Tuscan Termination Page 20

  “Robin, can I ask you something?”

  “Mm.”

  “Did you like Ettore?”

  “Not much. Do we have to talk about him, I’m trying to forget.”

  “Sorry.”

  “They had a quick swim and Amanda tried hard not to think that only a short while ago Ettore’s body had been floating here.

  Afterwards they lay side by side, on the sun-beds, in the brilliant sunshine, the empty pool winking at them as the sunlight hit the water. Amanda’s mind was in turmoil as she thought about what she had seen earlier. Robin looked so marvellous. It was unbelievable that Robin should … it wasn’t possible. She dozed.

  The late afternoon sun slowly moved through the sky, and the temperature became slightly cooler. The house threw its shadow across the pool and Nigel came out wearing a pair of swimming shorts. He walked down the steps into the pool and began to swim methodically round and round without stopping. Robin stirred on her sun bed and Amanda woke up.

  “I told him the pool was the wrong shape for long-distance swimming, but he would have it this way, and the colour! He adores pink. Well I had to let him have his way. He let me choose everything else.”

  “I’m not very fond of pink myself.”

  “Darling it’s pure kitsch. I’ve tried to tone it down with the urns and the plants, and then look what he did. He bought those awful umbrellas. That was in his Ettore period.”

  “His what!”

  “Oh you know, when they were such good pals. Unfortunate, aren’t they. As soon as the pool was ready, Nigel whipped them out of the cellar where he’d been hiding them and, he was so pleased with them, I hadn’t the heart to say anything. Of course Ettore had terrible taste. All those black shirts unbuttoned to his navel, and gold medallions.”

  “Yes, and yet he looked almost effeminate sometimes,” Amanda dared to say.

  “Hardly surprising.”

  “Why, was he gay?”

  “Straight, gay, anything, and everything. Oh, am I shocking you? I thought all you young people were unshockable.”

  “No, you’re not shocking me in the least, but how do you know?”

  “Oh, one just does you know. One sort of senses these things.” She got up as she spoke and moved towards the pool. “I’m joining Nigel. Coming?”

  “No thanks. I think I’ll go home now. See you.”

  She watched Robin dive smoothly into the pool and set off in pursuit of Nigel. The two figures swam round and round until it was difficult to see who was following whom.

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  “Di Girolamo here. Yes. Good. He’s quite sure? Yes. Oh I’ll probably come down tomorrow if they think he’s up to it. Send me the tape, A.S.A.P.”

  It was six thirty. Tonight there was the famous procession. It was the eve of the feast of St. Christopher, the patron saint of the town. The town was filling up already, and before long there would be hundreds of visitors thronging the streets. It was already pretty full most evenings with the annual festa in the old town, but tonight would be especially bad. The procession would wind through the streets of the old town and finish up at the Duomo, where a mass would be held.

  Ruggero Di Girolamo reflected, by the time the tape arrived and he had listened to it, it would be late, and the town packed to beyond its capacity, so he decided that the best thing to do was to be patient and make an arrest at dawn. Well not at dawn maybe, but early enough to get the man out of bed. That always gave one such an advantage. He smiled at the thought. He was going to enjoy himself tomorrow. Tonight he would eat a leisurely meal, watch the procession and go to bed early. But first the tape.

  Amanda and Hilary had decided to eat out and then watch the procession pass by. They would not be going to mass.

  “Let’s go to a restaurant where it’s quiet. There’s too many people in the old town.”

  “I think we should go to the Arcobaleno in the new part of town. There’s more chance of a table there. I don’t really fancy sitting on a bench in the old town and eating scorched spare ribs off a plastic plate.”

  “Really Ma, you sound a bit sour. O.K, we’ll go to the Arcobaleno, though I’m rather fond of spare ribs myself.”

  “Yes I know, but it’ll be hell tonight; far too many people. You’d have to wait ages to be served and the food wouldn’t be up to standard.”

  They walked downtown and stepped into the Arcobaleno.

  “Is there room to sit outside?” Hilary asked the waiter.

  “Yes, plenty of room. Go on through.”

  They went out to the garden at the back, where there were several empty tables. The waiter followed them. He gestured at all the empty tables.

  “Take whichever table you want. We haven’t had so many customers since the festa in the town centre’s been on. Still only one more night to go, then things get back to normal.” He handed them two menus and disappeared.

