Hilary arrived home in the middle of the afternoon, after doing her supermarket shopping on the way home. The car was loaded down with bags and boxes. She had no intention of doing any more shopping, apart from small essentials, until after Christmas. She parked the car outside, and unloaded everything into the hall, parked the car in the garage, and then let herself in, to find Cassius helping himself to the pork chops.
"You wretched lovely boy," she crooned, removing the packet of chops from between his clenched teeth. "Hasn't he fed you?"
But there was food and water set down for the cat, and a white, purple bordered cyclamen set in the middle of the table with a note, 'See you tonight, I hope early. We must talk. Love R '
The phone rang, "Pronto" she answered.
"Hilary, it's me, Miriam. My dear, how are you? I've just heard about poor Isabelle, how is she?"
"Stable."
"Oh, what does that mean, I wonder. Is it hospital jargon for, we're not going to tell you anything, because we don't really know?"
"Probably. Jeremy, her son has arrived, so he's dealing with things now."
"Ah, yes, the musician. Such a bore, so full of himself, I thought."
"Really Miriam, don't be so …" she stopped lost for words.
"Rude? I wasn't really, just factual. Anyway, I just wanted to know how things were going. I'm off tomorrow, going to England for a white Christmas or so I hope. I did tell you, I believe. Also I seem to remember that you wanted me to take a little present to your mother. I say little, my dear, because I have very little room in my suitcase."
"Yes, I have it ready, I'll bring it round."
"Don't bother, I'll send Enrico round with the car, he's got to do one or two small things for me anyway. By the way, did I tell you that I'll be staying with Martin and Rebecca, yes?" Hilary managed to get in a "yes" but before she had time to add anything else, Miriam continued, "So shall I take your good wishes with me?"
"Of course, and have a lovely time. We do so hope they'll come at Easter."
"So do I, I shall do my best to encourage them. Happy Christmas, my dear. I'll be back for the New Year."
Miriam Greene, elderly author of romantic novels, had a cousin, Rebecca , who lived in the town where Hilary's mother lived. Rebecca, a writer of children’s novels, was married to Chief Inspector Martin Ford, with whom Ruggero had worked on a murder case while in England the previous month. Finding Rebecca and Martin were related to Miriam had been a bonus, and the two couples were looking forward to a continuing friendship.
Hilary went up to her bedroom and got out the small packet for Miriam to take to her mother. It was a very fine light cashmere shawl. Her mother afflicted with cardiac problems, spent most of her life in the house, and was very fond of shawls, but everything seemed too heavy for her frail shoulders. This weighed practically nothing. A tiny package containing a small silver bookmark was destined for her mother's live-in companion. She reflected that at some point she would have to tell her mother about the developments in her life, but not yet.
A plump middle-aged woman, muffled up against the cold, called to her dog, a young beagle, which was mercilessly pulling at the long lead. It was eight o'clock, time for his after supper walk, not that she was ever very happy about walking him on these cold, and often, icy evenings. She had decided to give him a quick walk on the footpath round town. Ten minutes would be quite sufficient, and then back to the warm fire, and a comfortable evening watching television.
The dog seemed to have found an irresistible scent, and was following his nose, snuffling at the ground, pulling at the restraining lead. He was the full five metre stretch of the lead, and pulling hard, when he suddenly stopped dead, and then leapt backwards, something he often did when confronted with a toad, but the season was too cold for toads. She reeled him in, and he looked at her anxiously, moving forwards and then back again, as they neared the object that barred their passage. She halted, fell to her knees and examined the boy. She ran her flashlight over him. His head was a mass of blood and bone, and he was very obviously dead. Something ghastly was protruding from his mouth. The dog sat on his haunches and then, pointing his nose to the sky, began the wailing call particular to beagles, which in this case seemed an appropriate sound, rather chilling, a little eerie and sad. She struggled to her feet, and breathing hard, began a stumbling run in the direction from which she had appeared.
Ruggero Di Girolamo was sitting comfortably at table when the call came. He had barely started his first course, and felt an immediate pang of regret as he looked at the splendid plate of spaghetti alle vongole he would have to leave. He put the phone down, and Hilary said in a flat voice, "You have to go"
"Yes, another boy is dead."
"Oh God, in the same way?"
"No, head bashed in. He was found on the footpath below the old town wall. Right, I'm off," He was struggling into his coat, feeling in the pockets for the car keys, moving towards the door, "See you later. We must talk."
"I know. I'll wait up. I've got to work all evening anyway." The door closed, and she looked at the food in their plates thinking, ‘It will always be like this only, in the future, I'll be left here with a child.’
Ruggero walked out into the chill night with a sense of failure. Another boy dead, and a killer free to kill whenever he wished. On a personal level, there were so many things to discuss, and there was never time. How would he have time for a child? Cosimo, was constant refrain running through his mind day and night, his son.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was ten o'clock. Krishna Hope drank his coffee quickly, paid for it and left the bar walking fast with long loping strides, his body bobbing as he went up the hill. Although he had an air of confidence, he was actually rather frightened and looked about him carefully, his eyes scanning the darkened doorways. He shivered and turned up the collar of his long coat, drawing the edges together, and holding them closed with one hand, hurrying along, his footsteps ringing in the empty streets.
