“A fair weather and injured one, it appears. Have you ever worked as a personal trainer? You sound like it.”
“No, but at Northwestern the track team had a trainer. He was tough.”
Rick shook his head and signaled for the bill. “The many facets of Alexis Coleman.”
A few minutes later they emerged into the Mantova night. The restaurant was a few blocks from the hotel on a quiet side street, though almost all the streets in the city’s historic center were silent at that time of night. As they walked they heard only an occasional TV voice muffled by wooden and metal shutters closed tight to keep out the cold. They walked in silence, arm in arm, enjoying the stillness of the medieval surroundings, when Rick’s phone rang. He fumbled and brought it from his jacket pocket.
“It’s my Uncle Piero, I’d better take it.” He pressed the screen. “Zio, buona sera.”
“Good evening to you, Riccardo. I hope I am not interrupting dinner.”
“No, we’re just walking back to the hotel from the restaurant.”
“One always eats well in Mantova. I was wondering if there is any news on your investigation. I didn’t want to call Inspector Crispi, but I trust you are aggiornato on everything.”
“As up-to-date as Crispi, unless he’s learned something new since the last time we met. At this point we’re stuck in a rut, but we’re both convinced that the murder was connected to a plot of land.”
“Land owned by the dead man?”
“Correct, and now by his daughter. It was acquired decades ago by less-than-honorable means, which probably has nothing to do with it. The issue seems to be whether the victim was going to sell it to someone who would develop it in ways not connected to the traditional agriculture of the area. There is no lack of people who are against such development.”
“So, no lack of people with a motive to murder.”
“That’s right. The deceased was not universally loved, as I’ve found out, but I doubt his personality was malevolent enough to be the only factor in his murder. There had to be something else, and this land appears to be that something.”
Lexi listened without understanding, waving to indicate that he should take his time.
“It wouldn’t be the first time someone was killed over a land dispute,” said Piero. “You’ll remember Romulus and Remus.”
Uncle Piero, the true Roman, Rick thought. For them there was nothing new under the sun.
“Was this land acquired recently?”
“No, Uncle. It was decades ago. I think the issue is what should be done with it now.”
“People can have long memories, Riccardo.”
Though she was trying to hide it, Rick read Lexi’s body language, and it was saying that she was anxious to get back to the hotel and get to work. “That’s where we stand, Zio. I’m not optimistic that a murderer will be found, certainly not before Mr. Rondini flies back to the States and I return to Rome, the day after tomorrow.”
“You’re walking with your employer?”
“No, he stayed in. I’m with his assistant. She’s standing here but doesn’t understand Italian.”
There was a pause before Piero replied. “I suppose this assistant is aged and walks with the aid of a cane.”
“Not exactly, Zio.”
“I see. Then I should not be taking your time. Call me if anything comes up, otherwise I’ll see you when you get home.”
They said their good-byes and Rick returned the phone to his pocket, realizing he hadn’t mentioned the threats. “My uncle the cop. He wanted to know if anything was happening in the case.” They had come to a corner and he pointed to a very narrow and straight alley. “If I have it right, this should bring us out at the street our hotel is on.”
“It doesn’t look very inviting, but lead away.” Lexi again took his arm.
As they started down the pavement it became obvious that they were walking past the backs of residences and businesses. Doors were metal, some with multiple locks, and bars covered every window at street level. It must have been pick-up day, since metal garbage cans sat empty at intervals, some turned on their sides. The street was so narrow a parked car would have blocked another trying to pass, and signs with P crossed out appeared at intervals on the walls. With this parking prohibition, other than the garbage cans, it was empty. To match the lack of traffic was a lack of lighting; only a few dim lamps attached to buildings lit the way. In Rome at night on a street like this Rick would have at least seen a cat or two creeping under the shadows, but here there were none. About a hundred meters in the distance they could see the bright lights of the hotel’s street.
“I could tell by the way you talked that you’re very close to your uncle.”
“Are you starting to pick up some Italian, Lexi?”
“No, of course not. It was the tone of voice, and your body language.”
“You’re very perceptive. Piero and I get along very well. He always tells me the truth, without preaching to me, and I’m always honest with him. And he’s a pretty impressive guy. I wish you could meet him sometime.”
“What kind of preparation do cops in Italy need?”
They moved together to one side in order to avoid a garbage can that had rolled into the center of the alley. Rick pushed it to the side with his foot as they passed.
“My uncle has a degree in law from La Sapienza, that’s Rome’s state university. I think a law degree is a pretty common career path. Then they do their own training, of course.”
“La Sapienza?”
“It means ‘wisdom,’ or ‘knowledge.’ An appropriate name for an institution of higher learning, wouldn’t you say? Has a much classier ring to it than the ‘University of New Mexico,’ where I went.”
“Or my Northwestern, which isn’t even in the Northwest. Of course it was in the northwest when it was founded in 1851, but then the Northwest moved northwest and Northwestern stayed where it was.”
“It’s not too late to move it to Washington or Oregon.”
