She woke and looking out of the window at the blue sky, felt instantly positive, and leapt out of bed, to do her exercises. This was the way it should be, she thought, crisp weather, wellbeing, and after her morning rituals, a good breakfast, and then out of the house to greet the day, and the workmen. She hummed to herself as she washed and dressed, then boiled up a pot of porridge and made herself a pot of tea.
When the workmen arrived she was already out of the house, and ready to greet them, wood basket on her arm as she trudged towards the wood pile to load it up and then take it back, and start the fire going. No central heating today, she told herself firmly. It was going off now, and would stay off until dark, or well maybe a little before dark, after all, she was having the workmen in for the final reckoning, and a drink. She would drive down to Borgo San Cristoforo, and get in something nice to offer them, possibly, little squares of cheese, olives, and some Parma ham or smoked salmon, to put on cracker biscuits.
Maresciallo Biagioni was visibly perturbed. Another boy, from the same group of friends, had gone missing. His mother had phoned at 7.30a.m. when she had gone to wake him for school, and found his empty bed, the bedclothes still as perfectly straight as when she had made it the day before. His friends said he had gone to football practice, and had failed to join them later, as planned. The football trainer said that the evening practice finished at nine, and he had seen Walter leave on his motor scooter, presumably to go and eat. He was certain that he had left, because he himself, was always the last to leave, waiting until everyone else had gone. He had then locked up the changing rooms, with the custodian, after checking that no one had left anything behind. There was a mountain of odd socks, and towels, and even a few pairs of underpants, in a lost and found locker, witness to male forgetfulness.
Walter Verdone, aged sixteen, a tall thin boy, with dark ringlets, and an elfin face; the goalie. A good friend of Giovanni Lazzerini, and a member of the group. Dr, Ruggero di Girolamo had a horrible premonition, and before the day was out, he was unfortunately proven right in his fears.
All day, uniformed men, combed the area, without result. No one had seen him and his motor scooter could not be found. It wasn't till late afternoon, that following an intuition, Di Girolamo drove his car along the secondary road that led from the main road to Castello, and having parked, proceeded on foot along the footpath that led to the clearing where Lazzerini had been found. As if in ghastly déjà vu, the tableau was identical to the one found only three days before. A boy's body was stretched across the same tree trunk, and the same bright red metal broomstick protruded from his body. The only appreciable difference was the fluttering red and white police tape that framed the scene.
Isabelle's little party went rather well, she thought. She had paid everyone, and they had all eaten the food she had prepared and drunk red wine in front of a roaring fire. Marco had come in first, leading the others; Matteo, his brother, dusty woollen hat in hand; Alessandro, the nephew, son of another brother, now dead; and Paolo, the rather simple man, who worked for them as a labourer. It was nearly five-thirty by the time they left; Alessandro and Paolo in the Renault 4, Marco and Matteo in an old Ape truck, loaded with tools, shovels, buckets, planks and cement bags. Marco said they would be back the next day for the cement mixer. She watched them leave, with mixed feelings. She would miss their presence, but it would be lovely without the cement mixer. She closed the door, and listened to the diminishing noise of their vehicles. Then there was silence. The sky was dark, and she was alone in her little house, with only the crackling and hissing of the wood fire for company. She reviewed her options. She could sit in solitude here, or go down to Borgo San Cristoforo, to a restaurant, or the pizzeria, and maybe to the cinema. That would be good for her Italian.
She bustled about getting ready to leave, unaware that near the house exactly the same scene as three days earlier was being enacted by the same people, in the same place. Only the victim was different. On her way down to town, she passed several police cars and an ambulance going in the opposite direction, and shivered.
"Well it wasn't Baldacci, more's the pity. Unless he killed Lazzerini, and this boy was killed by his accomplice to prove Baldacci’s innocence." Ruggero di Girolamo looked as though he didn't really believe what he had just said.
"By an accomplice," repeated Maresciallo Biagioni, unnecessarily.
