The Tuscan Mystery Trilogy

by Margaret Moore

  “Chiara. I will contact Avvocato Marchini. You had better hope that your mother did speak to him, otherwise I have only your word for it. I’m sorry, but I can’t go on intuition. You were around at the right time, and you left a foot print outside the pergola, to prove it. A size thirty-eight with horse dung and straw stuck in the tread. A very distinctive pattern, with the name of a well known make of horse-riding boots printed on the bottom.”

  “Look, I told you I was there, Of course it is my footprint. I went there at four and someone else was there. I told you.”

  “Who?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  "I already know, say the name, and we’ll see if you are a liar or not.”

  “No. I can't do that.”

  “As you wish. I will let you know if I need to speak to you again. I hope not, for your sake.”

  She left and he continued sitting there, turning the package in his hands. Then he stopped and looked at it, then he looked at it again. It was addressed to Diana, and had arrived by courier. He wondered why she hadn’t opened it. Then he realised why. He shot out of the room and walked to the drawing room door, where he knocked and immediately entered. He was aware for a moment of several startled faces. Olly was the first to move towards him, and speak.

  “What an unexpected pleasure, Dottor di Girolamo. Won’t you join us, we’re having an aperitivo, or rather, some of us are.”

  “No, thank you. Has anyone any knowledge of this package.” He held it up. Ambra, moved towards him. “Yes, it must be Madre’s contact lens. She was having them sent by courier; she lost one the other day.”

  “When did it arrive?” he looked keenly at them.

  “I don’t know, I didn’t know that it had. It wasn’t in the morning, because she said at lunch that she wondered when it would arrive. She hated wearing spectacles, and as she was reading music all morning, she had been forced to.”

  “Where is Emily, maybe she knows?”

  “She’s in her room, or was. I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of a set to, and she and Arturo aren’t speaking to us, or we aren’t speaking to them, anyway, let’s say that at the moment there is no communication between us.” Olly said wryly. He smiled blandly at Di Girolamo.

  “Could someone ask them to come down for a moment?”

  Silence greeted his request.

  “I don’t really want to have to go up myself. Come on, one of you offer.”

  After another silence Olly said, “Well. It’ll have to be me. Ambra’s pregnant, Auntie B, is rather elderly, and Chiara is not up to it, so I will go, but don’t be surprised if they come down foaming at the mouth.” He left the room. They all sat in an uncomfortable silence. A few minutes later, he came back.

  “ OK, they’re coming.” He sat down beside Ambra, and they all waited. Arturo came in first, looking belligerent, as though to reassure himself that Olly had told him the truth, then he turned and shepherded Emily in.

  “I think it’s pretty disgusting the way you behave,” he addressed di Girolamo. “You have no right to come and go as you please. We’ve been very co-operative up till now, and I must say you’ve been very uncivil. What do you want now? Hurry up man, my wife is unwell.”

  “I want to know if either of you know anything about this package.” He showed it to them.

  “Yes, it’s my mother’s contact lens, a replacement,” said Emily.

  “When did it arrive?”

  “On Saturday afternoon.”

  “Did you sign for it?”

  “Yes.”

  “At what time?

  “It was just as I was leaving the villa, when I went up for the sun block. I saw the van drive round the back, so I went up to it and signed for the package. Then I came back, and put it on my mother’s desk, before going back to the pool.”

  “Thank-you very much. Good evening to you all” He backed out of the room.”

  He was on his cell phone before he entered the study, barking out orders. “… and I want to see the man personally, do you understand, as soon as possible.” He packed up his briefcase and left the Villa. He felt surprisingly cheerful, as though he had certain knowledge that this man was going to give him vital information. A hunch, that was all, but enough to buoy him up.

  He dined on the terrace with Hilary. He had made a very hot sauce for the pasta, and had been lavish with the garlic as well.

  “You’ll love this, I’m sure. I do.” He told her, and they settled down to eat quietly together, the internal fire from their food, exploding on their taste buds.

