteacher and she’s involved in the church council, so she would be acceptable, and she does know her better than most.”

  “Get your niece to come here at lunchtime and I’ll talk to her. By the way get a lawyer for Salvatore and fix up a taped interview as soon as possible.”

  “Do you think he did it? I mean the thumb print points that way.”

  “I don’t know. If he didn’t, then he knows something, or he’s involved in it in some way. I don’t see him as a murderer, but he must have been there that night, and he must have touched the shovel. How else can you explain the thumbprint? He could well have done it. It fits with our theory, but if so, then why did the boy, Marco, blackmail Nigel. If he blackmailed him, that means he was there, in the area of the pool. How else could he have seen him? He seems to think Nigel killed Ettore, and until we’ve spoken to him, we can’t discard that possibility. Of course I may well be wrong.”

  “Assunta is still ranting about police fascist methods. She wants to see her husband, and she’s going to sue us all.”

  “Let her stew. Don’t forget to send your niece along. Let me know the exact time she’s coming, and I’ll grab a snack around that. Today we are going to get a lot done. I knew it the moment I woke up.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I felt it in my bones. No. It was just that I had the feeling that the thumbprint would be positive and a lot hung on that. Everything moves forward from it.”

  Five minutes later the phone rang, “ My niece, Teresa Carradini, will be along at one fifteen and I didn’t tell her what you wanted. I just said you needed help.”

  “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Teresa Carradini fitted his image of a schoolteacher. She was about forty, wore thin gold-framed glasses, had frizzy hair piled on top of her head, and looked benign and worthy. Her figure was a little lumpy, and her plump bosom was modestly covered with a flower-printed blouse. She wore a gold chain and cross. He asked her to be seated and began to explain what he wanted.

  “I believe you know Augusta Fagiolo fairly well.”

  “As well as it is possible to know someone who has almost no interest in social contact. I have worked on church activities with her. She has always been a willing helper, though our contact was brief and only concerned the work to hand.”

  “I’ll tell you frankly that I am concerned for her. I understand that to lose one’s only son must have a devastating effect on anyone, and it would be normal for a religious person to seek a greater contact with God, however, there are cases when this sort of thing goes beyond the bounds of what is considered normal behaviour, even for someone who has been so recently bereaved.”

  She looked at him with no change of expression.

  He ploughed on, “What I am trying to say is, that I am convinced that her behaviour is no longer normal. As she is the sole person responsible for her husband’s well-being, I ask myself whether she is able to carry out this onerous task as well as she did before.” She still looked at him waiting for him to finish. He would have welcomed a word of comprehension, but none was forthcoming. She still sat like a flowery pudding, skirt modestly pulled down, hands in her lap,

  gazing at him like a pregnant cow. He was very worried that she might think he was delving into realms that had little to do with his job, and he realised that he feared her judgement.

  “This is purely my own interest, not a police concern you understand. I am worried that Signor Fagiolo may not be receiving the treatment that his case deserves. There is no way that I, as a police officer, could find out what the situation is in the house, without causing mental anguish to this lady, but all the same, I very much need to be reassured that all is well, and that is why, after discussing the situation with your uncle I decided to ask your help.”

  He waited. There was a rather lengthy silence before she said, “You want me to go to the house and see if her husband is being looked after properly.” It was a statement, flat, and said totally without inflexion.

  “Yes, I do. I feel that you could go to the house without upsetting Augusta, and perhaps, with the interests that you have in common, she would speak to you and even let you see her husband.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I will go straight away.” She rose smoothly and left the room immediately.

  He almost mopped his brow. She was either very intelligent, and parsimonious with her speech, or she was a stolid unimaginative half-wit.

  Maresciallo Biagioni popped his head round the door, “Did you speak to Teresa then?”

  “Oh yes, I spoke for hours, she hardly murmured.”

  “Ah well, Teresa is not what she seems. She always makes people feel like they’re back at school. You’re always waiting to see what mark she’ll give you.” He laughed.

  “Well I think I got a pass mark. Anyway she’s gone to see Signora Fagiolo. She just said, ‘I’ll go straight away,‘ and walked out.”

  “Teresa doesn’t waste words. She’ll do a good job. You can set your mind at rest. By the way, I fixed for four thirty with Salvatore.”

  “Good. I’m off out to grab a sandwich, call me on my mobile if Teresa comes back before I do.”

  “Oh, by the way, Assunta says she’s sure she’s pregnant, so we must let her go.”

  “Get a gynaecologist. I don’t believe her, but best to be sure.”

  He walked out into the blinding sunshine and quickly put on his sunglasses. He was wearing a beige linen suit, with an off white shirt. His tall slim figure and brisk way of walking made him look more youthful than his age. Only his short greying hair betrayed him. Amanda drove past slowly with Miriam stowed in the front seat beside her. It was late, because Miriam had insisted on finishing her phone calls and had the
n decided to take a shower before changing into a fresh kaftan.

  “He’s a good looking man,” she said with relish, looking at Di Girolamo. She waved a plump arm out of the car window at him, and he waved back, raising his sunglasses and smiling at her. The car moved on.

  “I wish I were thirty years younger,” she sighed.

  “Really Miriam; do you fancy him?”

  “Of course I do. Don’t look so surprised. My dear, you still fancy people even at my age. It’s just cerebral though, I mean you can’t do anything about it, and you wouldn’t have the energy even if you had the opportunity.”

  “How old are you?”

  “None of your business. Let’s just say, too old. But your mother isn’t. She could have him at the drop of a hat, my dear, but she won’t of course.”

  “Why? Do you think he fancies her?”

  “Of course he does. She’s a good-looking woman, and she’s wasted on Bruno. The man looks like a bloody priest.”

  “She says he’s restful.”

  “Restful! My dear girl, that means boring as hell. She should go for Ruggero di Girolamo. He looks like a man. I might be too old to have a man, but I can certainly recognise one when I see one, and I bet you he’d be better than Bruno in bed.”

  “Really Miriam, It’s not just sex you know, there are other considerations.”

  “Of course there are, my dear. That’s what I’m saying. Bruno is probably as boring in bed as he is out of it.”

  “I’m going to pretend I haven’t heard you. Come on, I’ll help you get out of the car.”

  They went into the house, where Miriam was annoyed to see Bruno.

  “Oh, I didn’t know you were here for lunch. I do hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” She smiled at him unpleasantly. Then turning from him, she gushed, “Darling Hilary, forgive me. I’m late.” She proffered her cheek for a kiss. “Now while we’re eating tell me all about your meeting with that divine Dottor di Girolamo.”