temptation in florence 03 - bankers death

by boeker, beate

  Blood. The white t-shirt of the man had a dark patch in the middle, wet. Her heart contracted. She bent forward and placed her cheek close to his mouth. Was he still breathing? She wasn't sure. Oh, Madonna. She touched his face. It was cool.

  Once again, she brought her cheek to his mouth. Would she feel his breath?

  “Alana.” It was a mere whisper.

  “What?” The word came out as a croak. What had he said?

  His lashes fluttered. A shudder went through him. He sighed and seemed to shrink.

  A feeling of panic grabbed Carlina by the throat. With trembling fingers, she fished out her phone and speed-dialed Garini. As soon as he had picked up, she said, “Stefano, come immediately to the newspaper booth on the corner of the Borgo de' Greci and Via dei Leoni. A man was stabbed, and I'm not sure if he's dead. Bring an ambulance. Hurry.”

  She hung up again and grabbed the man's flaccid hand, pressing it hard. Maybe he would feel that he was not alone. Where was Maria? Was she still sitting on the curb, too shocked to move? She didn't dare to leave the man alone.

  The door behind her opened.

  Carlina turned around. “Is that you, Maria?”

  “No, it's me, Simonetta.” With Simonetta's entry, the small space seemed to shrink. “I saw Maria sitting on the curb. She told me something happened to the newspaperman. Can I help?”

  “He was stabbed, I think.” Carlina's voice wobbled. “I don't know what to do. I mean, he's . . . I'm not sure if he's dead.”

  “Let me see.” Simonetta knelt next to the victim and felt for his pulse. “I . . . I don't feel anything.” She gave Carlina an uncertain look.

  “Do you think mouth-to-mouth resuscitation would help?” Carlina swallowed.

  “With a knife wound in his chest?” Simonetta shook her head. “Not likely.” She shuddered. “We have to call the police - and the ambulance.”

  “I already did so.”

  “Good.” Simonetta looked at the lifeless man on the ground. “This is terrible.”

  “Yes.” Carlina felt cold. “He was nice, you know. He always waved at me when I drove past.”

  Simonetta didn't reply.

  “What is Maria doing?”

  “Nothing much. She's sitting on the curb and hugging herself.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you want to go outside and talk to her?”

  Carlina hesitated. For some reason, she felt she had to hold on to the hand of the newspaperman. “No.”

  Before Simonetta could reply, they heard the wail of an ambulance, coming closer until it seemed to be right on top of them. It stopped, and a second later came the sound of running feet. The door crashed to the side. “Out of the way.” Two men filled the doorway.

  Carlina grabbed Simonetta and went outside. Maybe Garini has come. She wanted to be in his arms again. You won't be in his arms, a sneering voice inside her said. Don't forget that he put your relationship on hold. She found she was shaking.

  Garini's bike roared around the corner and slid to a stop right next to her. He gave her the once over, seemed satisfied with what he saw, turned on his heels, and ran to the booth.

  Carlina dropped onto the curb next to Maria. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” Maria's lips looked white. Her fists were clenched, and she was shaking so hard that it was visible. “Is he . . . is he dead?”

  “I don't know.” Carlina dropped her head into her hands. “I hope not.”

  Simonetta sat down on the other side of Maria. “Gosh, what a nasty thing. How did it happen, Maria?”

  “I don't know.” Maria shook her head. “I . . . I just saw his knee, and that shocked me so much that I felt faint, and the next second, Carlina was already there. I don't know anything!”

  “At what time was that, approximately?” Garini's voice came from behind them.

  They all whipped around.

  Maria flinched. “I . . . I really have no idea. I didn't check the time.”

  “It must have been shortly before ten,” Carlina said. “I remember I was thinking that I'd be late for work, and that was just before I saw Maria.”

  His light gaze assessed her. “Why did you stop?”

  “She looked ill. She was doubling over. When I asked her if she was all right, she told me she had found the newspaperman on the floor, and I went to check up on him.”

