Listen to me! This was not a murder committed on a sudden impulse, this was planned. Leaving the axe in the vicinity was part of that plan. You are the most promising suspect. I could, and probably should, arrest you now, tell me why I shouldn’t.”
“Oh God. This is a nightmare. It wasn’t me. I’m innocent. I wish I could prove it, but I can’t see how. I know things look bad, but it wasn’t like that. Look, I would have no trouble getting another job, I’ve often had offers. I’ve always turned them down out of loyalty and because I liked working here, but make no mistake, I’m rather sought after. I’ve a lot of experience. Ambra wanted to leave the house anyway, and go and live what she called a “normal” life. Ask her. Besides, Diana would have come round, once the child was born. She would have forgiven us. I’ve seen this sort of situation before. It's true that Ambra had an argument with her mother, but she helped out at the school yesterday; she helped her mother, do you understand? They weren’t that estranged. You’re making it look worse than it was.”
“Alright. You will sign a statement, and are free to go for now. I’m tempted to put you under house arrest, but I think I’ll leave you to continue your work, for the present. You are not to leave town. If you try to do so, I will have you arrested immediately. Is that clear? I want you here, where I can find you if, and when, I want you.”
Riccardo was escorted from the room, and Di Girolamo stuck the pen between his teeth, and chewed on it. He wasn’t sure about this man. He was old-fashioned enough not to approve of men who went with young girls, especially when the girl in question, was obviously inexperienced and rich. Getting such a girl pregnant was the time-honoured way to accede to riches. A man who would do that, was that ambitious, might well be pushed to excesses, and remove any obstacle in his path.
On the other hand, this was a respected and, as he himself said, respectable member of society, a hard worker, who professed love for a girl he had known since she was a child, and who denied direct responsibility for this pregnancy. He appeared not to consider the obstacle very weighty, and was probably right about his job prospects.
Well he would see the girl this afternoon, and see which way the scales went; up or down, guilty or innocent.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Maresciallo phoned him just as he was preparing to leave for the Villa.
“We’ve found the boy, Angelo Guerrazzi. He is in hospital, in Venice.”
“Really! What he was doing there.”
“You’ll never guess.” Maresciallo Biagioni grinned. “They’ve been trying to find out who he is.”
“Don’t tell me, he’s the mysterious youth who saved that child from drowning?”
“That’s the one. I asked for hospitalisations and they came up with this one. He fitted the description. I faxed them a photo and they have identified him. Apparently, he lost his trousers in the sea, with his documents in. He jumped into the water, saved this little kid, and as he was climbing out of the water, he fainted, and hit his head on a cement bollard. He’s still in a coma, though the doctors say he’ll probably come out of it. They’ve operated and now, it’s just a question of time before he wakes up. I’ve spoken to a doctor at the hospital there and he says that someone should be with him, talking to him, and stimulating him to wake up. So, as soon as this is over, someone from the family had better go up there.”
“Good, When are the photos of the footprints, and the soil analysis due?”
“Hopefully, later this afternoon. If you’re at the villa, when they arrive, I’ll send them on.”
“Anything else useful? What about witnesses of Cosimo's departure from Torre?”
“Not for the moment.”
“Have we got the records of the phone calls made by Giorgio Paconi?"
“He used his cell phone, probably because he was phoning other cell phones.”
“He said he was in his room, did anyone see him there?”
“No.”
“So he could have been anywhere.”
“Do you want to see him?”
“Yes, get him to come in later. I have to go to the Villa Fiori shortly.”
“I'll see you later.”
It was now, three-thirty and still very hot. The town was empty apart from the odd tourist sitting under the awning outside a bar eating a rapidly melting ice-cream. With a sort of horror, he passed a group of very British walkers, ramblers, or whatever they called themselves. They wore shorts, and stout walking boots. Each carried a stick, and wore a sun hat, some of which had extended protection down the back of the neck, like the desert hats worn by the Foreign Legion. They all had a rucksack, no doubt filled with emergency equipment, and water. The terrifying thing about them, was their age. Some of them had to be in their seventies, and no one looked under fifty. He thought they were courting heat stroke at the very least, and possibly death. Strange compatriots Hilary had. As long as he lived, he would never understand what could induce a man of seventy to walk over these hills in the heat of an August afternoon.
He drove through the gates of the villa, and took note of the beautifully kept lawns, and the well-trimmed hedges that flanked the drive. Riccardo kept everything in perfect condition. He drove round to the back of the house, and parked the car. Instead of going into the house, he walked around the grounds, down to the pool, and on to the stables, then back up towards the orchard. He noted distances, timing them, and visibility (who could see what, from where). It was so hot, that he would have been pleased to have a desert hat like the British stalwarts. He adjusted his dark glasses and looked towards the house, where he was sure his progress was being observed. He reached the pergola, and walked in, passing under the police cordon. It was a rectangular, shaded area, almost like a box, as the only light filtered in from the one entrance and once inside there was no other opening, not even a gap in the ancient covering. He could well understand the attraction for having an afternoon’s rest here, as it was very cool. His eyes became accustomed to the dim light, and he looked at the sun-bed. There was a table beside it, and on it a bottle of water, with a glass upturned over it. Diana’s shoes lay pathetically side by side beneath it, waiting for their owner to put them on again, and take up her life, as though it had only paused for a while.
