Spiralling; that’s another good word. Though it felt like I was going round in circles, I had to believe I was getting closer to the truth with each turn. I thought about calling mum’s hairdresser Fernando to get his spin on the case, when Bu-Bu herself arrived on the patio with her entourage.
“It’s the famous actress, Bu-Bu La Mer!” Ramesh ran over to the Dennisons to explain. I could see he was doing a similar hype job for my mother as Heike and Lio had done for the Romanellis. “Didn’t you just love her in ‘A Spy to Remember’?”
Gawping at Mum as they walked across the terrace towards the outdoor pool, Ian and Sharon mumbled to one another in impressed tones. Bu-Bu herself had ditched the flowing cream outfit and was now wearing a full-length, spangled dress that Shirley Bassey would have considered over the top.
“You have to play the part, darling!” She told me when she saw me looking on in disbelief, bordering on horror.
“And what part exactly are you playing? Unconvincing drag queen?”
With Danny following behind, holding her sparkly train, she approached the table and took the seat next to mine. Still in character, Danny stood with his back against the wall to scan the terrace, occasionally putting one hand to his face as if receiving a message through an earpiece.
“Come on, Izzy. It’s been hours since I saw you, what have you discovered since then?”
On paper, my mother was the last person I needed butting in and yet I’d learnt from experience that my loved ones invariably helped me join the dots in complicated cases.
“That’s a real puzzle,” she reflected once I’d filled her in. Her complete lack of theories was almost more shocking than the combination of pink, orange and turquoise on her dress.
I may have let my disappointment show. “Is that all you’ve got for me?”
“Give me a minute, darling, give me a minute.” She looked across the gardens and out to the jagged coastline. “I can’t think like this… Danny, my sweet, could you fetch Bu-Bu a glass of something tasty?”
Her fake bodyguard nodded, spoke into the imaginary microphone in his hand and headed off towards the bar.
“Let’s say that Marco was behind it after all. You still think that’s the logical explanation, but how could it be possible?”
She’d put into words everything I’d been thinking in just two sentences. This did not make answering the question any easier though.
“I’ve gone through all the different options. The only thing that makes sense to me is that he was working with somebody else. Let’s imagine that Maribel started a relationship with him in order to dig up dirt for Álvaro. If Marco found out and decided he had to silence her, who would he trust to cover up the murder? I can’t see his wife helping him if he’d cheated on her.”
Mum removed her sunglasses and bit the end of one arm perplexedly. “What about his eldest daughter, you said she looked at you funny today. Could she be in on it?”
“Doesn’t make any more sense than his wife helping him. In fact it makes less sense.” My words emerged a little too aggressively and my mother put her glasses back on and leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry, Mum but I’ve gone over it time and time again and nothing’s fitting together.”
Danny reappeared with two brightly coloured cocktails. He placed them on the table in front of us and winked at me behind his glasses.
Mum put her hand on mine and gave it a little shake. “You mustn’t get worked up, my angel. There’s no pressure on you to solve the case. No one is paying you, the police are here to do their job. So, if you don’t manage to work it out, it’s no big deal.”
I let out a huff that my mother must have heard in every argument we’d had from the time I was thirteen until I left for university. “Well it’s a big deal to me. There’s no Poirot novel where the twist is that he can’t find the killer. I wouldn’t read that book, would you?”
She stretched her hands beyond the shade of the parasol and into the sunshine like she was dipping them into water. “You’ve always been the same, Izzy. Your problem is that you take life far too seriously. Things always go more smoothly if you relax once in a while. Look at me; yesterday I was a retired teacher, at home in suburban London, and today I’m a world-famous film star, living it up at an exclusive Spanish resort.”
“Well, Mum… I appreciate you being here.” Even if she had little more to offer than her company, I was still glad she’d come. The apparent impossibility of knowing anything for sure was starting to get to me.
“Shhhh! I don’t want the press finding out I have an adult daughter, I’ve been telling everyone for the last fifteen years that I’m thirty-nine.” She gave me a wink of her own and tried to comfort me once more. “Don’t look so worried, Izzy. Ramesh and I have big plans for dinner this evening. Let’s just take things one step at a time and you’ll be on the right trail before you know it.”
When I was a teenager, my mother’s eccentric behaviour would send me into fits of shame. I thought that everything she did was designed specifically to embarrass me but, over the past year, I’d come to realise what a treasure she really was. She could be blunt and uncouth, loud and obvious, but she was still my mum and I loved her more than anything. Well, joint first with Dad, Greg, David, Danny, and Ramesh at the very least. And besides, since she worked out who killed Mr Porter before I did, I felt I owed it to her to listen to what she had to say.
A thought suddenly popped into place in my head. “Mum, you’re a genius!”
“I know that, darling,” she replied in a rather sad voice, “but I’m still waiting for the rest of the world to realise.”
“I have to take it a step at a time. I’ve spent the whole day focusing on who the killer is, but I forgot about all the little questions I have to work out before I can get there.”
Danny made a crackly radio sound and mum beamed with joy. “Fantastic! So where do we start?”
