L'Oro Verde

by Coralie Hughes Jensen

  “No thank you. I’m tired,” she said firmly.

  “But a glass of wine would do you good.”

  “I said, ‘No thank you,’ Enzo,” she repeated. “I’m not interested.”

  She passed him and slipped down the stairs, glancing back when she got to the door. He remained on the landing, his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders slumping forward. He just stood there, lifeless and alone.

  At least it was still light outside. If she hurried, she would be able to take her evening walk in the fields. Even though the paths that circled the orchards were etched in her mind, she needed to look out over the valley and hills. She wanted to watch dusk drop veils over the landscape, see the first stars twinkle through the open windows of Montriano. She longed to remember past evenings, when she was not alone—to feel him over her, his hot breath on her breast and the smell of dried grass in his hair.

  *

  The call came just as Sister Angela went to bed. The clock on the nightstand read ten-thirty. The ring was muffled. She hurried to her vest, hanging from a peg on the wall, and fished it out of the pocket.

  “Hello?”

  “Sister Angela, I’m glad you are still up. Can you come with me to L’Oro Verde tomorrow? I have set up an interview with Vittorio Vitali. I thought he might be more comfortable with the interrogation if we met at the ranch.”

  “Vittorio? Well yes. Where are you? It’s so late.”

  “Tortini and I are just finishing up here at the station. He’s off tomorrow, but I would like to take you since you know the grower so well.”

  “What have you got?” she asked. “Is tomorrow morning after eleven okay? It’s the last day of school, and I have a small party set up for the class. They’ll get out by ten, though.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll meet you here shortly after eleven. I’ll fill you in on the ride down the hill.

  *

  The party went off without incident. The students were eager to begin their vacations. She assigned them work, knowing full well few books would be opened over the summer break. All morning, Sister Angela had fretted about the interview and hurried to the station as soon as she could get away.

  The inspector grabbed his keys from the desk, and they walked out the back door to the cars. The two cruisers, along with the fire truck and ambulance, were the only ones parked inside the town walls. Since the board passed a law almost fifteen years ago, all traffic was restricted to emergency vehicles. Residents had to park in the lots below the north wall.

  The nun admired the black car with large letters that read Polizia di Montriano. The blue letters tilted forward as if pushing the small four-cylinder vehicle along. Perhaps it was not quite a cruiser, but it looked sleek. The interior was immaculate. It was just like Tortini to keep the vehicles in such good shape. DiMarco revved the engine before heading toward the gate.

  Once outside the town walls, he began to talk. “Tortini and I visited Bologna yesterday.”

  “And?”

  “The interment date was the twenty-sixth of February 1985.”

  “Mrs. Reni told me that when Bernardo was born, they didn’t bring him home until the end of April. The hospital kept him for a few weeks because of his difficulties. No wonder he looked big in the photo Mrs. Reni showed me at the family party. He was actually already a few months old.” Sister Angela knew that was not all. “And did they give you the name of the hospital?”

  “Yes. It was Santa Teresa Hospital in Bologna.”

  “Was there a cadaver picked up from the hospital by a funeral home?” she asked.

  “Well, that’s where it gets complicated. The hospital might have made a direct delivery to the cemetery, but there’s no paperwork filed on that. No one recalls how the casket got there. The caretaker only remembers that it didn’t arrive from a mortuary.”

  “A casket just appeared?”

  “It was sort of like that. Yes,” DiMarco said. “I did get something out of the hospital, though. There was no record of a Mariella Vitali delivering a baby that week.”

  “How could that be?”

  “I think she did, and the records have been pulled or erased,” he said.

  “On purpose?”

  “Remember, we are talking about a powerful family here.”

  The official car turned in through the open gates. DiMarco pulled up past the house and parked on the loop at the end of the drive. The house looked peaceful. The sun, high in the sky, beat down on the roof, and the windows and doors were wide open.