  Garini narrowed his eyes. “Why didn't you call an ambulance, Maria?”

  Maria looked at him with wide-opened eyes. “I didn't think of it. I was too shocked to think. I . . . I'm sorry if I made a mistake. This kind of thing has never happened to me before, and I . . . I just didn't know what to do. I felt so sick, so . . . wobbly,” her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “I only wanted to get away.”

  Simonetta placed her arm around Maria's shoulder. “Shhh. That's fine.” She gave Garini a malevolent glance. “Don't reproach her.”

  “I'm not reproaching her.” Garini's voice was cool. “I'm asking questions.” He turned to Carlina. “What happened next?”

  “I went inside. At first, I thought, he'd had a heart attack, and I thought I could try mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, though I've never really done that before, but then I . . . I noticed the smell.”

  “What smell?”

  “From the blood.” Carlina swallowed. “I was lost; didn't know what to do to help him. I tried to find out if he was still alive, but I wasn't sure. At one moment, I thought he was saying something.”

  They all turned on her as if electrified. “He was saying something?” Simonetta asked. “Are you sure? What did he say? Did he give us a clue about his murderer?”

  “I'm not sure if I understood him correctly. He said Alana or Alanna or something.”

  “Nirvana?” Maria repeated with a puzzled frown.

  Carlina shrugged. “Maybe Nirvana. I don't know. As I said, it was a mere whisper.” She looked up at Garini. “I called you then.”

  “I got your call at eleven minutes past ten.”

  She nodded and looked toward the newspaper booth. “Are they still . . . busy in there?”

  Garini shook his head. “No. I'm sorry. He's dead.”

  A strange feeling gripped Carlina. For an instant, she felt as if she was floating. The world started to spin in circles around her.

  His hand came down on her shoulder, firm, warm.

  He shook her, gently. “Don't faint, Carlina.”

  She drew herself up. “I'm not fainting.”

  “Good.” His voice was ironic, but his gaze rested on her with tenderness.

  “I arrived shortly afterward,” Simonetta said. “I saw Maria sitting on the curb like a mashed potato and asked her what was the matter. When she told me, I went inside, but I couldn't do anything, either.”

  “Did any of you notice something unusual in the booth?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “It was dark inside,” Carlina answered. “A tiny space, crammed full with piles of newspapers and magazines and boxes and stuff.”

  “Nothing unusual?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see a knife or something that could be used as a knife?”

  Simonetta and Carlina looked at each other. “No.”

  “Did you know the victim?”

  All three shook their head. “He waved at me when I drove past,” Carlina said. “We exchanged a few words once, when I almost had an accident here.”

  “An accident?” He frowned. “When was that?”

  “Some days ago. I can't remember exactly.” She frowned and tried to remember. “Actually, I think it was on the day when Valentino was stabbed.”

  “Tell me more about this almost-accident.”

  She shrugged. “It was at lunch-time. I was on my way back to Temptation, and a man stepped onto the road. One of the tourists, no doubt, not looking where he went. I swerved to avoid him and almost fell. The newspaperman saw it and said he was a lunatic. That was it.” She put her head to the side. “You don't think it has any
relation to the case, do you?”

  “I don't know.” He frowned.

  “The newspaperman said he knew Mama.”

  Garini looked at her for an instant. “Really?”

  Carlina closed her eyes. Maybe she shouldn't talk to him without thinking first. Had she incriminated her mother now? “I believe she bought magazines there and chatted a bit with him. No close relationship, as far as I could make out.”

  “I see.” His face didn't betray any thought.

  “How about you?” Garini looked at Maria. “Did you know the victim?”

  “No.” Maria shook her head. She was still so pale that she looked almost translucent.

  “I didn't know him, either.” Simonetta said. “I don't think I ever bought anything here.” She turned to Maria. “Come on, Maria, let's go home. Fabbiola wants to wash the corn this morning. That'll help us to stop thinking.”