  “It's wonderful. You're a good cook.”

  “I know.”

  “That sounds conceited.”

  “No, more like realistic. I know what my defects are as well.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “Not right now. I don't want to spoil the meal.”

  “It's that bad?”

  “You'll find out soon enough. I just want you to hold on to the illusion that I am perfect, for as long as possible.”

  “Perfect?” she spluttered.

  “Well, almost.”

  “You are impossible.”

  “Hilary, I don't know much about small towns, but I wanted to ask you, do you feel that your reputation has been irreparably damaged?”

  “Should I?”

  “The Maresciallo seems concerned.”

  “How thoughtful of him. To answer your question, no, it was damaged, if you like to put it that way, when Bruno and I … well you know, we were discrete, but this is a small town. All I am doing is confirming to those who think it already, that I am a woman of easy virtue, but these days it doesn’t matter much. Had it been twenty years ago, in a small place like this, I would have been ostracised. So, no, it doesn't bother me, are you sure it doesn't bother you?”

  “Quite sure, thank you. It’s just, as I said, that I’m unused to small towns. In Florence, or Lucca, no one knows or cares who is doing what with whom, and I prefer it that way.”

  “I'm sure you do. Maybe you should find someone in Florence or in Lucca.”

  “No, I think I'll stick with you, even if I have to take on Borgo San Cristoforo.”

  “Good, because I rather think I want to stick with you. You’re such a good cook.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “No, I must say you’re pretty good at other things too.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  After an incredible number of phone calls, and an interminable waiting period, di Girolamo finally had the man he wanted. He had whiled away the time, re-reading all the statements, and had requested one of the suspects to come to the police station in his lunch break. Before that, however, the man he had been waiting for so impatiently, Benito Pucci, was ushered in and greeted with a handshake and a smile. He sat down heavily, mopping his brow. He was a heavy set man, who must have been well over sixty, and had obviously had good fascist parents, for he bore the same name as Mussolini. He was also the driver of the courier service van, and had delivered the package into Emily’s hands on Saturday afternoon at 3.17 pm on the dot, as his records showed.

  “Now, that I have finally found you, please tell me all about Saturday afternoon,” he invited Benito, and sat back expectantly.

  “I understand you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get me here. I always get down to the sea as soon as I have a bit of free time. It's because of my wife, you know; she likes to keep up her suntan. To tell the truth, I don't know how you found me. I don't always go to the same bagno. Anyway, I hope you won't be disappointed. The fact is, there’s not much to tell. I delivered a package, it was signed for, and I drove off again. That's it.”

  “Are you sure about the time? I mean why 3.17, why not 3.15?”

  “It's a little game I like to play. I always sign the exact time, and then I play the numbers on the lottery. That's for the SuperEnalotto of course. I choose a different day of the week each time, then make a list and choose every third one. Otherwise I take the number, 3
.17 for example and that gives me 3,1,7, 31,17, and 37. It depends on how many deliveries I made that day. I've had some good wins that way. I got a four last month. Only small really, but you never know, I might strike lucky one day.”

  “Fascinating. Who signed for it?”

  “A Signora Emily Guerrazzi.” He had consulted a piece of paper and read the name from it.

  “How was she dressed?”

  “Well she had a sort of wrap thing on, over a swimming costume.”

  “And on her feet?”

  “Oh, those flip flop things, you know with a thong between the toes. I noticed them, because they had a plastic water lily on them.”

  “Did you see anyone else while you were there?”

  “No. I don't think so. I was in a bit of a hurry, You know how it is, I still had several deliveries to make. It was hot, and I just wanted to get back home and have a shower.”

  Di Girolamo looked very glum, and fell back in his seat, “Damn, I was hoping you had. You saw nothing at all, nothing unusual, no one unusual? Come on, take your time, try to remember. You must have. Visualise the house. There’s a great cypress tree blocking half the steps and a big circular flower bed that you have to drive around. Remember?”