  The woman that Sister Angela knew as Antonella answered the door and led them to the room off the patio where the nun had enjoyed the barbeque just a few days earlier. Vitali stood up when the pair entered. He waved his son, Carlo, away.

  “My boy has work to do in the orchards. He shouldn’t be absent from the workers too long.”

  “Mr. Vitali, you are aware that yesterday I visited the gravesite of your son, Mansuieto, who died at birth in February 1985,” the inspector said.

  Vitali sat back down. “No, I wasn’t aware of it. What seems to be the problem?” he asked. His voice sounded confident, but he did not look directly at either guest.

  “The paperwork gives the name of the hospital as Santa Teresa. Is that where the baby was born, Mr. Vitali?”

  “Yes,” he said, uncrossing his legs and sitting forward.

  “Santa Teresa claims there was no baby born to your wife in February of that year. How do you explain that?”

  The man raised his shoulders in a mock gesture. “How does one explain any mistake made by another? Their records are faulty. That’s all there is to it. What do you want me to say? My wife delivered a baby boy in February 1985. It was a stillbirth. The hospital kept the body for a few days and then sent it on to the cemetery. I see nothing unusual, Inspector.”

  “And when the body arrived, it was already in an expensive casket.”

  “Yes. I picked one out and had it delivered to the hospital. I’m sorry if I didn’t know the standard procedure. We had never had that happen to us before.”

  “There must have been a priest at the hospital, Vittorio,” Sister Angela said. “Didn’t you and Mariella ask for one? He would have told you what to do.”

  “The hospital didn’t offer a priest while I was there, Sister.”

  “Who sold you the casket?” DiMarco asked.

  “How could I remember such a detail?” he asked. He raised his voice a notch. “Someone took me to a place, and I picked one out.”

  “Vittorio, the inspector isn’t here to call you a liar,” Sister Angela said quietly. “He’s here because there are discrepancies in the events surrounding Mansuieto’s death and the birth of Bernardo Reni.”

  Vitali looked up at the nun. “Are you saying you believe the cases are related?”

  “Yes,” DiMarco said. “And we’ll need a DNA sample from you. You can go to the station later this afternoon or in the morning. One of my colleagues there can take a saliva swab and a blood sample.”

  “It will show you nothing. You are wasting your time as well as mine,” he said angrily. “I must call counsel before I do anything.”

  “Forgive me, but I think it would be better if you cooperated with us,” DiMarco said. “There seems to me more than one direction this investigation could proceed. Let’s say you and your wife discovered that your new infant had some problems. Mr. and Mrs. Reni wanted a baby. Preferring no one find out about the transaction, you and Mrs. Vitali told everyone your baby was stillborn. Finding out that an infant boy was available, Mrs. Reni suddenly appeared to be pregnant. She showed up around town in maternity clothes. A few weeks later, she conveniently went to Roma and supposedly delivered a child. Though disabled, the boy grew up in Montriano. You and your wife watched him, but no one said anything. From here there are two possible scenarios. Your son, Bernardo, got a job at Garibaldi’s. He met and befriended Gisella Lupoi, and they became romantically attached. But Gisella was already engaged to your other son, Carlo.�
�

  “How dare you bring my son into this? Who told you Carlo was engaged to this woman?”

  “I’m sorry, Vittorio,” the nun interrupted sheepishly. “I did. Your son took a phone call from the flower shop while I was here on Sunday. They wondered if they should deliver directly to Santa Maria or bring the flowers here.”

  “And how did you know there was a wedding at Santa Maria, Sister Angela?” he asked, calming down considerably.

  “Gisella’s father said she was to be married there this weekend,” the inspector said. “He told us she wouldn’t have had an affair with the victim because she was already engaged, but he refused to tell us about the groom. I presume this silence was your idea. Even Father Rossi at Santa Maria isn’t revealing any details about the wedding.”

  “So I killed Bernardo because he and my son’s fiancée were having an affair?”

  “Or,” the inspector continued. “You killed him because he was becoming attached to your daughter. You found out she was having an incestuous affair with her own brother. Telling her about his relationship would reveal an ugly family secret and also create the possibility that she would break down.”