“I doubt if the board of trustees is considering that.” She stopped and turned back. “What’s that?”
Rick looked and saw that a car was slowly turning into the alley behind them. It backed up once and then squeezed through the opening of the buildings on either side of the corner. In the darkness he couldn’t tell what kind of a car it was, but from the low pitch of the engine it sounded like an SUV or perhaps a small truck. Just into the alley it stopped.
“He’s probably realizing it’s too narrow and is now going to back out,” Rick said.
They started walking again but were stopped by the sound of the revving engine behind them. Along with hitting the gas pedal, the driver had switched to high beams, sending a blinding light toward them that bounced off the bare walls of the buildings.
“I don’t like the looks of this, Lexi.” He tried to calculate the distance to the end of the alley and safety. It looked like about fifty yards. At that moment they could hear the car shifting into gear and starting toward them. “Let’s go.”
Lexi unbuttoned her long wool coat so that she could run more easily, and Rick did the same. Fortunately she wore slacks and low heeled shoes, and was able to get up to a stride quickly. Rick, for one of the first times in his life, cursed his cowboy boots. He also immediately started feeling the pain in his leg from the falling cheese. Lexi might make it, but he was beginning to doubt if he could.
The sound of a garbage can hitting the bumper and bouncing off a wall temporarily cut into the growl of the engine, along with a high squeal of tires. Perhaps the can had slowed down the driver enough to give them enough time to escape. The hope disappeared when Rick heard the car roar back to full power. The light from the high beams was getting stronger, throwing Rick’s long shadow ahead of him as he followed Lexi.
“Look for a doorway!” he shouted. Why hadn’t he ta
ken her up a wide street?
All the doors they passed were flush with their buildings, and the one garage door was the same. No indoor space would be wasted in an alley, the niched entrance-ways would be on the opposite side of the building, the street address.
The car was fifty yards away and closing.
“Up on the right!” shouted Lexi, pointing ahead. There was a small indentation in the back of the building, but it was filled with two plastic garbage cans. Lexi reached it and grabbed one of the cans, flinging it across the pavement. Rick was right behind her and pushed the other one into the beams of headlights coming at them. Lexi squeezed into the space and pulled him in next to her. They had to bend slightly to get their heads inside, but there was enough room to get them out of the car’s path. Lexi put her arms around Rick’s waist and squeezed close to him just as the car was about to pass.
It didn’t slow down, even when it hit the plastic can that Rick had pushed into its way. The empty can careened off the bumper with a thump and slammed into Rick’s leg as the car sped past the two huddled figures. A moment later it was gone and the silence returned.
“You know, Lexi, I love holding you in my arms, but next time, let’s pick a more comfortable location.” They disentangled. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. What about you? Did that thing hit you?”
Emerging from the niche, Rick picked up the two garbage bins and put them back where they had been before the incident. “In the leg. But fortunately it was the other leg.”
“So now you have two excuses for skipping our run tomorrow morning.” She watched as he pulled out his cell phone. “Who are you calling?”
“Crispi. I got the license plate.” He scrolled and pressed the screen. After two rings the call was answered. “Inspector? Can you have someone look something up for me?”
As in any five-star hotel, there was someone on duty at the bar, even at the late hour. In one corner was a gray-haired man with a woman who could have been his daughter, but wasn’t. They were working through a bottle of something bubbly that nestled in an ice bucket. Rick and Lexi sat at a small table at the opposite end of the room. Their two small glasses, containing a caramel-brown liquid, were being carefully nursed. Next to the glasses was Rick’s cell phone, still warm.
“The car belongs to a man who lives just across the river. When the police called him he said that was ridiculous, his car was parked in front of the house, and started complaining about police inefficiency and getting him out of bed for nothing. Of course when he looked outside, his car wasn’t there.”
Lexi finished a sip of her brandy. “Stolen vehicle.”
“Exactly. They’re looking for it now. But more importantly for us, Crispi is not happy that this happened after Angelo turned down police protection.”
“But the car tried to run us down. Angelo wasn’t the target.”
Rick shrugged. “Of that I’m not sure. But the bottom line is that Crispi is insisting we have a police escort for the rest of the time you’re in Mantova, and won’t take no for an answer. Your boss won’t be happy. I’m not happy. Nobody is happy.”
“I’m happy the two of us got out of that alley in one piece.”
“Between my bad leg and these boots, I almost didn’t make it.”
“You need a good massage.”
He took her hand in both of his. “What a great idea, Lexi.”
“The hotel spa opens tomorrow at seven a.m. I’m sure they can get you in.”
Rick smiled. “You’re good.” He leaned closer. “There’s something I couldn’t help thinking, both when we were outside the giants hall, and later in the alley when we ducked to get away from the car.”
“You mean when you had me in your arms?”
“Right.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
He leaned closer and sniffed. “I kept thinking, what is that perfume she’s wearing?”
Lexi laughed. “What are you, some kind of perfume expert?”