  Maria nodded and got up.

  “I'll go to Temptation.” Carlina looked at Garini. She wanted to feel his kiss, wanted to be in his arms. After the events of the morning, she felt fragile and unbalanced - as if the slightest disturbance would make her collapse in a storm of tears. She stiffened her spine. No time to lick your wounds. She forced herself to give Garini a non-commital smile and turned to her Vespa.

  He watched her go with a sudden feeling of loss. If only she wasn't linked to this crazy family who kept getting into trouble. She was shaken to the core, and he wanted to be close to her, to protect her. Nothing doing. He had a job to do.

  Clenching his teeth, he turned back to the newspaper booth. The fingerprint team and the photographer had just arrived, as well as the pathologist, Roberto, who waved at him with a cheerful grin before he ducked into the booth. Garini followed him and checked the identity of the victim. Giorgio Pulo, sixty-seven years old, living in the north of Florence, born in Sicily. The worst part was still to come - he had to break the news to his family. He called the office and gave Piedro the task to get as much background information as possible about Giorgio Pulo, then drove to the outskirts of town where the victim had lived in a run-down apartment block on the ground floor. Garini pressed the bell and steeled himself.

  The door squeaked open, and a mixed smell of detergent and fried onions wafted out. An improbable blonde stood in front of him. Her hair was fluffed up with so much hairspray that it looked like spun sugar, and her make-up was thick enough to cover most of the wrinkles on her face.

  “Signora Pulo?” Garini guessed.

  “Yes. What do you want?” She was chewing gum with a hectic movement of her jaw. “I don't want to buy anything.”

  He took out his identity card. “I'm from the police. I'm afraid your husband met with an accident.”

  She stared at him, her eyes wide. “Is this a joke?”

  “I'm afraid not.”

  She scrutinized his card, then took a step back. “Come in.” Without another word, she led him to an over-furnished living room. Little light came through the window that was framed with heavy velvet curtains. “Sit down.”

  Garini sat next to her on a red plush sofa that had seen better days. The wall was covered with several pictures of a clown with a huge red mouth and a face painted all in white. Others showed a circus tent, a caravan, and a director with a red cylinder on his head. It was signed with a thick felt pen across one corner “To Beppo”.

  She looked at him with hard eyes, her jaw still working. “Now tell me everything.” It sounded unemotional, as if she was used to commanding.

  Garini decided to come straight to the point. She didn't look as if she wanted to have the news broken gently. “Your husband was stabbed this morning inside his newspaper booth. He died almost instantly.”

  The jaw continued to mash in an automated motion. She didn't flinch. Her eyes remained dry. “Stupid bastard.”

  Garini blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I mean Giorgio.” She jumped up and took a turn around the room, which was difficult in the small space left between the sofa and the wall. After two turns, she stopped in front of him, put her hands on her hips, and pierced him with a dark gaze. Her eyes were narrowed, as if she was trying to take his measure.

  Garini returned the gaze, dumbfounded. He had never yet met such a strange reaction from the wife of a murder victim.

  Finally, Signora Pulo seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. With a determined expression, she dropped back onto the sofa and turned to Garini. “I've been expecting him to overdo it, but then, he could never get enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She bent forward. “He was a blackmailer. I'm telling you this because I don't . . . I mean I didn't approve of it.”

  Garini stared at her, nonplussed, and asked the first thing that came to his mind. “Was he blackmailing you, too?”

  She gave him a grim smile that revealed crooked teeth. “No. I was too clever.”

  The interview clearly wasn't running along any conventional lines. Part of Garini was relieved that he didn't have to witness the heart-wrenching grief of a wife - but the other part kept shaking its head in disbelief at her cool reaction. It felt as if he had strayed into a bad movie. Again, he relied on his gut feeling and asked the first question that came to his mind. “If you didn't approve, why didn't you get a divorce?”

