The Year of the Mantis

by P J Mann

  An ear-to-ear grin opened up on Maurizio’s face. “Brilliant, officer, simply brilliant! Yet, he might have had a guest, and perhaps they left together. Perhaps it was more than a guest; it was the partner in crime, or the assassin himself.”

  Maurizio grabbed the pistol and, opening a clear zip-lock bag, he sealed it in. “Someone placed a suitcase on the bed, its clear shape can still be recognized there.” He went to open the wardrobe, but it was empty, likewise all the drawers and other chests in the room.

  Narrowing his eyes, Maurizio slipped the notebook from his jacket, and started to scribble some notes. “Whoever was here, didn’t mean to leave any trace, he or she, was supposed to leave permanently or perhaps was here only for a visit. This brings to my mind the possibility that this one could have been no less other than his daughter Irina,” Placing the small notebook in his pocket, he rubbed his hands together, pursing his lips at the knowledge that all the missing pieces were probably coming together.

  “Sir, could it be so, and she was also involved in the assassination of Mr. Calvani? But why?” Officer Silvani wondered.

  “Interesting point, but still not sustained by any proof.” He paused, roaming around the room. “We need to understand the location of this girl day by day since last October. That was the last time Luciano said she was here. But this is contradictory with what Ms. Fazekas claimed. According to her version, Irina was here in October for the last time, and they spent all the time together.” He grabbed the notebook once again, and tapping the pen against it, Maurizio looked to Officer Silvani as if to ask him his opinion.

  “We need another person to tell us what’s going on, and that is the sister of Ms. Fazekas, the woman who hosted Irina like her own daughter. She might give us better information.” He wrote a note on the paper. “Then we need an accurate status of her passport. Somewhere it must have been recorded. If it hadn’t, but she’s been here, we can consider her one of the major players in Mr. Calvani’s murder.”

  A twitch moved officer Silvani’s lip as he dared to speak his own opinion about the case. “But, sir, why would she be involved in the murder of the father of her boyfriend? Why do something that would have given such a grief to the man she supposedly loved?”

  His voice trembled with uncertainty, and regretted having asked something like that. He was expecting Detective Scala to burst into laughter at his stupid remark, but instead, Maurizio didn’t find it funny at all.

  As if he was transformed into a salt statue, he remained frozen in a single moment and slowly, after a bunch of endless seconds, he turned his head toward officer Silvani. “Unless he was the one who ordered the assassination of his own father.”

  Open-mouthed, eyes wide opened as if someone just shot at him, officer Silvani remained speechless. “Sir, this is more than a conjecture,” he objected as there weren’t any leads to the reason why Luciano would have had any interest in killing his own father.

  “We’re all making conjectures here, officer; the only certain thing we have is that a man has been killed. All the rest are hypotheses, theories, and nothing else. Indeed, we have the weapon, but was this the one that fired the deadly shot? Conjectures, once again. Only the forensics can answer this question, and that’s the reason why we are calling them now.” He grabbed his telephone and entered Leonardo’s number.

  “Darling, were you missing me?” Leonardo replied, chuckling.

  “I’ll never miss your ugly face, but we have a situation here, and your team is required to do their job.” Maurizio nagged back. “We are at Leonov’s apartment, and we’ve found a weapon similar to the one that shot Mr. Calvani. We also found traces of a guest he had, so we need to understand who his guest was, and whether there were more than one.”

  “We’re coming right away,” Leonardo replied, ending the communication immediately.

  A stern glance was offered to officer Silvani by Maurizio, “Show me where you found the weapon.”

  With a fast nod, Officer Silvani turned on his heels and paced toward another bedroom. Despite the afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, Maurizio walked to the window and opened them in order to see even the smallest of the details in better light.

  The officer paced toward the wardrobe and opened it. “Here it was, sir,” he pointed at a small opening of a secret compartment at its bottom.