  “It’s very nice here, Ma. This was a good idea. Actually I wanted to speak to you about something.”

  “You could have done that at home.”

  “Yes, but I’ve only just decided.”

  “I see, tell.”

  “Oh it isn’t easy. I know, you’ll think I’m crazy.” She sighed and, as the waiter reappeared, asked him for some water and ordered some tagliatelle with a wild mushroom sauce. Hilary asked for the same. She looked at her daughter, and waited.

  “Let me say it all and don’t say anything until I’ve finished.”

  Hilary nodded.

  “Well, you remember I went into the garden, this afternoon? I could see Robin sunbathing, and then she stood up, and I didn’t want her to think I was spying on her so I hid behind a plant, and then …” she stopped while she tried to find the words.

  “And then…” said her mother.

  Well, she did something that should be impossible. Except afterwards I thought about it and I suppose it is possible.” She took a deep breath and told her mother.

  Footsteps approached their table. They looked up and saw Di Girolamo. He smiled at them.

  “May I join you? I’m at a loose end. Everyone seemed to be rushing through the streets in the opposite direction to me, so when I saw you both going in here, I thought I’d risk butting in.”

  “Please do,” said Hilary feeling absurdly pleased. Her face was slightly flushed.

  “You can tell me to go, I won’t be offended.”

  “No. I see no reason to. Please stay with us.”

  “Yes do,” said Amanda, feeling that her mother wanted her support, but uncertain as to the reason. Actually, she thought her mother was looking very, very pleased at this unexpected intrusion.

  “Have you met my daughter Amanda?”

  “Ruggero Di Girolamo,” he said formally, offering his hand. “We shared a box at the theatre for a short while, I believe.”

  “Oh, yes, till Miriam started snoring.” They both laughed at the memory.

  Hilary said, “I was sure you were very disapproving and included us all in your disapproval.”

  “Not at all. I thought it was hilarious.”

  A waiter hovered at his elbow. He ordered and then sat back and looked at the two women.

  “I’ve had an interesting day. Many things have been revealed to me, and I think this case will be closed very soon, and then I will leave Borgo San Cristoforo, until the next murder of course.” He smiled at them.

  While Amanda wondered if this was some kind of occult message that should alarm them, her mother said, quite calmly, “Well we don’t have many of those, so I should think you won’t be back for a few years.”

  “Well I may come back now and then to visit. Yes. I may well do that,” he looked directly at Hilary as he said this.

  Hilary surprised herself by saying, “I hope you do.”

  Their food arrived and they started eating. Amanda felt at a loss for words. She had wanted to discuss things with her mother and now of course that was impossible. She wasn’t even sure what one usually talk
ed about to policemen. In the end they talked about food and wines, and cinema; all quite normal things, yet somehow, the situation didn’t feel normal to her. She wondered for a moment if he was playing some subtle policeman’s game with them, but then she realised that Ruggero Di Girolamo’s reason for joining them was quite obvious and had nothing to do with murder, otherwise her mother would hardly be so relaxed, and happy. It seemed advisable to leave them alone so, as soon as she had finished her meal, she stood up and said, “I’m off, so I’ll say good-bye. I won’t have coffee with you as I fixed to have it with friends.”

  She shook hands with Ruggero and patted her mother’s shoulder in a gesture of affection and left, feeling relieved. A glance over her shoulder at them, as she reached the door, showed that her absence had barely been noticed. They were talking and gazing at each other in, what she thought was, a rather embarrassingly intimate manner. She had had no idea that things had moved in that direction and so fast! She shrugged and thought, “Well, I can see where this is leading alright, but what about poor Bruno?”

  Ten minutes later, when Bruno put his head through the door, looking for Hilary, he saw her talking earnestly to Ruggero, their heads almost touching across the table. He turned on his heels and walked straight out of the restaurant feeling as one of his pupils might if his girl were to dance in the disco with another boy. He had thought himself too old to feel this kind of emotion. He mingled with the crowd, saying hello to people he knew, but his mind was turning over the events of the last few days and the distancing he had felt. He had no idea how to mend matters, or make them return to their normal comfortable status. He felt distinctly threatened.

  Hilary walked home with Di Girolamo. It felt natural. It felt natural that he should come into the house for a nightcap. She herself had drunk several glasses of wine, as he had insisted she help him finish his bottle, and then they had broached another. He took her arm as they walked up the hill, and she felt herself lean against him. She had obviously had too much wine.