"Yes, maybe there were two of them the first time, and this time the accomplice did it alone. It makes sense. It would be easier to do if two men were involved."
"Right, I'd better get on to his friends then, that's if a man like that has any friends."
"I'd say there might be a fellow pervert more than a friend."
"Right, I'll get onto that."
"I think a house search will be the next step, see if any of his friends have kindly left their addresses for us, but don't count on it. I doubt they'd bother writing. Did the boy's family have any useful information?"
"None. Same as with the other boy, but this boy has only a widowed mother, and an elder sister. They knew nothing about his life with his friends. I gather he was quite spoilt by them, and they thought he was a paragon of virtue, so, no, they were of no help." The Maresciallo sounded gloomy. "We could see the others from the group again." he added.
"Oh yes, today I see them all, and I shall add that as the group seems to be getting smaller, maybe they had better tell me what they know, because I think they do know something. After all, you never know who could be next, as I shall point out."
He stretched and yawned. He was tired. Things had been pretty hectic, and his private life had been put on hold. He had barely seen Hilary, and they had been unable to discuss his son after that initial conversation. These thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind. First he had to get this thing sorted out. Hopefully by Sunday he would have more information and be nearer to solving this case so that he would have his mind clear for Camilla, and Cosimo. He stood up, straightening his superbly cut, dark blue, woollen suit. He ran a hand through his hair, briefly touched his dark blue tie, and then moved to the coat stand, where his brown Burberry was hanging. He put it on, and thrust his cell phone into a pocket. Then he picked up a rather worn leather briefcase, and thrust a folder into it.
"I'm off to the school. I'll take a police car, with young Marroni driving. I want to talk to all the kids first, en mass, and I'll see the group, here, this afternoon with their parents, if they want them, after all they are all minors. The two adults in the group, I want here at 11.0 o'clock. I should be back by then. Have them collected from their workplace and brought straight here. See to all that, will you."
He left the room with his usual energetic stride, a tall, slim man, with short greying hair, and an unmistakable air of authority.
Italo Franchini, wearing a paint spattered overall, and holding a woollen cap, and anorak in his lap, sat waiting on an uncomfortable beige plastic chair, in a beige ill-lit corridor. His feet, encased in dirty boots, tapped the ground alternately, following some internal rhythm. His eyes were glued on the thick glass door, as though trying to divine what was happening on the other side, while he waited to be called. Inside the room Alessio Pinnucci faced di Girolamo, with an anxious air, and spoke with a hesitant voice, in the thick accent of the countryside.
"Now you say you were at home when Walter was killed, is that correct?" Di Girolamo asked him.
"Yes, sir."
"Why do you think somebody wanted to kill him?"
I don't know what's happening, really, Sir."
"Come, Alessio. I'm sure you are bright enough to realise that these two boys were part of the group you go around with. You must have asked yourself if this was more than just a coincidence."
"Yeah, course I have, but that don't mean I know the answer, do it? I mean, them two was just like us, so maybe some one has got it in for us, I mean all of us. What about some police protection?"
"We'll talk about that later. Listen Alessio, we both seem to thi
nk that someone had it in for those two boys, and maybe for the rest of the group. What I need now, is a motive. You may know something, in fact I think you do, that ties these two boys together. Why would some one do this to them?"
"Suppose it's some nut what just 'appens to like taking out young boys. 'E sees us lot around, and starts taking us out. There don't 'ave to be a reason, do there."
"I think there might be, and I want you to tell me what it is, or there is a very good possibility that your group will get smaller and smaller. You don't want any more of your friends to die, do you, or maybe even die yourself? Tell me why someone is doing this, and I will stop him. Unless I know why, I won't know who. Do you understand what I'm saying?" The boy looked a little baffled, and Di Girolamo asked himself what this boy had in common with the others in the group. He was ill educated, and older. His family were smallholders, and according to the Maresciallo, the father was illiterate. Most of the other boys were well off, and at least pretending to get some sort of an education. Three of the parents were professional people; a doctor, a lawyer, and an architect.
