A Funeral in Mantova

by David P. Wagner

  “Thank you all for coming,” she began.

  Rick placed himself between and just behind Lexi and Angelo, then went to work.

  “We are here thanks to the generosity of Signor Angelo Rondini, who has put this monument here to honor the memory of my father.” She turned and smiled at Angelo. “I could not imagine a more appropriate place. It was here that Roberto Rondini came when he wanted to forget the problems of the moment, and as you can see and feel, the tranquility of the river has the power to do just that. I recall one time when my father was starting to bring me into the family business…”

  Livia spoke, and Rick translated in a low voice for Angelo and Lexi. When she was in the middle of her story, he felt the vibration of his phone, and without stopping his interpreting, he pulled it from his pocket. It was a three-sentence text from Crispi. When he was doing simultaneous interpreting, Rick put himself into an intense, concentrative zone; all that existed was the voice he heard in one language and the words in the other that he spoke in response. The message he glanced at on the screen of his phone broke his concentration. Angelo noticed and turned around.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Sorry, Mr. Rondini.” He pointed to the phone and kept his voice low. “The message came in from the inspector. It’s not what I expected.”

  “Let me see.” Rick showed him the small screen of his cell. Lexi bent to see it as well.

  Rick whispered as he pointed. “This is the man who owned the land when it was taken by the government for unpaid taxes.” His finger moved. “This is the name of his son, who was a boy at the time. Crispi did a check of this name and found that he died recently. And this last name is the grandson of the original owner and son of the man who just died.”

  Angelo’s eyes darted from the phone to the people gathered around the monument. “That son of a bitch.”

  “Crispi is on his way,” Rick said. “He’ll probably be here before this ends.”

  “I want to get my hands on the guy before that.”

  “Mr. Rondini,” said Lexi, her voice almost inaudible, “be reasonable. This is something for the police to handle.”

  To get Angelo’s mind off revenge, if that was possible, Rick returned to interpreting Livia’s remarks. She had finished the story about her father and was on a new topic.

  “…the land that extends from the Mincio to the edge of our pasture land. It has not been used by my family for many years, but I have decided it is time to determine its future. I have received many purchase offers for those who wish to develop it in one way or another: luxury housing overlooking the river, a factory, a shopping center. I weighed all the possibilities and have made a decision.”

  The group was silent. The only sound, other than the low hum of Rick’s voice, was the ripple of the river as it ran under the wooden dock behind them. Livia looked at the monument in front of her before going on.

  “It was thinking about my father coming here that helped me decide what should happen to this land. I could not destroy the tranquility of this place with construction and development, it would be an affront to the memory of my father. Instead I will be donating the land to the Mincio River Nature Reserve, so that it can revert to its most natural state, and be available for the enjoyment of the public.”

  She smiled at the two men who had arrived in the green truck, and they began to clap. They were joined by an enthusiastic Domenico Folengo, after which came the more subdued applause of the others. The expressions Rick saw on the faces of the invitees betrayed their opinion of her decision. The men from the cheese consortium exchanged glances, now understanding that a large amount of acreage would not be used in competition with other dairies, and the equilibrium of power within their organization would remain stable. The two men from the nature reserve were still clapping as they exchanged words. Fiore and Zucari showed only grim frowns and ignored each other. Letizia Bentivoglio had a tearful smile and kept her eyes on the column inscribed with Roberto Rondini’s name. Francesco Guarino, unlike the others, displayed only stunned surprise. Was it possible that Livia had not told her own husband beforehand? She waited for the clapping to subside and continued.

  “I would like now to ask the person we can thank for this beautiful memorial, Angelo Rondini, to say a few words.” She turned. “Riccardo, can you do the interpreting, per favore?”

  If Angelo was surprised by the invitation, he didn’t show it. He and Rick stepped forward and Livia moved to one side. The faces on the others showed curiosity. All of them, save the invitees from the nature reserve, knew who Angelo was, and of those, many had met him. Despite that, he was still a curiosity in the closed circle that was any Italian city. That he had been born here just added to the exotic quality of the man.