Rick’s response was an offended frown. “Well, as a matter of fact, I do know a thing or two about perfume, my dear. When I lived in Albuquerque, I had a friend who worked at the perfume counter at our big department store. While waiting for her to get off work, I used the time to familiarize myself with the various scents.”
Lexi stared at him. “You’re not joking.”
“Certainly not. It’s become kind of a hobby.”
“I’m impressed. Well, I wear—”
“No. Don’t tell me. I’m still trying to place it. I’m narrowing it down.”
“I suppose you need more time and more whiffs of it.”
“That would be very helpful.”
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek before finishing her brandy and getting to her feet. “There. Hold that memory. Thanks for a wonderful dinner and an exciting walk home, Rick. Sorry we can’t go for a run tomorrow. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
He watched her slacks as she walked to the lobby, remembering how those long legs looked in running tights. Then he rubbed his thigh and cursed the fates.
They could not see the water of the Po River as the car went over the long, double-lane bridge. After reaching the southern bank, visibility improved, but Marco still made his turns with care. The morning fog, which had been heavy since leaving Mantova, was showing signs of lifting, thanks to a tenacious, probing sun. As the car got farther from the bridge, what had been a heavy curtain of gray was turning to wisps of vapor, revealing the drab, flat landscape. On the left side of the road any view of the river was blocked by a thick grove of trees, planted decades earlier for flood control and now leafless in the fall chill. To the right, dark dirt stretched from the pavement to the horizon. At the far edge of the field, at the end of a row of high trees, the white walls and red roofs of houses offered the eye a slight contrast to the brown earth and cloudy sky. The driver slowed and signaled for a turn. Angelo twisted to look out of the rear window at the police car that was keeping a discreet distance behind them.
“Maybe we can get Marco to lose the tail on the way back. It could be fun.”
Rick, who sat next to him in the backseat, wasn’t sure if his boss was joking, so he decided to ignore the suggestion and change the subject. “We’re coming into your place of birth, Mr. Rondini.”
They had just passed the sign announcing their entry into Voglia, followed by another sign mandating a reduction in speed, not that they were going at all fast. Tall trees lined both sides of the straight two-lane road. The open field continued to stream by on the right, but a combination of brick wall and tall hedge began along the left, hiding either a residence, farm, or both. They passed a gate but were unable to catch a view of what was inside. When the hedge ended, they were into the town itself. Standing under two pine trees in the center of a square of gravel was a statue of a soldier. A wreath, its white ribbon blowing slightly in the wind, was affixed to the pedestal. The soldier, dressed for the First World War, held a rifle in one hand and saluted the horizon with the other. The memorial indicated they had come upon civic center of town, and the two buildings on the opposite side of the street confirmed it. They had the architecture of the late nineteenth century, as well as the light-yellow color and white trim used so often in government buildings. Each flew the Italian flag from its center balcony and was marked by raised letters: Scuola and Municipio. There were likely classes going on behind the shutters of the school, but it was not evident from the street. City Hall showed some activity; people were entering the building and the shutters were raised. Most of the movement on this street, however, was in a large parking lot across from the municipal building and next to the church. It was full of canopied vehicles, each in an assigned spot and decked out to sell food, clothing, hardware, and sundries. Locals, bundled against the chill and armed with shopping bags, walked the aisles among them.
“It app
ears that we’re here on market day,” said Rick. “They must have planned it that way so you could get some local color.”
In fact, the stands and the people were as drab and gray as the weather. This was not a market like Campo dei Fiori, near Rick’s apartment in Rome, full of bright flowers, where the clients knew the sellers, traded daily greetings and jibes, and haggled over quality and price. But that was a permanent market. Voglia was this day’s stop for the tireless itinerant vendors of the province. By midday they would pack up and drive to another town where they would set up again at dawn, work all morning, only to move again.
“This has to be the most inefficient system for the sale of goods in the western world,” said Angelo. He pointed to a bar just down the street. “Can we get a coffee in there?”
The way Angelo said it made Rick wonder if this return to his home village had been a good idea. The man was cranky, which could have been the result of bad business news Lexi had given him in the morning briefing, or simply his annoyance at having a police escort. The other possibility was that he was having second thoughts about visiting Voglia. They parked the car and got out while the police vehicle slipped into the space next to them. The cop driving made a point of not meeting Angelo’s eyes. Perhaps Inspector Crispi had told him that the American was not happy to be protected.
Angelo stopped in front of the car, took a deep breath, and looked up and down the street. “Not exactly the kind of place that’s going to keep its young people from leaving for the big city, is it?”
They walked to the door of the bar, saw that it was open, and went inside. At one table a man whom Rick guessed to be one of the vendors had his hands around a large cup, absorbing its warmth. Otherwise, despite market day, the place was empty of clientele. They had likely been in earlier and would show up late. A woman stood behind the bar and sized up the two new arrivals. Rick assumed she was the owner, otherwise she would be enjoying her grandchildren in retirement. It was impossible to know how long her gray hair was since it had been tied up in a bun, but likely at least shoulder-length. The skin signaled smoker, and her voice, when she spoke, confirmed it.
A Funeral in Mantova Page 18