  “You have a flair for the dramatic, Inspector. But I’m afraid you’ll have trouble proving any of this fairytale,” he said, squirming.

  *

  Carlo did not go back to the orchards but instead grabbed his keys and headed for his car. It was early, but the back door to the nightclub at the edge of Petraggio would be open. One of his friends owned the place, and he knew he was always welcome.

  “Carlo,” said Dante, giving him a hug. “Did you make a delivery yourself? We could always use more of your oil. You aren’t usually here this late in the week.”

  “No. I just need some company.”

  “Please join me for a drink. I was just cleaning up some dishes. I always have dishes to do. What can I get you? The usual or something cooler?”

  “A blue shark would be fine, thanks.”

  “Wow, pretty strong for so early. I don’t know if I have enough Curacao for that one. I’ll have to check in the back. Is it your father again?”

  “Isn’t it always? He talks about giving me the business and then takes it away if I do anything on my own. He has me take his friends on tour but doesn’t tell me what they have to do with the business.”

  “My parents are like that too,” Dante said, taking a sip of his ice water. “Once a kid always a kid—that’s why I’m here instead of in Milano. Shouldn’t you be talking to your girlfriend instead of sitting here drinking it up?”

  “She wouldn’t understand. She thinks I’m in charge of everything, that I have my father under control. She doesn’t need to know that I can’t even take care of her—not right now.”

  *

  “I may not be able to prove everything yet, but I can confirm you are the father,” said DiMarco. “That’s the first step.”

  Vitali raised his hand in defeat. “I concede that Bernardo was my son, but I strongly deny the rest of it. I was fond of him. You don’t understand. He was my son. He would have received a settlement upon my death. Giuseppe and his wife knew that. That was part of the deal, you see. My attorney knew it too. Bernardo has been in the will since his birth.”

  Sister Angela sat upright. “Who else besides your attorney knew about the will?”

  “Only the Renis. My wife took the secret to her grave. The document was sealed.”

  “I realize your children might not have known Bernardo was your son, but did either Carlo or Nicola know they had a brother nearby?” the nun asked.

  “It was a secret.”

  “Could Mrs. Reni have told Bernardo the identity of his biological father? Or her sister—could she have told Bernardo?”

  “I don’t think any of the relatives were aware of Bernardo’s parentage. I’m sure there would have been blackmail or some other kind of contact had the secret been revealed. Bernardo himself never tried to talk to me.” Vitali sank deeper into his chair, his strength visibly fading.

  “What do you think of Gisella Lupoi?” DiMarco asked.

  “I think it’s none of my business. My son is a man. He can marry whomever he chooses.”

  “Then why is the ceremony a secret, Vitali?”

  “I admit I’m not proud of his choice. They are both young. I worry that she and her family are after money. Don’t tell me she was having an affair with Bernardo. I have my doubts about her, but that isn’t one of them. She did like him as a friend, however. She even helped him get a job.”

  “She got him the job at Garibaldi’s?” Sister Angela asked.

  “I’m almost certain she did. I suppose you thought that was my doing too. I find it difficult to believe you two also think I murdered my own son.”

  “You didn’t go to the funeral, Vittorio. I saw your daughter but didn’t see you.”

  “No. Nor was I at the cemetery. I didn’t want to make Mr. and Mrs. Reni uncomfortable. It would have been intrusive.’

  “But Nicola attended,” the nun said.

  Vitali looked up. “She worked with him, didn’t she?” His voice cracked.

  Sister Angela heard it. Afraid the suspect would break down, she glanced at DiMarco. The inspector did not seem to have noticed.

  “Is there anything else we need here? Do you still require the DNA? He has already confessed to the illegal adoption.”

  “Yes. We’ll need the DNA, Sister. But I’ll wait outside if you wish to speak with him more. He can come to the station sometime today or tomorrow morning, I suppose.”