  “We are here today,” he began, “to remember Roberto Rondini. While our gathering is about him, I cannot help but tell you about how my life has been changed by his death. As many of you know, I never met Livia’s father, and that will be one of my greatest regrets until the day I die. But I have him to thank for bringing me back to the place where I was born. I should have done it earlier in my life, I know that now. But it isn’t too late for me to reconnect to my roots, and to my family.”

  While he listened to the Italian, Angelo squeezed his niece’s hand. The only sound was Rick’s voice, until the faint bleat of a siren floated over the fields toward the river. Lexi noticed it and looked anxiously at the people gathered around the stone column. Angelo apparently heard it as well, as his next words indicated.

  “Regretfully, Roberto’s death was not an accident.” He paused and waited for Rick to interpret.

  The reaction from the group was immediate. They stiffened, exchanged puzzled frowns, but stayed silent, no doubt wondering what was coming next from the American.

  “And now we know who was responsible.”

  Rick turned to his boss. “Mr. Rondini, do you really think this—”

  A sharp cry of pain came from where the policeman had been standing, causing everyone’s head to turn in his direction. The cop was on his knees, a stunned look on his face. Blood seeped around fingers pressed against a wound on his forehead, but he was alert enough to reach for his holster with the free hand. The holster was empty.

  Marco stood above him and waved the gun at the crowd, but his eyes were on Livia.

  “You think you’re so noble, donating the land to the people,” he said in a quivering voice. “But you can’t give away land that doesn’t belong to you.” His eyes darted to the stricken faces of the others. “Enzo Rondini stole it from my grandfather. Her father knew. Yes, Roberto Rondini knew the whole sordid story. And yet he came to my father’s funeral, so what was I to think? Perhaps the man had some decency, something that his father lacked. Perhaps he was ready to make amends for stealing this land from my grandfather. But when I came here—to this very place—to talk with him, he laughed at me.” He looked nervously back at the line of trees which separated the river from the Rondini property as the gun wobbled in his hand. His eyes moved from person to person but ended on Livia’s face. “You were my last chance. Surely you would see things differently. But now I know I was wrong, you decided to give the land away, land which rightfully belongs to my family.”

  The sound of the siren had grown stronger. Rick calculated that Crispi was passing the gate of the dairy and would be appearing within minutes. Which might be too late. He started walking slowly toward the driver, holding up his hands.

  “Marco, don’t do this. No one here had anything to do with taking that land. It was decades ago. Everyone here is innocent.”

  “Stay where you are, Riccardo.” The hand shook as he gripped the pistol. Again he looked quickly back, hearing the siren. His voice, which had been a plaintive wail, now turned icy cold. “The police won’t get me, I promise you that. But there is some unfinished business I have to take care of.”

 
He raised the pistol and moved its barrel between Livia and Angelo. His eyes darted from one face to the other, trying to decide which to aim at first. Lexi took advantage of the hesitation, grabbed Livia by the shoulders and pushed her to the ground behind the column. Marco’s reaction was immediate. He jerked the gun in their direction and the barrel exploded. The bullet hit the column and small chunks of stone flew into the air. Everyone fell to the ground and instinctively covered their heads. Rick had dropped to one knee on his bad leg and winced in pain. He looked back and saw that Lexi and Livia huddled, unhurt, behind the column.

  The sound of a second shot echoed across the water.

  Marco began swaying. The gun was still held tightly in one hand, but his arms had dropped to his sides. His unfocused eyes rolled skyward as the pistol slipped from his grip and fell to the ground. He clawed at a dark red spot below his collar, then looked in disbelief at the blood on his fingers. Slowly his knees bent, and he crumpled to the ground.

  Rick looked back. Angelo stood stiffly, arms extended and legs spread, like he was on a firing range. The small pistol was pointed at the body of the driver. Only when Rick reached Marco did the pistol disappear into Angelo’s overcoat pocket.