"Look I don't know nothing. I still say it's some nutter. You find him yourself, and give us police protection till you do."
Di Girolamo sighed, "Alright Alessio, that's all for now. Unless you can give me a better reason for protecting you, I won't be able to do so. As you say yourself, it must be a 'nutter', so it is purely a coincidence that the two boys are from your group, therefore you are in no more danger than any other young male living in the area. You must look out for yourself. Tell me why someone is doing this to your group, and I'll give you police protection, otherwise, no."
The boy got up slowly, as though reasoning this through, and moved to the door, he opened it, saw Italo, and grinned, "Watch your ass, Italo, cos the police won't. Better wear steel underpants from now on."
The other boy grinned back, the tension gone from his face. At that moment Di Girolamo, realised what Alessio’s role was in the group; the joker, the grinning idiot, who would always say inopportune things, and not worry overmuch about the consequences.
"Italo Franchini, come in!" he called. The two boys touched hands in a salute as they passed each other, and Italo came in, and sat down facing Di Girolamo, who asked the same questions again, and got the same answers.
Italo, was a little unusual in that he was a bright boy, pretending to be less intelligent than he was. His father was an architect and as Italo was an only son, his parents had hoped he would go to university, but he had dropped out of school, and become a freelance house painter. He lived with them nominally, as he was only there to take advantage of the amenities.
"Where were you on the evening that Giovanni Lazzerini was killed?"
"With a girl. Why do you keep on asking me?"
"And yesterday evening?"
"Should I get a lawyer? Are you trying to put me up for this?" The boy sneered.
"No. I'm just asking where you were, and if you have witnesses that can corroborate what you say. Well?"
"I was at home in my bedroom. I was tired, and went to bed early last night. Ask my mother."
"I will." He paused. "I'm just trying to tell you that anyone could have done this, even you, or some other member of the group, Alessio for example."
"Don't make me laugh."
"I don't have a clue who did it, Italo, seriously. I need your help, and I think you can help me. Look, if the group were responsible for some wrong doing, that might have provoked this attack, I would have a line to follow. I'll give you an example. Suppose the group, or some members of it, had ridiculed, or even injured someone, maybe a homosexual, someone who wanted revenge, then I would think along those lines. Do you understand what I am saying? You might be worried that you would get into trouble, maybe the thing you did was serious, but unless I know what it was, I can't stop this, and I fear it will go on. Do you want to take that risk?"
"I can look after myself."
"You're not answering my question."
"I can't help you."
"You mean you don't want to."
The boy said nothing, and di Girolamo knew he was on the right track, but loyalty to the group was stronger than fear of death. Whatever had been done, and he knew something had provoked these attacks, then it had to be serious.
"Get out! You make me sick, all of you." he barked.
Italo stood up hurriedly, and rushed from the room.
CHAPTER TEN
"Pronto"
"Hilary, it's me Isabelle."
"Oh, hallo Isabelle. How are you?"
"Well that's just it. I'm not very happy. I, well, I expect you know about the dead boy, the second one I mean? "
"Yes."
"Well, the thing is, do you think it is safe for me to be here?"
"Well, as you are not a young male person, I would say, definitely, very safe."
"How sensible you are Hilary, my dear. I always feel so much better about things after I have spoken to you. You don't have a nerve in your body, so I suppose I can hardly expect you to understand how vulnerable I feel stuck up here alone, with a homicidal maniac prowling about my land." Her tone was sarcastic. "No, I suppose it was too much to expect you to understand. I'm sorry I troubled you my dear," The phone clicked into silence, and Hilary stood undecided with the phone still in her hand. It was obviously a call for help, but did she want to give it? No, was the answer to that. Should she give it? The answer had to be yes. She dialled Isabelle's number, and the phone was picked up after the first ring, "Pronto," said a quavering voice.