  The inspector stepped out onto the patio and sat on the rim of the fountain. The nun watched him remove a cigarette, light it, and inhale deeply. He had not smoked in months and told everyone he had quit. But this interview had been more troublesome than he thought it would be. Surely he did not want to break the man, especially since it sounded like he was innocent. But Vittorio was clearly aware of more than he was sharing. And what he knew, pointed to other suspects.

  The nun placed her hand on Vittorio’s shoulder. “You look troubled. I got the impression you already knew about everything we told you today. Was any of it a surprise?”

  The man put his hand over hers and looked up into the kind woman’s eyes. His were brimming with tears.

  “I didn’t know about Nicola. I didn’t know she knew him,” he said, dropping his head and letting the tears stream down the front of his shirt. “God forgive me, but I was too blind to protect them. I let my own daughter unknowingly come in contact with her brother—all because I was too proud to admit he wasn’t as broken as I thought and that we should give him up. Thank God nothing happened—that they were just acquaintances. I can still hear Mariella crying. She had to be sedated when the nurses came in to take him away. She kept repeating that she blamed herself, even years later.”

  “Did she have an accident during the pregnancy that would make her feel it was her fault?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I never asked her what she meant. I was always stoic in order to give her strength. I never let her know how much pain I was in too.”

  “Would you like me to send your friend, Father Sergio, to reassure you?”

  Vitali looked up. Sister Angela thought she saw something in his eyes. Was it pride?

  “Or maybe I can check the rectory. Perhaps Father Domenic has returned from his retreat.”

  “That would be fine,” he said. “But if he’s still away, I have my children here. I’m sure they’ll comfort me.”

  Sister Angela closed the sliding door to the patio and turned to fetch the inspector.

  I’m not so sure, Vittorio, she said to herself. Unfortunately, this makes Carlo the chief suspect.

  Eighteen

  The short trip back to the station was a quiet one. Neither DiMarco nor Sister Angela wanted to talk. When they arrived, DiMarco went for a cup of coffee, and the two sat down in the interrogation room.

  “You don’t think he’s guilty, do you?” he aske
d.

  “It depends. There were a few inconsistencies.”

  “So what do we have? He admitted to being Bernardo’s father and confirmed that Carlo will marry Gisella on Saturday.”

  “He says he left something to Bernardo,” Sister Angela said. “If so, he didn’t plan to kill him.”

  “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t do it in a fit of rage.”

  “Let’s talk about that. What would put him into such a rage? What if Bernardo really did have an affair with Nicola like the graffiti implied? Vittorio says he didn’t know about it if she did.”

  “When did he say that?”

  “After you left.”

  “What about the theory that Bernardo had an affair with Gisella?” DiMarco asked. “I don’t think Vitali would care. I believe he would rather have seen her heading down the aisle with Bernardo.”

  “If we both come to the same conclusion, then he must be innocent of the murder. But I didn’t believe everything he told us,” she said. “He pointed out that only a handful of people knew about the arrangement. Word must have leaked out somehow.”

  Inspector DiMarco began to write out a list of those who probably knew about the switch at birth. The list was not long. “Okay, I have Vittorio and Mariella Vitali, Giuseppe and Valeria Reni, the Ferros, the Gianninis, and maybe some hospital employees.”

  “Then there’s the person who helped Vitali buy a casket, maybe someone at the graveyard and most likely Vittorio’s lawyer,” she said, trying hard to think of anyone acquainted with the victim. “And don’t forget Father Augustus or someone else at San Benedetto,” she said. “A church official had to accept the infant for baptism without a birth certificate. That’s rarely done.”

  “Like the housekeeper?” he asked.

  “Mrs. Torrisi? Possibly.”

  “So let’s split up. Do you know where Father Augustus lives now?”

  “In a rest home for retired clergy in Petraggio.”

  “I can drop you off if you would like. Then I’ll visit Eduardo Adriano, Vitali’s lawyer, on the other side of town. Do you want me to pick you up again?”