by Gill Paul
She knew she wouldn’t take his advice and retract her statement about Luigi. She planned to do everything in her power to help the police find Helen’s killer and have him put behind bars. It was the very least she could do.
Chapter Fifty-One
On Monday morning, the Italian press printed a grainy photograph of Helen sitting in an outdoor café with some other girls from the Cleopatra set, and it was only then Scott realised that she was the person who had been killed at Torre Astura.
‘Jesus Christ!’ he yelled, startling his secretary. ‘I know her.’
She was beaming at the camera, holding up her drink as if toasting someone, and she looked heartbreakingly young and pretty. Tears came to Scott’s eyes. What the hell had happened?
The story alongside the photograph said that the police were treating her death as suspicious and straight away Scott guessed she had been killed because she’d blurted out something about drugs to the wrong person. Maybe Luigi had got wind of it. It had been foolish of him to take her to the Ghianciaminas’ villa. She was young and garrulous and seemed to have no sense of caution. If word got back to Luigi that she was talking about it, he would have had no option but to shut her up.
Scott checked the date on which she had drowned and realised it was the day after he last saw her. She’d been distraught that evening. Maybe she already knew that Luigi was after her. He tried to remember exactly what she had said: she’d complained that she couldn’t afford the vitamin treatments any more, and implied that she was taking drugs again. Scott had assumed that she was upset because she hadn’t managed to get off the heroin as easily as she’d hoped – but perhaps there had been something else going on. Had Luigi been threatening her? Was he even inside her room at the time? Is that why Helen wouldn’t let him come in?
Scott was determined to get to the truth. First, he decided to ring the vitamin doctor to find out whether she had gone for the vitamin shot that night, the one he gave her the money for.
‘Helen Sharpe? I haven’t seen her in almost a week.’
‘Did you realise that she is dead?’ Scott asked. ‘She drowned last Thursday night. It’s all over the morning newspapers.’
There was a sharp intake of breath. ‘I had no idea. I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I saw her the night before she died and she told me she’d had to start taking drugs again because she couldn’t afford any more of your treatments. But that made me curious, because I thought you said she would only need one or two injections before she would be cured.’
‘Yes, that’s how it should have been,’ the doctor told him. ‘But Miss Sharpe was a very anxious young lady who didn’t believe herself capable of beating the addiction on her own. If I’d known she was struggling I would have offered her free treatments.’
As they spoke, Scott was scribbling down the doctor’s responses in shorthand. ‘What else is in those shots? Why did she need to keep coming back for more?’
‘I don’t need to tell you …’
‘Shall I suggest to the police that they come and test your formula to see if it could have contributed to Helen’s death?’
There was a long pause. ‘I always include some amphetamines to give patients a boost. You’ll find that’s normal practice. Otherwise it’s mostly vitamins B and C.’
‘Oh Christ!’ Scott was furious with himself. Looking back, all the signs were there but it had never occurred to him. Lots of doctors gave amphetamine shots – it was said that the Cleopatra director Joe Mankiewicz had one every morning – but it was the last thing Helen needed in her fragile condition. She’d gone from one highly addictive drug to another. ‘You’d better tell the police about that.’
The doctor cleared his throat. ‘I don’t see why I should. It’s not as if she died of an overdose, is it? I thought you said she drowned?’ He sounded defensive.
‘The police are treating her death as suspicious.’
‘That has nothing to do with me. I’m bound by the Hippocratic Oath not to discuss my patients, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to terminate this call.’
‘Surely the Hippocratic Oath—’ Scott had been going to say that he thought it no longer applied when a patient died, but the doctor had hung up.
Scott was furious with himself. Why had he taken her to someone he couldn’t personally vouch for? He should have made more enquiries first. That evening, as he nursed a Peroni in the piano bar where he’d often seen Helen and her friends, Scott felt very emotional. He gazed at their usual table and tried to imagine her sitting there. She’d been troubled, for sure, but she was a lovely girl, entirely without guile. If only he hadn’t left her that last evening. He should have insisted she told him what she was upset about.
He knew he should go to the police and tell them about Helen’s drug habit, in case they hadn’t figured it out already. He’d say he was a friend who met her in a nightclub and was trying to help her to break her addiction. He should also tell them about seeing her the night before she died.
Scott wondered what theories they were pursuing. Maybe they already had someone in custody. Oh crap! Suddenly it occurred to him that he could find himself being called to testify in court against Luigi or one of his cronies. That wasn’t a position he wanted to find himself in. Apart from anything else, it would make it very difficult to continue writing his story. Perhaps Alessandro Ghianciamina would remember him as the guy who chatted up his sister. It was far too dangerous.
All in all, he decided he would wait a few days and see if the papers reported any more before he raised his head above the parapet. One way or another, there was a lot at stake.
Chapter Fifty-Two
On Tuesday morning, the 15th of May, two policemen appeared at Diana’s pensione just before nine as she sat with a cup of coffee waiting for the studio car to arrive. She’d grown to like Italian espresso, with its rich aroma, quite unlike the insipid Lyons coffee grounds that Trevor preferred back home. It certainly jolted you into the day, making you feel wide awake.