  The big man screwed up his face, closing his eyes, with what was obviously a supreme effort at trying to remember that afternoon, that delivery, one of thousands, an everyday occurrence. He mumbled to himself, “I drove in and round to the back, Signora Guerrazzi was coming down the steps, she had a packet, no, a tube of cream in her hand. She came to the van, took the package from me, and the chit, and signed it. Then I circled round the flowerbed, and went back the way I came. She had gone back into the house.” He paused, then said, “Wait a minute, yes, that’s right,” his eyes opened and he smiled at Di Girolamo, “Of course, that was where I saw the man in his underpants.”

  “What! Where?”

  “I thought it was somewhere else, but no, now that I come to think about it carefully, it must have been there, because I was turning slowly round that big circular flower bed, and just straightening up, and I saw him in my mirror, he crossed, sort of from the house towards the lawns, yes, I noticed, because I thought it funny, a man in his underpants, nothing else on at all.”

  “Could you describe him?”

  “No, not really. He just sort of flashed across my mirror. No, I would have to say no.”

  “Could you see if he wearing shoes, or a hat, or sunglasses?”

  “I don't remember anything of that, but then it was all so quick. I just saw he was in his underpants.”

  “You wonderful man. That’s splendid. Now, are you certain? You’ll have to sign a statement.”

  “Oh yes, I'm certain. I sort of registered it, because I thought, blimey, he’s had to make a quick exit, didn’t even have time to get dressed. Her husband must have come home early. You know the way you think these things to yourself,” he laughed. “Funny that, I thought it was another day, but no, it had to be when I was there because of the flower bed. I remember it made me laugh. I thought, he’s had a lucky escape!”

  “Yes, indeed. Thank you very, very much.” he raised his voice and called, “Roberto, come and take this man’s statement. One more thing. If you remember anything else, anything, no matter how insignificant, call me. Alright?” He ushered him out

  “Underpants,” he muttered as he dialled a number. “Are you alone? It’s Di Girolamo and I need to see you: can you? Alright, in ten minutes time, usual place.”

  He left the room, and shouting, “I’ll be out for half an hour”, left the building, and got into his car. He drove quickly to the back entrance of the Villa, and a few minutes later, saw the white Panda car draw up. Anna got out and came to meet him. “What is it?” she asked, “Has something happened?”

  He got out of his car, and took her arm, holding it tightly. “You lied.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You told me he never left you, but he did, didn’t he?”

  “No. No, he didn’t.”

  Di Girolamo was enraged, he shook her arm, “He must have done; someone saw him. Tell me the truth.”

  She felt tears coming, and said, “Alright, but it was only for a few minutes. He went to the car to get a condom, if you must know. He was gone a few minutes, no more.”

  He let go of her arm, and said calmly “What was he wearing?”

  “Just his underpants.”

  “Nothing else? Shoes?”

  “Yes, espadrilles.”

  “A hat, or sunglasses?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Alright. Listen to me, carefully. I told you not to lie to me, and you did. When a person lies once, then I wonder if they have lied more than once, and then I wonder if anything they have said is true. This is a murder case, not some little soap opera. It matters when you tell lies to me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” She was weeping now. “I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t think it mattered. He was gone and back so fast, he couldn’t have done it.”

  “Maybe not, but I don’t know how far I can trust you now.” He put one hand up to his hair, and ran his hand backwards and forwards over it. “God damn it woman. I’m doing my utmost to keep you out of this whole thing, and now, I just don’t know anymore.” He turned away from her and stood in silence for a moment. Then, he turned decisively back to her, and said, “Go home, before you are missed. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  He got back into the car and drove off, leaving her standing in the road.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Ruggero di Girolamo was in a state of febrile excitement. He knew he was nearly there. There were just one or two more things to verify, and he would be certain. It was going to be difficult to play this one. He needed proof, and he didn’t have enough, so he would have to use cunning.

  He strode into his office and looked at the plan he had made of the Villa and its grounds. He would have a sandwich lunch today, and wait in for his visitor.