When he rang the bell, Pietro opened the door almost immediately. They went in silence through the hall, nodding to Pietro's parents as they passed the sitting room door where they sat watching television, and went up the stairs and into Pietro's bedroom.
"Have you got anything?" asked Krishna.
Pietro opened the drawer and pulled out his marijuana disguised as a bar of chocolate. He expertly rolled a joint, lit it up, and passed it over to Krishna who sucked hard on it, and passed it back. A few minutes later, Pietro said, "You know, it's funny, he phoned me like, just before…"
"What did he say?"
"He was worried. I told him to keep a low profile. I said this creep only works at night, but well…I was wrong."
"Maybe you should do something."
"I don't know what you mean." Pietro looked uneasy, dragged hard on the joint and then added, "I keep a low profile. You won't see me out of the house after school and I think everyone else will be doing the same. My parents are going crazy. What about you, how are you getting home?"
"My mother's picking me up at the bar at eleven so I'm leaving here at a quarter to. Anyway think on it. Sometimes it's better to cut your losses."
"It's got nothing to do with me, and anyway they'll catch him soon."
“You hope, and if they don’t, who’s next?”
“Don’t.”
“Come on, Pietro. Think about it.”
“I have and nothing doing. No, I’m just being very, very careful.”
They smoked in silence until the joint was finished. Then Pietro lit an incense stick.
At eleven on the dot, Anita drew up in front of the bar, and Krishna hopped in. "Darling, this is terrible news," she greeted him.
"I know. I can't believe it, but then I suppose one always says that."
"Three boys, all friends of yours. Is this a coincidence or something more?"
"Don't ask me."
She braked sharply, stopping the car, and turned to look at him, "But I am asking
you."
He looked down and said nothing.
In the late afternoon Isabelle opened her disconcertingly pale blue eyes, and said quite clearly, "What happened to that poor girl?"
Jeremy who was reading an English newspaper nearly jumped out of his skin, and said, "What girl, Ma?"
But the blue eyes closed again and her breathing continued as regularly as before, as though she had never wakened. Jeremy tried talking to her but, as there were no further signs of imminent communication, decided he should inform someone, and rang the bell.
A middle-aged nurse came in and looked inquiringly at him. Jeremy managed to say ungrammatically, "Mia madre parlato," and the woman's face broke into a smile. She disappeared and a few minutes later came back with a doctor who sent him out of the room, and later informed him, in excellent English, that he should talk to his mother as much as possible, to help her come back to consciousness.
Rather self-consciously he embarked on a detailed account of his recent engagements, and then moved on to talk about his family. He reflected that he had never been alone with his mother for so long, nor talked so much to her, ever before. But there was no further speech from Isabelle that day and he left at eight, thankfully, for his hotel room, a meal, and a long conversation on the phone with his wife, and subsequently with both his siblings. He even remembered to phone Hilary with the good news.
Ruggero didn't come back till nearly midnight. Hilary had hardly noticed the time as she was working, listening to music, and totally out of time. He took his coat off and sat down with a sigh. She clicked on the save button, turned the computer off and sat down facing him.
"Will you be able to go to Florence tomorrow?" she asked.
"We have to. I'll go in to work early tomorrow morning, then after a late lunch, we'll leave here at two, and be there by four as agreed. We should surely be back, by say, eight, and I can go straight back to work then."
"Is this murder connected to the others?"
"I think it has to be. He's part of the group, and even though his death was caused by head injuries, I think it’s connected. There was some mutilation."
"What sort of mutilation?"
"His testicles had been cut off and rammed into his mouth, after death, according to the doctor."
"Oh dear God."
"Yes, it smacks of perversion."
"So this is the worst time for you to be away half a day?"
"Not really, they won't do the autopsy until Monday morning, and the leg work will be done by uniformed men. If I set things up early, then when I get back, we might have something to go on. If only we had a witness. At that time of day someone might well have seen something."
"What time of day was that?"
"Well he left his work-mates at just after five, and didn't get home at all. His body was found at eight and the doctor says he had been dead for at least two hours, so I think that he was killed on his way home from work, at about a quarter past five, or a little later. He was taking the short cut round the old town walls, though why he should do anything so foolish I can't imagine. We told all the kids to be careful and not go around alone. Maybe he thought it was too early for the killer to strike."
"It could have been someone else."
"It could have been, but I don't really believe in coincidences."
"No, I suppose not." They sat for a few moments in silence, and then Ruggero said, "Look, about tomorrow, I don't know what you are feeling, and I don't think I can even guess, but I want you to tell me."