‘Signora Bailey? We need to ask you more questions. Please would you accompany us to the station?’
Diana was surprised. ‘I was there for hours on Saturday. Do I really have to come again today? Can’t you ask me your questions here?’
‘I’m afraid not. You must come with us.’
She sighed loudly. ‘Will someone give me a lift to Cinecittà when you finish? I have a meeting to attend.’
‘We’ll arrange something.’
Diana asked them to wait until the studio car arrived and she told the driver to get word to Hilary that she would be late, then she climbed into the police car and was driven back out to the Questura Polizia di Stato. At least she’d had breakfast this time.
She was led into the same airless room with one window set high in the wall, and the senior officer, the one who had questioned her on Saturday, walked in.
‘Thank you for coming,’ he began. ‘I have a number of matters to clear up so if you don’t mind we will go through them one by one.’ Diana nodded her agreement. ‘First of all, I am puzzled about the fight you had with Helen on the 9th of May. Several witnesses have described it to me and they say that Helen was crying and you were shouting at her. Is that a fair description?’
Who had he spoken to? Diana tried to remember who had been in the bar that day but could recall only blurred faces: one of the camera crew, and an assistant director whose name she didn’t know. ‘I only raised my voice once, towards the end. At the beginning we were chatting normally, then I got angry with her so I raised my voice and she began to cry. Rather than continue the argument, I went off to calm down. That’s all that happened.’
‘You were angry with her because she wanted to have an affair with a man you had just finished an affair with. Why would you object if you were no longer with him?’
God, this was complicated. ‘Because he was married. It wasn’t fair on his wife and children.’
‘But you were happy to go out with hi
m yourself.’
‘I didn’t know he was married at the time. He lied to me. I broke up with him as soon as I found out.’ As she spoke, she realised they hadn’t picked that up before. No wonder the officer appeared to think badly of her.
‘It seems to me that you fell out because you both wanted the same man and you were fighting over him. Is that not the truth?’
It would have been laughable, if it hadn’t been so sad. She spoke slowly, trying to clear the matter up once and for all. ‘Helen didn’t know I’d been seeing Ernesto. We kept it secret at work. I finished the relationship when I found out he was married. He then tried to seduce Helen. Our row occurred because she wanted to go out with him and I told her not to, because he had a wife. Does that answer your questions?’
‘No, I have many more,’ he said, looking down at his notes. A younger policeman was jotting everything down studiously.
‘Tell me, Signora Bailey, how did you get that scratch on your cheek?’
Diana’s hand flew to the place where there was still a jagged pink line, about two inches long. She told him about the branch that scratched her face as she walked up from the beach. Why would he ask about that?
‘Tell me again why you think Helen might have announced to her friends at Cinecittà that she was coming to Torre Astura to find you. Is it not possible that she came to continue the fight with you over this man?’
‘No.’ Diana shook her head emphatically. ‘She wasn’t that kind of person. I don’t know why she came but I think she might have been scared of someone, or that she was very upset and wanted a friend to comfort her.’
‘But you say she didn’t find you. You didn’t see each other at all once she got there. Is that true?’
‘Yes, it’s true. I didn’t see her until the following morning when the soldier pulled her out of the water. I’ve got no idea what happened, but if she was scared of someone, maybe he followed her down there and they got into a fight, which ended with her being drowned. That’s all I can think of.’ In her mind, she saw an image of Helen thrashing around in the water while Luigi held her head under. She would have fought with all her strength to get free, but she was tiny and he was a strong man. She wouldn’t have stood a chance.
‘This is what you want me to type up and put in your statement. Are you sure?’ the officer asked, peering closely at her.
She racked her brains, trying to think of any detail that she’d missed. ‘The last time I saw her alive was when she was in the café with Luigi the night before. Has he told you anything about her state of mind at that meeting?’
He looked at her coldly. ‘The man you identified was nowhere near Cinecittà at that time. He has an alibi. We’ve checked and it’s true, so you were mistaken.’
She gasped. ‘He can’t have an alibi! I saw him with my own eyes. Did you know that he’s a drug dealer? He’s a bad person. I’m scared of him. I hoped you would still have him in custody.’
‘What makes you think that he’s a drug dealer? Do you take drugs, Signora Bailey?’ His tone was very stern now.
‘No, never! Ernesto told me. He said Helen was taking drugs and she bought them from Luigi. You should investigate that. I’m sure he was involved in Helen’s death. It was the way he looked at me on Saturday that convinced me …’
The officer stood up. ‘We’ll type your statement and I’ll bring it back and ask you to sign it in due course.’
Diana looked at her watch. It was almost half past ten so it looked as if she was going to miss the script meeting entirely. Why were the police being so slow to pick up the most obvious suspect? If Luigi were innocent, he wouldn’t have given them a false alibi. That was the action of a guilty man. Oh Christ, poor Helen. It was unbearable to imagine her trying to run away from him, thinking she’d be safe with Diana, and then being caught before finding her. She must have been petrified. She wondered what Luigi was chasing her for and assumed Helen owed him money.