  “There were reasons . . . “ she made a move with her hand, the rings on her fingers flashing. “But that's not important at the moment.”

  He frowned. “Can you tell me more about the people he allegedly blackmailed?”

  “Absolutely not, Commissario.” She shook her head. “You see, he never told me anything about it. I found it out all by myself and never confronted him with the knowledge. He had a separate account and used to enjoy high living when he went off for weeks on end. He told me he was visiting old friends.” She gave a snort. “Ha. I soon found out about those.” She gave him another look. “I see you don't believe me. Wait a minute.” She turned to a dark brown wooden sideboard and started to rummage around in the lowest drawer. “Giorgio kept his secret banking information here.”

  “But that's easily accessible for you. Not good to hide secrets.”

  “In the back of the drawer is a secret compartment.” She pulled the drawer out until it came to rest on the carpet, then pressed her finger against the wooden plank that formed the part in the back. “It's not big, and Giorgio didn't know that I was aware of the secret compartment.”

  One part of the wooden plank fell out. Signora Pulo fished out a savings account book and handed it to Garini. “Here you are. Have fun with it, and make sure you spend the money on a good cause. I want nothing to do with it.”

  Garini lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  She continued to masticate like an angry cow. “You needn't give me that arrogant look, Commissario. I may not be a high-flying lady of society, but I know what's right and wrong.”

  “Why didn't you confront him with it?”

  She shook her head. “I'm not sure how good that would have been for my health.”

  Garini eyed her. Her story was becoming less believable by the minute. “You're very straightforward with your information. I have to admit that I find your reaction . . . unusual.”

  “Because I don't weep and moan?” She shrugged. “Believe me, Commissario; I've seen enough of life. I'm not easily shocked. Besides, he had it coming. I'm actually sort of . . . relieved.”

  “Why didn't you file for a divorce?”

  “You asked me that already.” She shrugged. “It would have been so complicated. Giorgio spent more and more time away, so I was quite happy with the arrangement.”

  “Can you tell me of anybody else who would have profited from his death - apart from the blackmail victims whose names you don't know?” He couldn't help it; his voice sounded ironic.

  “Apart from me?” She have a titter. “I can see I'm digging my own grave here . . .”

  Garini decided not to mince matters. “Yes, you are. I've never yet e
xperienced a wife who doesn't bat an eyelid upon the news of her husband's death and hands me a motive for several other people on a silver platter within the first minute of our conversation. It doesn't look good, to say the least.”

  She gave a snort. “The police. Always the same. When you lie, they swallow everything like a baby, but when you speak the truth, they say you've made it all up.” She shrugged her shoulders and pulled at the collar of her black blouse that revealed a wrinkly cleavage. “You believe what you want. I'm telling you the truth, and I won't budge from it.”

  “What were you doing this morning between ten and eleven?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I was here, at home. Go and prove the opposite, if you can.” She shook her head. “Maybe I should have squeezed out a tear or two after all. You looked sensible enough to cope with the truth.” Her mouth curled into a cynical shape. “It seems I overestimated you.”

  “Tell me more about your husband's life, please.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  She sighed. “He was a clown by profession.” She pointed at the pictures. “That's how I got to know him. We worked together for five years and got married after the first. I was doing the bookkeeping and all the paper work at the circus. At first, I was fooled by his charm. He could be very charming if he wanted to be. That's how he found out about people's secrets.” She shook her head. “Amazing, that I should have fallen for him. I'd never before been married, you see, and I guess I just wanted to know how it feels. There's no fool like an old fool, they say.” She shrugged. “He had been with the circus for over twenty years. One day, he told me he'd inherited something from an uncle, and we could stop traveling with the circus. He said it had always been his dream to set up a newspaper booth in the heart of Florence. I only found out about the blackmailing business when we moved here a year ago.”

  “Who minded the booth when he was away?”

  “Oh, sometimes he got some student or other. At other times, he closed it down, mostly in winter, when there were fewer tourists.”