  As she opened the door, she saw a note on the doormat. It was from Amanda, saying she was staying the night with friends because the next morning they were leaving at daybreak for a trip to the mountains. She smiled at it and passed it over to him. He read it and put it on the table. They looked at each other. Hilary knew it had to be her choice so she said, “Come, let’s go upstairs.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  It was just before first light when he left. She called him back and said, “Amanda told me something last night. It has to be true. She’s no fool. I don’t know if it’s important, but it could be a motive for blackmail I suppose.” She told him and he gave a satisfied nod. Another piece of the puzzle was put in its place.

  There was an insistent ringing and banging that finally penetrated Nigel’s dream, and was incorporated into it, as a telephone which he couldn’t reach and a man knocking on his door which he was unable to open no matter how he tried. He opened his eyes to the half-light. The noise continued, and there were voices. He pulled on a pair of pants and after glancing at the clock, went down to open the door. The early morning light hit him in the face so that he had to shield his eyes. Outside were three policemen and a police car. They pushed him into the house and closed the door,

  “Get dressed. You are to come to the police station now,” said one of them. “I will accompany you to your bedroom.”

  “ But it’s only six thirty in the morning!” he exclaimed, overcome by the enormity of it.

  “Yes, we decided to let you sleep in a bit. Aren’t we kind? Come on, hurry it up.”

  “You can’t do this, you have no right.”

  “I’m afraid we can and we do. If you prefer we will take you there in your underpants. Will you get a move on and get dressed.”

  He was hustled out of the house before he really had time to wake up. His last memory was of Robin, clutching the sheet to her naked body, a scared look on her face. He had tried to reassure her, but was thrust out of the room after saying only a couple of words. He felt a little frightened, but he was angry as well. This was hardly the sort of police behaviour one expected in Europe. It seemed to him far more like that of some third world country, where your rights were automatically trampled on, or non-existent in the first place. He felt a shiver of fear. What did he know about this country anyway? For all he knew, he was going to disappear into some legal, black hole, from which he might never return.

  Di Girolamo was waiting in his office impatiently. Dressed in a dark blue linen suit and medium blue shirt, freshly shaved and showered, he was impeccable. He knew his opponent would immediately feel at a disadvantage. Unshaven, unwashed, and dressed in haste, he would be hustled into the room, where Di Girolamo had deliberately left his empty coffee cup and the plate with the crumbs from his breakfast. These would be removed before the prisoner’s eyes, reminding him that he had not breakfasted.

  The tape recorder was at the ready. He threw the window open so that the room would be fresh. When they arrived, he remained seated. He let his officers manhandle Nigel to his chair, and watched them remove the handcuffs. He indicated the breakfast debris with his eyes and they removed it. One remained seated in the room behind Nigel, at a table in the corner with the tape recorder on it. The other two closed the door and stationed themselves audibly outside.

  Nigel felt too defeated to bluster in his normal way. He eyed Di Girolamo with loathing and pressed his lips together, as though to indicate that he had no intention of speaking. Di Girolamo nodded to the young officer, who switched on the tape recorder. He intoned the date, time and named those present in the room. Di Girolamo leaned forwards and said “You are Nigel Proctor, born November 13th, 1958 in Hastings, in the county of Sussex, Great Britain. You are a computer consultant and are actually resident in Jersey, with a temporary resident’s permit in Italy?”

  “You know perfectly well that…”

  “Answer the question,” interrupted Di Girolamo in a cold voice.

  “Yes.”

  “On the night between the 8th and 9th of July, at about one o’clock in the morning, did you return to your house, having previously left it at about midnight, to collect some forgotten documents?”

  “Yes”

  “Now answer this question very carefully. Did you meet Ettore Fagiolo at your house on that occasion?”

  “No”

  “I have a witness who will swear that you did meet him then and that a heated discussion took place and finally, that after a physical confrontation with him, you attempted to hit Ettore Fagiolo with a shovel. You failed, and returned to the house because you had a nosebleed. Later you returned to the pool to find that someone else had hit him, which was most convenient for you. Then you deliberately pulled his semi-conscious body to the poolside and threw him into the water, causing his death.”

  “Lies. I did nothing of the sort.”