I went back to the list of questions in my head. “The gun? No, the thefts. Somebody went round the hotel yesterday stealing valuables from guests’ rooms. Álvaro and I were the only ones who didn’t have anything taken. As a journalist though, there’s a good chance he would have kept all his important stuff with him. Also, when he came home, he went straight up to his room while the rest of us had dinner and drinks down here. I need to work out who the thief is and whether they knew the gun would be there before they took it? Perhaps that was what they were after in the first place.”
“What about the two girls, the Austrians? You said they had a shady past, perhaps they were behind the thefts.”
I thought for a minute before answering. “I suppose it’s possible, and Lio did disappear for a while last night while most of us were down here.”
Danny, who had been listening into the conversation the whole time, cleared his throat and put forward a suggestion. “Excuse me, ladies. Have you considered that the real motive for the robberies wasn’t the valuables but that the thieves were looking for something in Álvaro’s room? What if they couldn’t find it but snatched the gun instead and returned the next day to silence him for good?”
For a second this made a lot of sense to me. “That’s a nice theory, but it all sounds too risky. Imagine Marco wanted to kill the journalist. He’d need to be sure he could get away with it or else the murder would get him in more trouble than whatever Álvaro had discovered. And the fact is, Marco doesn’t have an alibi.”
“Yes, but-”
I would happily have ridden that train of thought with Mum and Danny for as long as it would go but, just at that moment, Gianna Romanelli appeared on the terrace. She was juggling mobile phones as she went down to the gardens to cut across to the beach. I jumped up to run after her and, still in bodyguard mode, Danny trailed after me, glancing around for snipers and paparazzi. I had to stop and shoo him away as I didn’t want Gianna being scared off. By the time I caught up with he
r, she’d finished her call.
“Do you mind if I walk with you?” I asked and she looked at me in that coldly judgemental manner she had.
“Of course not,” that magical smile of hers, which was all the prettier for emerging so rarely, appeared on her face. “I love walking on the beach in the evening. There’s something unique about it.”
“Oh, me too. Whenever we went on holiday when I was a kid, I’d spend hours with my mum combing the beach for shells.”
We’d reached the sandy path and I motioned for her to go ahead of me through the narrow gate.
She let out a contented hum as she took in our surroundings. “Every time I step onto a beach, I feel like a child again. I love the mountains and the forest and, with Marco, I’ve travelled to jungles and deserts and everywhere in between, but the beach will always be so special to me.” Some of the poetry that danced through her husband’s speech was present in her own. “For me it’s where the human world ends and pure nature begins. We will never control the sea entirely. Maybe one day we will bulldoze every last tree on earth, but the seas and oceans will remain.”
Though I am a massive fan of poetry, I decided it was time to pull the conversation round to more urgent topics. “I think you know who I am…” I was trying to explain what I wanted without scaring her off. “…and so I’m pretty sure you can guess what I need to talk about.”
Her smile diminished a little. “It’s okay, Izzy. You can ask your questions.”
“I need to know if you think your husband could have killed Álvaro or the girl on the beach this morning.”
There was something very calm about her that I hadn’t expected. More often than not, when I’d seen her over the last few days she’d been shouting at her family or into a phone. But there, with me, she seemed peaceful. “Marco is a figurehead. He’s a role model and a symbol to so many people that it was inevitable we would attract the occasional psychopath. I don’t think for a second he was involved in these murders. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t carried out in his name.”
She stopped and buried her feet in the sand right there where we stood, like a child playing a game. “The police told me this afternoon that one of the girls who was working for us has a history of violence. I’d only ever known her as a kind and thoughtful girl. She was punctual, hard-working and dedicated to our cause. It goes to show how difficult it is to genuinely know somebody.”
She looked back up at me, studying my face once more. “But I know Marco. We’ve been together for twenty years. He is my life and I am his. Whatever people might say about us, we’re not violent, we are pacifists. We just want to make the world a better place and we know how to do that.”
“Do you know who else thought that?” Her lilting voice had soothed my frayed nerves but I still had to answer her mixed-up rhetoric. “Stalin and Hitler and Chairman Mao all thought they knew what was best for their people and millions suffered as a result.”
“Yes, but they weren’t pacifists.” Though she spoke with humility, I could sense the same undercurrent of aggression which was present in her husband. It both scared and fascinated me. Perhaps she could change the world, but I had no doubt there would be casualties along the way. “Next Phase is a philosophy. We just want everything the way it should be.” Like a lot of poetry, she was edging ever closer towards abstraction.
“Where did your husband go last night after everyone else was in bed?”
She started walking again and we skirted around the perimeter of the beach. “One of the reasons Marco and I have a happy marriage is because we are different. He likes going out and partying and I prefer staying home with our daughters and a good book. And then, when he comes home, we both have things to talk about.” I was coming to realise that everything she said sounded like it had been lifted from a self-help manual. “Marco went into the city for some drinks with old friends. He came back after the girl was killed, as I’m sure you already know.”
I searched for my next question and, when my words failed me, she took control of the conversation once more.