He left this haven that had become a tomb, and turned back towards the rose garden and the terrace steps. The cypress lay where it had fallen, only the top had been cleared to leave passage for those who, like himself, wished to climb the steps to the terrace, and then enter the house.
They had watched him, with trepidation, as though his perambulations were dangerous, a threat to their innocence. Now, as he entered the house, they drew back from the windows, and moved to sit, as though in the dentist’s waiting room, fearful about what was going to happen, and yet longing for it to be over and done with.
He went straight to the study, where a young policeman was waiting for him, tape-recorder at the ready.
“See, if they have some iced water and a glass please, and then send in Arturo first.”
His curiosity had got the better of him. He had intended calling Ambra first. His mouth had started to form the word, but as the first letter was formed, he changed his mind. He was very curious to see the 'nonentity'.
Arturo entered immediately after a brief knock. He came across the room, and folded his long body to a seated position without waiting to be asked. This was a man at home, and a faintly supercilious look settled on his face, as though the man facing him would do well to remember he was a public servant.
“You are Arturo Esposito,” his tongue lingered lovingly over this surname, once given to foundlings in the south of Italy, “And you are married to Emily Guerrazzi?” his tone was disinterested.
“Yes, I am”
“This interview will be taped.” He nodded to his colleague, who repeated the formula, regarding the date, time, and number of people present in the room.
“Signor Esposito, I would like you to go over your movements, yeste
rday afternoon.”
“But I did that yesterday, and I have nothing to add.” He sounded irritated.
“For the tape please.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I went to the pool with my wife, and I stayed there until about four o’clock, when my wife left to go and make tea for her mother, and I went to my parents’ house. It was my sister’s birthday.”
“Your wife did not wish to accompany you?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, she doesn’t really get on with my sister, so… anyway she always gets tea for her mother.”
“Now your wife tells me, that she left the pool at about three o’clock to go and get a sun-block cream, for you. Is that so?” He managed to convey his distaste for a man who would send his wife on an errand he could well carry out himself.
“Well, Emily insisted; she likes doing things for people,” he defended himself.
“What did you do, while she was away?”
“I waited,” he sounded wary.
“At the pool?”
“Yes.” He sounded more wary.
“Did you see anyone while you were there, waiting?”
“No.” He sounded more relaxed. There was a lengthy pause.
“So you have no proof that you were there. It’s just your word.”
“Well, of course!”
“Did you get on well with your mother-in-law? The truth please.”
“We usually just left each other alone. I was away most of the week anyway.”
“Did you like her?”
“Yes, I suppose so. We got on.”
“But on Friday you had quite a serious argument with her.”
“How did you know that?” He sounded surprised but when di Girolamo gave no answer, he explained further, “Look, she had been very unpleasant to Emily, and I told her that I didn’t like it. It seemed to me that she didn’t appreciate all that Emily did for her. Emily was devoted to her, you know, and Diana took advantage of it, she sometimes treated her like a servant, and that really annoyed me.”
“But Emily took advantage of her mother too, didn’t she. It was a ‘you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours’ sort of a situation, wasn’t it?”
“If you like to put it that way,” he said with distaste.
“Let’s say then, that it was to their mutual benefit.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Signor Esposito, did you like living here, under your mother in law's thumb, her eyes always on you, living as she wanted you to live?”
“Yes and no. To be honest, if I’d had the choice, I would have preferred to live elsewhere.”
“But you didn’t have that choice did you?”
“No, not really.”
Arthur massaged his bony hands together, kneading the thin joints. His nails were bitten to the quick. He wore a pale blue summer shirt, with three buttons and a collar, as favoured by tennis players. It matched his pale blue eyes. What little hair he had was arranged to cover the maximum amount of pink scalp. His teeth were slightly protuberant, and his lips so thin that his upper lip seemed drawn back from his teeth, giving him a resemblance to a rodent. He had crossed his long legs. The foot that dangled, jerked spasmodically keeping time with his speech. Di Girolamo thought of him as a cornered rat, and moved in for the kill.
“You didn’t like Diana, you didn’t like living here, and you had argued with Diana about the way she treated your wife. Is that correct?”
“Yes, but I don’t like the way you put it.”
“Don’t you? I have only synthesised what you have told me.” He paused and then said in a sharp tone, “Shall I tell you what you did when your wife left the pool to get you a sun block? I believe you killed Diana. You had ample time to run up to the pergola, kill your mother- in- law, and be back at the pool, washing off the bloodstains, waiting for Emily when she returned.”
“That’s absurd, ridiculous! How dare you!”
“With your mother-in-law dead, you would be freed; freed from her tyranny, free to leave here, free to live as you please. What’s more, you would also have enough money to do it.”
“Well, really! Do I have to stay here and listen to this twaddle?”
“You had motive and opportunity Signor Esposito. I’m sure you must have titillated yourself with dreams of life after Diana. Now your dreams have come true. How very fortunate you are! What a stroke of luck! Or did you take things into your own hands. Did you make your own luck?”