  Two police cars burst through the opening in the trees.

  “Angelo’s got a concealed-carry permit, Rick.”

  “Somehow I doubt it’s valid here in Italy, Lexi. But since Crispi’s man was lax in allowing Marco to grab his gun, and your boss saved the day, the inspector may look benignly on the transgression.”

  “I hope so. Angelo never goes anywhere without it. Another advantage of having one’s own airplane.”

  Rick glanced at the memorial, where the farm manager and Letizia Bentivoglio stood reading the inscription. She was holding tightly to Zucari’s arm, and her face was streaked by tears as she stared at the letters etched into the stone. Her hand reached out and touched the cold surface when Zucari noticed Rick watching them. Gently but firmly he led her from the column toward Rick and Lexi.

  “That was very courageous of you to try to stop him from shooting,” said Zucari.

  “I wasn’t successful,” Rick answered.

  “Never the less, my cugina and I are very appreciative of your effort.” She nodded silently, tugged at Zucari’s arm, and they walked away quickly.

  “What’s the matter, Rick?” said Lexi. “You look stunned.”

  “Zucari and Letizia Bentivoglio. They’re cousins. I thought…”

  He was interrupted by the brusque appearance of Emilio Fiore. Livia’s neighbor ignored Lexi and spoke to Rick. “Well, Montoya, your boss didn’t get what he wanted, did he? A nice international contract would have been so nice, an excuse to fly over here and eat in our restaurants.” He pointed a calloused index finger at Rick’s chest. “But I would have preferred even a shopping center to this insane decision by Livia. If only Carlo and I could have talked her out of it. We didn’t care who got the land, as long as it was used for cattle. Now nobody is happy except those eco-freaks.” He shook his head and strode off.

  Rick turned to Lexi. “He’s not happy about the donation,” he said.

  The invitees milled around, talking in low voices. They studiously averted their eyes from the prostrate figure of an unconscious Marco Bertani. One of the policemen who had arrived with Crispi was applying first aid as best he could, after having covered the bleeding driver with a blanket. In the distance another faint siren could be heard, this one that of an ambulance.

  After tending to the fallen man, Crispi had spoken first with Livia, since it was her property, then with the shaken policeman who gestured nervously as he talked and held a bandage to his head. Then the inspector had pulled out his cell phone and spent at least ten minutes in conversation before striding toward Rick. Lexi saw him approach.

  “I’d better let you two talk.”

  “Thanks, Lexi.” He watched her walk quickly to Angelo, who was standing with Livia and her husband.

  Crispi did not bother to shake hands. He glanced again at the man on the ground, looked out over the water, and then faced Rick. “This place is cursed, Montoya. She told me she’s going to turn it into a nature reserve, but I’m thinking nobody will want to come here. One person killed and his murderer shot, in almost the same spot? They’ll be afraid to get near this shore.”

  “Or they’ll come out of morbid curiosity.”

  The detective nodded. “I suppose you could be correct.” He paused and rubbed his chin. “I just had a long conversation with my boss and explained to him what happened.”

  Rick studied Crispi’s face, and as always it revealed nothing. “You told the questore what Mr. Rondini did?”

  “Of course. He was pleased he’d made the decision to allow Mr. Rondini to be armed, after those threats.”

  It took an instant to understand, then Rick smiled. “I had forgotten that.”

  “So had the questore. It took some convincing since his first reaction was to prosecute your Mr. Rondini for illegal possession of a firearm. But I reminded him of another investigation I’ve been doing.”

  Rick couldn’t resist. “Lando up the windmill again?”

  “No.”

  Still no change of expression. The man was a robot.

  “I refer to that illegal gambling operation,” Crispi said. “You may remember one of my men said something to me when we had lunch.”

  “I remember,” said Rick. “But I don’t understand how that would convince your boss to look the other way with Mr. Rondini.”