  “Hmmm, if this was the murder weapon, a few questions come to my mind: Did he act alone? Was this a way to get rid of a man who was around the woman he was still jealous of? How did he enter the parking lot of the building where Mr. Calvani kept his car? Was it him who called that night? How did he elude the surveillance guard and how could he know there was a lapse in their recording?”

  Officer Silvani didn’t reply, he observed in awe at his supervisor trying to find answers to questions he didn’t think about.

  After a moment of hesitation, Maurizio decided to question the people who were living on the same floor. He hoped to be lucky enough to find another Mrs. Moretti, who would have held the right knowledge or at least understand how many people lived in the house. Taking a fast glance at the mirror at the entrance, Maurizio tried to comb his hair, he stepped out of the apartment. He noticed there were five other apartments to which he could have asked, and having slipped away the latex gloves, he rang at one that was the immediate neighbor of Igor.

  The door opened ajar and from the chain that locked the door the eyes of a young woman peeked through the opening.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Ma’am, Detective Scala here. May I ask you a couple of questions?” Maurizio said, showing her his badge.

  The woman hesitated a moment, and after a fast glance over her shoulders to check that whoever was in the same apartment with her, didn’t have any objection, she opened the chain that locked the door.

  She didn’t allow Maurizio to come in, but simply stood there waiting for the questions he needed to ask.

  “Do you know the man who’s living in this apartment?” Maurizio asked, pointing at Igor’s door.

  Her expression tensed and her body stiffened, clenching her fists. “I don’t know anybody here, and I mind my own business.” She closed the door, but Maurizio didn’t want to desist.

  “Madam, please, I need to ask only a couple of questions. It’s important, will you help me?”

  The door opened once again, with her eyes wide open, he noticed the terror depicted in her face, and taking one step inside he peeked around, “Are you alone?” he asked.

  She whimpered at his reaction. It wasn’t anything or anyone she was fearing, but everybody knew Igor was a dangerous person, and nobody wanted to be associated with him in any way. “Please, I haven’t done anything bad, I try to live my life in peace here.”

  Maurizio wiped his forehead. “I only need a couple of questions, nothing more.”

  She nodded weakly lowering her gaze and tracing a couple of steps away from the door, she allowed him to enter the apartment, closing the door behind him.

  “It won’t take long, and we can remain here in the entrance. Do you know whether Mr. Leonov had any visitors recently? Did he receive any guests?”

  “You will never tell anyone, about what I tell you, will you?” she trembled.

  “The door is closed, nobody will know anything. Whatever you tell me is going to be more confidential than the sins you tell the priest.” Detective Scala wanted to ensure her that in any case her safety would be considered a priority. If she had information that could have jeopardized her life, he would have taken all the necessary steps to keep her identity secret.

  “Like I said, I tend to mind my own business, in this part of the city it makes the difference between keeping yourself alive or not. Anyway, I met him with another woman, as I was going out or coming in a couple of times. I didn’t mind listening to what is coming from other apartments. Here, everybody is more or less noisy.” Her features relaxed as she talked to the detective, yet she kept her eyes away from him.

  Scala slipped his note
book from his pocket. In the middle of those pages, he still had a picture of Irina, the one he obtained times before from Madlen. “Do you recognize the woman in this picture? Was she the one who was with him?” he said, handing her the image.

  She grabbed the picture in her hands and nodded. “That’s her; is she in danger?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I just wanted to know who was living with him or he was alone. Can you tell me whether she had been here for a long time? When was the first time you noticed her?” He gently retrieved the picture and placed it within the pages of the notebook.

  “Hard to say, I thought she’d been here for quite some time. It can be months, but whether it’s two or ten months, I can’t exactly say.”

  We need permission to listen to all the telephone calls between Luciano and his girlfriend. We need to know whether there are any clues that can nail them both to the crime, only one of them or it was something Igor planned, and executed on his own. I’m still baffled by the reason why any of these two lovers would have done anything like that.