  He pressed the buzzer on his desk, “Roberto get me a couple of rolls, and I don’t mean that sawdust they call a ‘tramezzino’, I want proper bread, with prosciutto crudo, also a bottle of Ferrarelle water please.”

  He pondered, whilst eating his rolls. He felt very inclined to do an Agatha Christie type showdown, with all the family present. Their Villa, and the fact that they all lived there together, in an out of time way, had given him the idea. It could work. If it didn’t, he would look an incredible fool, and he would hate that. It was risky, but with all the tensions within the group, it might work. Yes. He was interrupted by the arrival of his suspect.

  “Sit down, and answer one question.” He gestured at the chair, and brushed some crumbs off his jacket.

  “When you were going towards the house, in that direction I mean, did you see anybody.”

  “No”

  He pushed the map over, and said, “show me the path you took.”

  A finger traced the path from the stables, across the width of the main lawn, passing the swimming pool, and on to the side path that led either to the orchard or the house.

  “You saw no one at any point?”

  “No one.”

  “Good, fantastic. You can go. Be at the Villa at four o'clock.”

  “Is that all.”

  “Yes, yes, off you go.”

  His guest left, and Di Girolamo's phone rang. He picked up the phone. “What? Yes. You have definite confirmation from the owner? Right. Get a written statement and fax it to me. Thank you.”

  He punched in a number, “Di Girolamo here. Who is that? Right. Please tell everyone, all your brothers and sisters and husbands, and the estate manager, that I want to see everybody, at four o'clock, in the drawing room. Thank you.”

  He phoned once again, and repeated the time and location. “Be there!” he barked, then he put the phone down and thought, ‘Well, that’s it, do or die, and I’ll be in big trouble if this doesn’t work.’ He pressed the buzzer again.
“ Roberto, get hold of that tape recorder chap, I want him here at half past three.”

  The Maresciallo popped his head round the door. “How’s it going? Was the van driver any good?”

  “Yes, wonderful. Look, I’m not going to tell you anything now, I might be wrong, but come to the Villa with me at four o'clock and bring some handcuffs.”

  “You’re going to make an arrest?”

  “I hope so. Oh, and we’ll go in a police vehicle, make it look more official.”

  “You’re not going to tell me anything?”

  “No, we haven’t got enough evidence, but I hope I can lean on people and act as a catalyst, make them tell me things. I’m going there to upset everyone, they’ll all hate me, and each other, and then we might, just might, get the truth.”

  “God be with you!” said the Maresciallo, and left, looking worried.

  At four o'clock on the dot, Ruggero entered the drawing room of the Villa dei Fiori, with an air of confidence that totally belied the way he was feeling. The whole family was already seated around the room, and seemed to have divided into separate groups. Aunt Beatrice sat between Chiara and Orlando, and near to them sat Ambra and Riccardo, ostentatiously holding hands. Emily, dressed in black again, and looking worse than ever, sat at the other end of the room with Arturo, who was standing with his hands on his hips, as though ready for action, wearing a rather disgruntled look. Francesca sat alone, dressed in a long blue dress as though posing for a studio portrait, near the fireplace where a large lilac coloured Hydrangea set off her red hair. Cosimo was near enough to her to echo her colours. He too wore blue.

  Di Girolamo stood by the table, slowly placed his briefcase on it, and took out a file. He looked round at them and said, “Buona Sera.”

  Arturo, abruptly sat down beside his wife, crossed and uncrossed his legs twice and coughed, but said nothing. Emily took out a handkerchief, and clenched it in her hand. The others observed him warily.

  “I have asked you all to be present this afternoon, because I need your help, and I thought it only fair to tell you this, and see whether together, we can straighten out a few things that are puzzling me. All of you, with one exception, want to find out who killed your mother. I believe, that this afternoon, we will identify that person. My colleague here will be taping this, because I want there to be no misunderstandings. Everything is open and above board. You will all hear what your brothers and sisters and partners say, and can judge for yourselves who is lying, and whether those lies are important or not.”