“Can you imagine what it’s like to be me, Izzy?” That stern, serious expression she normally wore dominated her face. “I had very little money growing up but married one of Italy’s richest men. I run an international movement with only a few staff and look after our three children when Marco is off on television shows or being interviewed for magazines.”
There was a tremble in her voice and I thought I was finally seeing the real woman beneath all the buff, shine and expensive makeup. “For the last two decades, I’ve been called every terrible name you can think of. I’ve been told that I use my looks to get what I want but also criticised for not being feminine enough. People have accused me of callousness when, if I was a man, they would have praised me for my bravery. The truth is that the only way for women like us to succeed is to be stronger than the men who seek to put us down.”
I had completely forgotten by this point what question I’d asked her. I found myself floating away on her strange rhythmic speech patterns and I was no longer sure whether I’d recovered from my fall.
The right question finally landed on my tongue. “So, if your husband isn’t a murderer, who do you think killed Álvaro?”
She smiled again and the contrast was as great as if she’d pulled a mask on. “That’s not my job to say.” We’d reached the waterline and she glanced dreamily along the serrated edge of the cliffs, like she was searching for something that would never be found. “But I can tell you this… if you do anything to endanger the unity of my family – if you try to pull Marco away from us because of your hunch – I will do whatever it takes to protect them. And, pacifist or not, if you cross me, I will find a way to destroy you.”
Her eyes were locked on mine and, in a moment, every last possibility rushed through my head. Right then she was a victim and a devil, my prime suspect and my hero. Not wanting to cry, there was only one other option; I burst out laughing.
“Oh, my goodness,” I said and each word was transformed by my weird cackle. “You’re terrifying!”
She did not find it amusing and grew more serious. “It’s not funny!” She’d started shouting. “I’m warning you not to mess with my family.”
Instead of doing the sensible thing and shutting up, I laughed even louder. “No, I know it’s not funny. Honestly.” Bit louder again. “I really mean it, I think you’re as tough as a brick wall.” There were tears in my eyes by this point. “I’ve no idea why I’m laughing.”
Like a popular kid who no one is paying attention to, she let out a melodramatic “Eek!” and marched away across the sand. I was howling by then, really letting rip. I sat down on the stand to avoid getting a stitch and, when I did, the laughter immediately changed into whole-body sobs.
Urmmm, Izzy? Are you alright?
No paella for you, buddy.
I don’t care about the paella. I’m worried about you. What’s going on?
Me!? I’m fine, I am. Don’t worry about me.
We both knew I was lying. Of course I wasn’t fine. Nothing was fine. I’d run away from England and tried to pretend that was okay. But I had no idea what was happening to David as he faced near certain imprisonment which had only come about because of the evidence I’d gathered. It didn’t matter who I loved or why, what mattered was that I’d deserted him and I couldn’t forgive myself.
Not knowing what else I could do, I pulled my phone from my bag and dialled his mum’s number. There was no way I could solve a murder or pick a suspect until I found out what was happening back home.
As the tears poured off me, the phone started to ring and I braced myself for the answer.
Chapter Twenty-One
Back in my bedroom, I had a good long chat with the girl in the mirror. “Get it together, Izzy. It’s not all about you, there are more important things at stake here.”
&nbs
p; Excuse me but, if you’re going to talk to yourself, could you at least-
NO!
The girl looked pretty that evening. Her brown hair had caught the sun a little and her skin actually looked tanned for once. Plus I’d dressed her up in a completely appropriate dinner dress with matching black heels so that she ended up feeling pretty good about herself.
Well, you deserve it after that phone call.
David’s parents had not been able to offer the inspirational good news I’d been hoping for. His barrister simply wasn’t able to fight back against the dark arts the prosecution employed and things were looking grim. Having already cut me off, David had become increasingly distant from his family but they said they would keep me updated all the same. It made me even sadder that they could still be so nice to me.
I finished getting ready, took one last peek in the mirror and headed out the door. I had just made it to the stairs when I felt my phone buzz and fished it out. There on my screen was a photo of Marco Romanelli with Delilah Shaw. It was a few years old, but there was no mistaking them. They were standing on a stage in front of large sign which read “New Voices for Free Spee-” I guessed there was a c and an h cut off the end and the accompanying message from Dean confirmed it.
This what you’re looking for? Romanelli and Shaw were at a convention a while back. They were talking on a platform called “New Voices for Free Speech”. From what I can tell, it’s a fairly militant organisation calling for the end of all immigration to the UK. Marco was the key speaker. This is the only shot I could find of the two of them together. I had a look at social media from last night and Marco popped up at a restaurant around one fifteen but there’s no sign of him again until he took a selfie in a club at three in the morning. Hope it helps.
I couldn’t be sure what good the information would do. All it really proved was that Delilah had been lying when she said she didn’t know who Romanelli was. I could understand Marco not acknowledging her, especially considering what a scene she’d made of herself, drunkenly hitting on Ramesh for the past few nights. But it didn’t make sense that she would have denied her association with the rising star of the far right.
A Corpse on the Beach Page 15