"Isabelle, It's me, Hilary. I do wish you wouldn't put the phone down in the middle of a conversation. Anyway, what I wanted to say was, do you feel like a bit of company? I could come up for couple of hours if you like, as I have a little free time." Lies, she was terribly busy, in the middle of a translation with a deadline date looming nearer, and if she had any free time, it wouldn't have been wasted with Isabelle.
"Oh, my dear," gushed the disembodied voice, "Would you? How perfectly sweet of you! Come whenever you like. I'm not setting a foot outside today. We could have a little snack together if you come at lunch time."
"Fine, I'll be there in half an hour."
Di Girolamo paced up and down, talking to Maresciallo Biagioni, or more probably setting things in order in his mind.
"First we have to consider whether these murders were committed in a random manner, or as a matter of choice, for whatever reason.
If we take the first consideration," he said, "then we have to ask whether the boys were chosen merely because they were young males who happened by chance to be in the wrong place at the time when someone decided to kill whoever crossed his path." He paused and added, "as long as they fulfilled the basic criteria as regards age and sex. The murders may have been random, but they were none the less premeditated, because the ropes, the hammer, and the broomstick, which were used for the abduction and the murder, would not have been normally part of the usual kit kept in a vehicle. Obviously there was a vehicle, as a man walking about with ropes and a hammer, at night, might have been noted, and would certainly have been hampered. There was also the question of where these boys were taken. The scooter belonging to Giovanni Lazzerini was found nearby, and the scooter belonging to Walter Verdone has not yet been found. So, did the two boys drive to along the secondary road to Altamura, or were they taken elsewhere and then driven by the murderer along that same road?
In the first instance, if they drove along that road and met with their murderer, that means they knew him, or he knew them, and they were offered a bait of some kind to make them drive up there to meet him. Alternatively he met them elsewhere, may not have known them, and drove them up there himself, returning later to hide the scooter. To drive the boys there, a) they had to be willing to go, and if so why? or b) they were knocked out and taken there, possibly unconscious (both had received a blow to the head), and tied with ropes, (both had rope marks round wrists and ankles).
Let’s
suppose that he met with the first victim somewhere near where the scooter was found. He knocks him on the head with a hammer, and ties him up, takes him to the truck, hides the scooter, and then drives up to the footpath, where he unloads his semi, or, fully conscious victim, and drags him to the clearing where he kills him. That seems feasible."
He paused and then resumed, "Alternatively, he meets the victim who consents to be driven to the chosen spot. Why would he be willing to go? Does this man supply him with drugs? We know that at least one of the boys smoked grass, so he had to buy it from someone. Perhaps Giovanni drove there to meet his supplier, who killed him etc. and then the scooter was taken away and hidden later. Also feasible.
Other reasons for choosing these boys could be vendetta, or punishment, but for what? We know of no unresolved crime committed in this area that could spark off madness of this sort. Also, if it was punitive how would he ever get them to meet, or go with him?
Consequently, he offers bait, and is punitive? Why? Or, he offers bait and is a psychopath, who no doubt has his reasons, the satisfaction of unmentionable desires"
"I don't think he's punishing them, the crime would have to fit the punishment, you know, an eye for an eye. There have been no unsolved murders," said the Maresciallo.
"True. So we are looking for a pervert, possibly a friend of Baldacci, and he doesn't appear to have any."
"Not so far. Haven't they finished searching his house yet?
"No, and so far apart from a few photos and hard porn videos, there's nothing of interest."
"I told them to do the outhouses too, you know where he keeps his rabbits and so on," said the Maresciallo.
"Good." He sighed, then asked, "Are we sure the overgrown choirboy couldn't have done it?"
"Oh, you mean Valdese. Well his mother says he was at home both times. Besides, he was only messing about with a lad that one time. He didn’t really harm him. I can't see him killing people."
The Tuscan Mystery Trilogy Page 54