  “Let’s just say that the questore himself is very fond of games of chance. He was pleased when I told him that the investigation into the local operation will be going nowhere.”

  Crispi may not have all the social graces needed in office politics, Rick decided, but he knows how to work the system. Uncle Piero will be pleased.

  “I will not give Mr. Rondini the details behind the decision, but he will be very appreciative.”

  “It also affects Signor Guarino.”

  “Livia’s husband? You have lost me again, Inspector.”

  “Signor Guarino also enjoys the occasional wager. More than occasional, apparently. He was rather heavily in debt.”

  Rick glanced over at Francesco Guarino, who was talking with one of the men from the cheese consortium. “So his injury may not have been from an accident?”

  Crispi’s answer was a shrug.

  The ambulance pulled up and turned off its siren, but the flashing lights stayed on. A woman in white carrying a small bag got out of the passenger side and ran down to where Marco lay. Two men dressed the same followed seconds later, bumping a stretcher on wheels down the hill. The gathered group, ordered to stay by Crispi, was being interviewed by the inspector’s men. They had avoided looking at the man who had been shot, but now stopped and watched the emergency crew work. The policeman who had worked on the driver walked to where Crispi and Rick were standing.

  “He’s in bad shape, sir, but they can probably save him. I didn’t see a slug, so it must still be lodged in his upper chest. The shooter was a good marksman, but if he’d aimed just a bit lower, the man would be dead.”

  “You did well, Corporal. Now help the others take statements from the witnesses. Just the Italians.”

  “Yes, sir.” He walked to the group. They were still watching the medical technicians work.

  “I assume you’ll be talking to Rondini and Signora Coleman, Inspector. Do you want me to interpret when you do?”

  Crispi pondered the question. “Your statement should be enough,” he said finally.

  The EMTs lifted Marco to the stretcher and carefully strapped him in.

  Rick thought back to when the man had met him at the train station. Nothing in the way he’d acted that day, or since, had betrayed what must have been simmering inside. Even as he resorted to violence against Angel
o, Marco kept on playing his part, holding out hope that the Rondini family would finally make amends for the sins of the past. Was that hope so unreasonable? But Roberto Rondini’s daughter had other plans for the land, and when that became clear, the explosion was inevitable.

  Rick’s thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Crispi.

  “Tell me something, Montoya. What made you think that the previous owner of the property could have a connection with the murder? It was, after all, half a century ago that the land changed hands.”

  One man pulled the stretcher while the other pushed from behind, and they started back up the incline toward the ambulance. Their colleague walked next to it, keeping her eyes on the ashen face of the man wrapped the blanket. Crispi was the only one not watching Marco being taken away. He had turned to stare out over the water, which had become choppy thanks to a light wind. After a few seconds he looked back at Rick, who was deciding how to answer. Tell him about seeing the boy looking up from the back seat on that street in Voglio? Mention the old newspaper photograph of Marco Bertani’s father at about the same age, staring at the camera, perhaps on the same street?

  “It was just a hunch, Inspector. My uncle told me that some crimes have roots going back many years. That made me think of it.”

  “Your uncle is an excellent policeman, Montoya.”

  The late afternoon sun had dropped below the level of the wall, casting a long shadow over the gravestones and making the temperature colder than it had been when they’d gotten out of Livia’s vehicle. But at least the high wall sheltered them from a wind that blew over the fields around the cemetery, slowed only by the occasional line of trees. Winter was upon the Po Valley, and with it had come gray skies and shortened days. Snow, infrequent on the flat lands, would soon build up in the mountains to the north, a white cloak from the foothills to the Austrian border.

  Rick and Lexi stopped just inside the gate and watched Angelo and Livia walk together to the grave of Roberto Rondini, she holding tightly to her uncle’s arm. In her other hand she held a small bouquet. She knelt and placed it among the wilted flowers from the funeral, still arranged around the headstone. When she got to her feet, Angelo put his arm around her and began speaking quietly in her ear. They both looked down at the grave as he spoke.