  The clacking of footsteps on the floor, suggested the forensic team had arrived, and perhaps it would be better to reach them.

  “I think this is enough for now. Thank you for your cooperation and I wish you a pleasant day, Ma’am,” Maurizio smiled charmingly as he opened the door ready to leave the apartment.

  “Thanks, you too,” the woman replied quietly, almost whispering, hurrying to close the door behind him.

  Hesitatingly, Maurizio remained to think about the clues that started to populate the puzzle in his mind. He closed his eyes for a moment allowing those pieces to come together to form the first draft of what could have been a possible scenario. Yet, he couldn’t find a place for Luciano.

  He didn’t have any reason for killing his father. He had access to everything he wanted: money, luxury cars, and a brilliant career in the family firm. The emotional path and jealousy of having his father shared with another woman shouldn’t be a real reason for murder. He was married even before.

  Opening his eyes, he shook his head. The one who still had a reason and showed ill intentions was Igor. The fact that a similar weapon was found here should be enough to close the case and release an international arrest warrant for him. Nevertheless, there’s also the position of Irina. She’s been quite an intriguing and controversial figure in this whole puzzle.

  I feel like she has an important role in this situation, but what could it be? Her mother assured she didn’t come to Italy after October. Why would Irina lie to her mother? Was her mother lying to us? Is she also involved in the murder together with her ex-husband and daughter?

  He grabbed his head between his hands. The puzzle still had too many holes, and despite the vital clues coming up from that last visit, they failed to make any sense with each other.

  Drawing a deep breath, he looked toward the door behind which the forensic team was already getting started with scraping every bit of evidence, collecting items to be analyzed, in the hopes to get at least a confirmation about the Beretta being the murder weapon.

  CHAPTER 19

  Once again, he remained working in his office. The days were getting longer and the weather fairer with the onset of Spring. This meant that he’d be working with the AC on, rather than the heaters blasting. That was the only difference for him as he remained later, sometimes for most of the night studying the case. The ticking of the clock brought him to the realization that it was time for Giovanna and Anna to go to sleep. A smile curled his lips, tasting the bitterness of missing precious moments in their life for not having the chances he wanted to spend time with them.

  He grabbed his phone and sent a goodnight message to his wife, asking for the umpteenth time to be forgiven for leaving them alone.

  The usual clicking of Gennaro’s footsteps on the tiled floor, raised a weak chuckle resounding in the silence of the room, recalling at the time when he almost shot at him. The entire department is still giggling at the incident, he thought, staring at the door, where a large A3 paper sheet bore the red inscription “DON’T SHOOT GENNARO!”

  Another pair of footsteps echoed together with the ones of Gennaro, and from the window he could see Leonardo walking in his direction.

  In the dimmed lighting, his face looked paler than usual, as if he was already dead. His pace, as he walked toward Maurizio’s office was labored, yet almost mechanical.

  The door opened and Leonardo, unusually silent entered the room, his expression blank as if he saw a ghost. “What’s wrong?” Maurizio wondered, standing from the chair at his desk.

  “It doesn’t make sense...” He collapsed on the chair in front of Maurizio’s desk. “We’re lucky to have the DNA of Igor, classified in our archives by all the times he got arrested. The DNA on the Beretta, matches his, so he was the one who pulled the trigger. Yet, in that case, I was hoping for more traces. A man who’s holding a gun to kill someone else, tends to sweat, so there should have been more than the faint traces we’d found. A killer doesn’t hide the murder weapon inside his house—he gets rid of it, carefully cleaning it to remove DNA traces— bleach, oxygen bleach, and other products available that even children would know how to use. Yet, we have a consumed criminal, who goes and kills a love rival and keeps the weapon uncleaned in his own house... Why?”

  “Hah!” Maurizio jolted as if he heard a joke. “What about the fact that he doesn’t seem to have left the country, yet he’s nowhere to be found? What about his car? Where is it?” Maurizio raised his hands mid-air, exasperated by the abundance of clues, which proved to be completely irrelevant.