  “Would you prefer to have a legal representative with you?”

  “No, I have no need. I am innocent, so I have nothing to fear” He pulled his chin up and looked Di Girolamo squarely in the eyes. “Did that blackmailing little bastard tell you this rubbish?”

  Di Girolamo nodded to the other officer who turned on a small tape player.

  A weak voice hesitantly gave its testimony, “I was at the house with Ettore. He had the keys. We were in the bedroom, when we heard a noise. He went down. I heard shouting and banging. Downstairs. Then outside. I looked out. They were at the poolside. He was fighting with Nigel.” The breathing was laboured, the words came out slowly. “Then Nigel fell into the hut. Came out with a shovel. He tried to hit Ettore, but fell over. Ettore kicked his face. He laughed. Nigel got up and went into the house. I went under the bed. More noise outside. I look out and see another man dressed in black. He is cleaning the shovel, Ettore is on the floor. Then the man in black runs away and Nigel,” there was a burst of coughing, and the tape was switched off. He took up the story with a stronger voice as the machine was switched on aga
in. “Nigel came back and pulled him into the pool. He ran back to the car, and drove off.”

  “That is all that interests us. Could you understand all that?

  “Enough.”

  “Would you like to comment on what we have just heard?”

  “It sounds like the ravings of someone in delirium.”

  “I can assure you that the boy is quite sane, and was anxious to offer this testimony.”

  “I bet he was, he probably did it himself. Did you know that the man, Ettore Fagiolo, was his lover?”

  “I must tell you that his story has been corroborated by another witness. If you can’t understand it all, I will translate for you.”

  Again he nodded to the man at the tape-recorder. This time the voice was quite strong and had a pronounced Sicilian accent.

  “I knew that the Proctors were going away at midnight, so I planned to do the job at about 1.0 am, just in case they were late leaving. Joe was nearby with the van, and when I was ready with the stuff I was to call him with my mobile phone and in a few minutes we would load up and he would be on his way. That’s how we worked it. That night, as I approached the house, via the garden of course, I realised, a bit late to tell the truth, that there was someone in the house. I had to hide pretty sharp, as at the same moment a car drew up with two people in it and a tall man got out and went into the house. A few seconds later he came out brandishing a big pot and chasing another man, who I recognised as Ettore Fagiolo. He threw down the pot, maybe to run faster, and caught up with Ettore near the pool, which was pretty near me too. They started fighting. The other man got pushed against the shed, the door burst open and he fell in. He came out brandishing a shovel. He was shouting “Bastardo” and “Testa di cazzo” and English words. I couldn’t understand it all, but I heard the words, ‘Fuck you,’ which I recognised. Anyway he took a swipe at Ettore, and missed, it was pathetic. He even fell over. So of course Ettore kicked him in the face. Then his nose starts bleeding and Ettore starts laughing at him. I’m not surprised; I felt like laughing myself. It was like slapstick comedy. Anyway, I now realised that this bloke was Nigel Proctor. He went back into the house dabbing his nose and shouting, in his horrible Italian, something about, “You’ll pay dearly for this. I’ll sue you for this,” and Ettore laughs and shouts, “I wouldn’t do that, your wife wouldn’t like it.” Anyway he goes back to the house and Ettore starts to follow him and I think the moment has come to hook it. I start creeping away from the pool area, and damn me if I don’t tread on a bloody great branch, and it gives an almighty crack and that’s me in big trouble. Ettore comes rushing down towards me. I don’t know who he thought I was, but he was in a filthy mood, so he really went for me. He chased me and when I reached the shovel, I picked it up, only to threaten him, you understand. I am a small man and not that fit. He was big, younger than me, pretty fit and angry, so to defend myself, and for this reason only, I picked up the shovel and shouted, “leave me alone or I’ll hit you” but he took no notice of my threats and rushed towards me shouting ‘I’ll kill you, you bastard’ so I was forced to try and stop him from injuring me with the only possible defence available to me, the shovel. It was not my intention to injure him, only to stop his advance on my person. Unfortunately the shovel made contact with his head and he fell to the ground. I cleaned the shovel which I had handled with my bare hands, and put it back in the shed, while he lay on the floor groaning, Then I saw someone approaching and I ran away as fast as I could. I didn’t look back. I could not be sure as to the identity of the person approaching Ettore as I left, but I think it was Nigel Proctor.”