"I don't know where to start really, because it is all so …well, I mean, our lives will change totally. Here we are, living together most of the time, but not all the time, and working, and having parts of our lives separate, and being free, and so on, and then a baby comes along, your son, not even a new born baby, and not mine, and I feel frightened, I suppose. I haven't had a small baby to care for, for so many years, and this one will be someone else's, and I won't know him, and my God, he will be having the most awful trauma to go through, and I only hope I can cope, and, well… that's it, really. "
"Hilary, I know. I don't know how we go about this, but we have to do it. No, that isn't so. I have to do it, but you have to choose."
"I have chosen. I want to do it, because, well, I suppose because I love you, and this is your son."
"I love you too, and I want us to be a family, even though I know nothing much about families, and even less about children. Another thing, I wanted to ask you this earlier, but well, I wasn't sure if you would say yes," he paused and then asked, "Shall we get married? I wouldn't ever try to steal your freedom, but I think we should legalise this situation, especially now."
"I suppose we should. It all seems very frightening to me. I feel pressured. I know you must think I'm being, oh I don't know, well sort of picky. I don't really like the idea of a formal bond, I would rather us just be together, but with a child, well, I suppose we must think of him."
"You think I'm being old-fashioned about this, too conformist?"
"No, I think children should have legal parents, where it's at all possible."
"So we get married as soon as possible?"
"I suppose so."
He moved over to sit beside her, putting his arms round her. "It won't be so terrible. You sound resigned, I would rather you felt a bit more enthusiastic." He laughed, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
"My children will be here any day now, and I can't believe I'm going to tell them about us and Cosimo. I haven't got used to the idea myself, and I'll have to tell them."
"Let's see how you feel after we've seen Camilla and Cosimo tomorrow. I don't know how I feel myself. Excited, I suppose, and frightened as well. I will have to be a father, and I know nothing about fathers other than the fact that I have one.”
"Ruggero, you know we've never talked about your parents really, and I've never met them. Why didn't I think of it sooner! We should surely see them at Christmas."
"With this damned case dragging on, I've not had time to think myself, and the fact is that they live out in the wilds, they hate travelling, and have animals to look after, and they'll never come here, so if anything, we'll have to go and see them, and there just isn't time."
"Don't you usually see them at Christmas?"
"Not always. I do see them now and then when I can get away for a couple of days."
"When was the last time you went there?"
"June. Look, I know it's a long time ago, but I phone them regularly, once a week, if I remember."
"You’re their only child, aren't you?"
"Yes, there was another, my sister, but she died. I know I sound heartless, but I haven't forgotten them. They live a very peaceful and secluded life. My father was a partisan during the war and a committed communist from then on. He left his home town and went to Florence where he worked as a teacher, and where he met my mother. We lived there while I was growing up, but when he retired he wanted to go home so they went back to the small farm he grew up on, and they looked after my grandmother there, until her death. They love it there. They still have some other relations alive, second cousins and so on, and they're proud of me, but their lives are very closed in now. I don't really belong in their life anymore. I can practically hear them heave a sigh of relief when I leave, so they can get back to their normal routine. They rarely leave the farm, and they have animals as I said, so …anyway, I know they're alright."
"Cosimo will be their only grandson."
"Yes, I think they'd given up hoping for grandchildren."
"I would like to meet them, Ruggero."
"We could get married there. It would be too much for them to come here."
"That's a good idea. You know, I still can't believe all this is happening."
"Nor me, but if you think about it all the time, then maybe you'll get used to the idea. Look!" He took the photo of Cosimo out of his wallet. "This is Cosimo."
She looked at the photo, and said, "He's beautiful. Poor child, we
must try to lessen the trauma of separation as much as possible. We'll have to think of a way. It depends how much time we have."
"Not much, I think. We'll know more tomorrow."
"OK. Let's leave any further discussion till then."
"I don't know why, but I think we'll be alright."
"We'll do our best." She looked at him, and then at the photo, and tried hard to imagine them together with this beautiful child, with all his needs and demands. Then she handed the photo back to him and stood up, as though to terminate the conversation.
"Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you, Jeremy phoned about Isabelle. He said she opened her eyes and spoke, nothing that made any sense, but it's a good sign. I must say I feel a bit guilty about having let her go back home on her own, but she was too overbearing to live with."
"Nonsense, you were just jealous, you thought she was after me." He laughed.
"Don't flatter yourself, she does that to anything in trousers, it's her upbringing. The womanly wife. She's the sort of woman who really needs to have a man with her all the time, and then suffocates him, and demands attention all the time, and watches him like a hawk, and accuses him of infidelity, so that in the end he does go off and find someone else."
"Well, I'm glad I chose you then, there's not much chance of you doing that, you're more likely to not cosset me enough."
"Cosset you! Really!"
"Well, if you're going to be my wife, I shall of course expect to cosseted, and flattered, and generally have my morale boosted, and my clothes washed and ironed, and meals on time, and never have to help in the house, and…I can't think of anything else. Oh yes, I can! Of course, you must obey my every whim, and my whim right now is to take you to bed."
"Oh Ruggero, you're a crazy man. We'll be alright, won't we." It was a statement, but she wasn't sure how true it was.
The Tuscan Mystery Trilogy Page 59