It took over an hour for the statement to be typed, during which time she was left on her own in the room without so much as a glass of water. Surely in Britain the police were supposed to give you a cup of tea or something? At last the door opened and her statement was brought in and put in front of her. It was in Italian so she read it carefully, unsure about the nuances of some of the vocabulary choices, but it set out the bare facts as she had told them and she wanted to be allowed to leave, so she signed it.
She stood and picked up her handbag, ready to go, but the officer came back into the room, checked the signature on her statement, then said something that was so bewildering she had to ask him to repeat it.
‘Signora Diana Bailey, we are arresting you on suspicion of killing Helen Sharpe some time during the night of 10th to 11th May. You will be held in custody until the evidence can be presented to a judge, at which point you may be represented by a lawyer if you wish.’
She sat down hard and gripped the edge of the table. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. I couldn’t have killed Helen. She was my friend. I couldn’t kill anyone. It’s ridiculous.’ She reached out to grab the statement, wondering if she had accidentally signed something incriminating, but the officer whisked it away.
‘These officers will take you into custody.’ Two men approached and one caught hold of her wrist.
‘Please listen to me. This is all a huge mistake. Perhaps we should have had a translator present. I don’t know how you could misunderstand me so badly.’ Surely there must be something she could say to make him see? But he turned and walked out of the door without another word. The man holding her wrist pulled her to her feet, at which point the other man produced a set of handcuffs.
‘No,’ she shouted. ‘Call the British Consul, please. This is all wrong.’
Her hands were yanked behind her back and the cuffs clicked shut. As they led her out of the back of the police station to a waiting car, she kept pleading with them. ‘Please call the British Embassy. Call Hilary Armitage at Cinecittà. Please tell someone I’m here.’
But they gave no sign that they would do anything of the sort. As far as she could tell, she was entirely on her own.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Diana was ushered into the back of a police car and a policeman got in the front to drive. He looked young, and she sensed he was of junior rank and unlikely to be able to help her but still she bombarded him with questions.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘To Mantellate, the women’s section of Regina Coeli prison.’
‘But I’m not guilty. What should I do?’
‘A judge will decide if you are not guilty.’
‘When will I see a judge?’
‘Soon,’ he said. ‘Within forty-eight hours.’
That was two whole days – and two nights as well. She couldn’t possibly spend two days in jail. This was ridiculous. She had to speak to Hilary and get a lawyer.
‘I need to make a telephone call. Where can I use a telephone?’
‘At Regina Coeli.’ He was a man of few words and after a while she gave up.
Regina Coeli was by the riverside in Trastevere, overlooked by the Janiculum hill, and the yellow-painted Mantellate was a former monastery down a side street. Her driver helped her out of the car and into a reception area.
‘Can I make a phone call please?’ she asked a prison guard, but was told ‘Later, later.’
The contents of her handbag were searched and she was patted down to check she didn’t have anything in her pockets, then the handcuffs were removed and she was led by a guard down a narrow corridor and up a flight of steps. Their footsteps echoed, and she could hear far-off clangings of metal. It was a place of stone and metal.
‘Here you are,’ the guard said, opening the door of a tiny cell and gesturing for her to enter.
‘No, I must make a phone call,’ Diana said in her firmest voice. ‘I am expected at work.’
‘You can call later,’ the guard told her.
There wa
s no negotiation, no sympathy. He wanted to get on with his job. She stepped into the cell and immediately the door was slammed shut and locked behind her. Panic gripped her. Oh God, what would become of her?
The cell was cool, with thick walls, and one high window through which she could see blue cloudless sky. For the first hour, Diana sat trembling on the edge of the narrow bed. She wanted to clear her head so that she could think, and decide what to do – but in fact there was nothing she could do, not for the moment. She felt sick with anxiety and at one point crouched over the covered bucket in the corner thinking she was going to bring up her stomach contents. She retched but with no result apart from hurting her throat. Once she stopped feeling so nauseous, perhaps she could run through events from start to finish and find the missing piece of evidence, the one thing that would persuade them they had made a terrible mistake.
Her mood swung between wild optimism – as soon as Hilary heard what had happened she would call a Twentieth Century Fox lawyer who would have her out in no time – and abject pessimism. What if everyone believed she was guilty? What if Helen’s parents thought she had done it? She might be found guilty and she wasn’t sure whether they still had capital punishment in Italy. Were criminals executed by hanging or by firing squad?
Ruth Ellis had been hanged in Britain just seven years previously after shooting her lover, David Blakely. It had caused a huge scandal, with all kinds of public figures speaking out against it, but she had a feeling that Italians might be keen on ‘an eye for an eye’ justice. They’d only just emerged from the dark ages of Fascism, and had been on the other side from Britain in the war. Maybe they still harboured anti-British sentiment.