  At that same moment, Senior officer Milani arrived. “Am I late for the party?” she asked with a giggle.

  “There’s no party. Why are you still here? I thought you were home,” Maurizio replied, surprised to see her coming there at that time.

  “I was going home, when a notification about an abandoned car grabbed my attention. I remained at the office a bit longer to go deeper in that piece of information,” she said, swinging a sheet of paper she had in her hand. “The car is parked at the Civitavecchia Harbor, and do you want to know who the owner is?”

  He grabbed the paper, where the details of the car were listed, “Igor Leonov,” he muttered. “How about going for an early swim to Civitavecchia?”

  “If my presence is not extremely necessary, I’d like to go home,” Senior officer Milani whined, tired.

  “What about Leonardo?” Maurizio knew there wasn’t any need for her to be there, as he only wanted to reach the location and in case he’d found the car, order a towing to the Forensic Department. “I think his presence is required.”

  “I don’t have my swimming suit...” Leonardo chuckled.

  “We go commando.” Maurizio stood from the chair ready to drive to Civitavecchia and have the car in question towed to the Police Department for the joy of the forensic team to examine. “I know Chief Commissioner isn’t happy when you accompany me, but in this case, you might need to get some evidence. C’mon get your little chemist’s kit.”

  Leonardo grimaced, “Very funny.”

  ***

  It was about half past midnight, when Aldo woke up from a nightmare in his berth on the boat. So far, he kept his promise and never touched the mainland with his feet. Yet, that night, he needed to get some supplies for the fishing gig and having forgotten to tell anyone on his team to bring them, he would have been forced to go himself to the storage, where he could find whatever he necessitated. He hesitated for a while, glancing at the concrete slab on the harbor, where his boat was moored. Less than one month had passed since the day he murdered a stranger, and from that moment, nightmares continued haunting him in his sleep. The blood, the face of the man when he arrived and his eyes; those clear blue eyes still looking at him from the depth of his dreams, still wondering why he killed a man he’d never met before; just following the orders of a young woman who didn’t mean anything to him, more than a swift pleasure. Not a single d
ay went by where he wanted to end his life but didn’t have the strength to do it.

  Yet, those eyes kept watching every move, waiting for him to the bottom of the sea. His heart raced as his feet slowly touched the mainland. Gathering all his strength, he walked to the places where all the fishermen had their storages, with repairing gears, spare parts, and other supplies.

  His eyes steady to the nothingness, immersed in his own thoughts and consideration. He hardly acknowledged what was happening around him. At that time of the night, there wasn’t anything particular going on anyway. Many fishermen had left; many others would have departed in the morning depending on the kind of fish they were after and their schedule. As for him, the best time to raise the anchor would have been between one or four o’clock in the morning and unwilling to wait for one of the crew to bring everything he required, he had no other choice but to take care of that detail personally.

  “Sir!” a male voice abruptly interrupted his thoughts. He knew there weren’t other people at the dock, so, whoever was calling, it was certainly directed at him. His stomach churned at the sole idea of having to interact with someone else but the members of his crew.

  His blood ran cold when he noticed two men approaching and one wearing a forensic police vest. He couldn’t tell for sure, but there were a few doubts about the reason for their presence there.

  The turmoil in his mind slowly brewed into a storm and tightening the muscles of his whole body he forced a smile. “Yes,” he replied with a frown.

  “We got a notice about a parked car around this dock. Maybe you can help us with some directions,” Maurizio commenced explaining the reason for their visit at that time of the night.

  Aldo backed away from them as they approached. “I don’t know. I rarely leave my boat— that’s my house. Perhaps if you tell me the place where this car should be, I might be more helpful.”

  His feet wanted desperately to run in the opposite direction and be as far as possible from the two policemen. He wouldn’t be able to hide his discomfort, and sooner or later, they would have understood the reason why.