“NO, I DID NOT!” he shouted. “You’ve got a bloody cheek, you supercilious bastard. I shall speak to your superiors about this, and lodge a complaint. You’ve twisted my words. Let me tell you something, you won't get away with this. This is harassment. You have no respect. This morning my wife told me you made some disgusting allusions to her relationship with her mother, when you could see what state she was in, and now this. Do I need your permission to leave the room, because I’m going.” He stood up resolutely.
“Esposito! Do not underestimate me. I could have you arrested now, if I choose to.”
“You’d better not try, or you’ll be bloody sorry.” He turned smartly, and marched to the door.
“WAIT!” thundered Di Girolamo. Arturo stopped, but did not turn round. “Do not attempt to leave town, or I will have you arrested, is that clear?” he said icily.
Arturo went out and slammed the door. Di Girolamo leaned back in his chair, and stretched his arms over his head. He yawned and stretched the whole of his body. Ah! What fun! These little worms were always so amusing when they turned.’ He felt like arresting him, just for the fun of it. Perhaps he was guilty.
CHAPTER TWENTY.NINE
They brought him a glass of iced water. He sipped at it and decided after a moment’s thought, to take Francesca next. She came into the room without knocking, and almost took his breath away. She was strikingly beautiful. Her red hair stood out in a cloud round her head, framing a perfectly oval face, creamy skin, and huge green eyes. She wore lipstick, to emphasise her full lips, but no other make-up.
What was most amazing, was that she had chosen to wear scarlet cotton trousers, and a halter-necked top in the same colour. She was smoking. She strode aggressively to the desk and stood in front of it. Leaning towards him, hands on the desk-top she said, “I’m Francesca Guerrazzi, and I hope this won’t take too bloody long.”
He rose to his feet, and said, “Ruggero di Girolamo, and I’ll be as quick as I can. Please sit down.”
Close to, he could see the dark circles under her splendid eyes, and noted that her prominent cheekbones had, perhaps, just a little less flesh on them, than would make her perfect. Even so! He had to make an effort not to respond to her vibrant beauty, her sensuality. He could feel himself reacting as a male, and not as a policeman. She looked vulnerable, but one wanted to take advantage of that vulnerability. If she could guess at his thoughts, he knew she would despise him. He didn’t like himself much either.
He took a sip of the iced water and tried to decide how to conduct this interview. It was going to be pretty raw, he felt, so he thought he would plunge in without subterfuge. He didn’t think she would like to play games, so this would be all open and above board.
“Did you like your mother?”
“Not much.” She blew smoke energetically into the air.
“Tell me about her.”
“My mother was the most egocentric person I have ever known. She was the centre of the universe: the sun, and we were her satellites. She marched across the skies dragging us in her wake. She had no real love for anyone, except herself. Even her love for Cosimo, was because he was her son and his fame would be to her greater glory. We all had to fit into a pattern, and she manipulated and controlled our movements within this design. Any seeming act of kindness was to this end only. I was a reject, of course. The piece that wouldn’t fit. It never occurred to her, in her monstrous egocentricity, that I might prefer not to fit. I may sound bitter to you, but I’m not. I see things more clearly now. She courted death. You can’t play wit
h other peoples’ lives without courting death. Did you know that? Think about it.” She paused. “I’m not mourning her now, as you can see,” she indicated her clothes, “Because, for me, she died years ago. I would have loved her, but she wouldn’t let me.” She took a last, strong drag from her cigarette and then put it out in the ash tray. Then she leant back, and looked Di Girolamo squarely in the eyes. He was flabbergasted. He made an effort to remain in control of the interview.
“I understand, that she had asked you to leave the house, or rather your flat downstairs.”
“Yes, she did, and that was probably the best thing she ever did for me. It made me move myself. It gave me the impetus to make that move. We were only here on sufferance anyway, and I don’t think I had realised how unhappy Zoë was. Zoë is my daughter. Her grandmother didn’t love her, either, didn’t even like her, and the girls, you know, Emily’s children, Annabel and Harriet, were making her life hell. Emily, of course, was such a bitch that, even now; I can hardly believe she’s my sister. Give her ten years, and she might become exactly like Diana. We always called them the royal family. You know, the princess and her prince charming, with little princesses. Well, down in the basement, lived the swineherd and her daughter. Second class citizens.”
“Have you found somewhere to live?”
“Yes, and I’ll be out of here very soon. I’m buying a house.”
“Do you have the money to buy a house?”
“Well I do now.” She smiled, “No, I didn’t need Diana to die. I have worked it out so that I pay a mortgage. I’ve got quite a bit put away. Living here was quite economical for me, and I get a generous allowance from my ex. As long as I stay out of his way, he’ll pay up almost anything I ask for. He doesn’t want any trouble, and believe me, I’m a trouble maker.”
“You went to see this house yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes. I stayed in there all afternoon, planning, and dreaming. I sat in the garden and thought about what flowers I’d like. Zoë was so enthusiastic. She’s never had a home before. When I was married I lived with my in laws, and then after the divorce, here, so this will be a first for us.”
The Tuscan Mystery Trilogy Page 41