L'Oro Verde
Page 19
*
DiMarco was excited by the find. He and the nun sat in his office. She fanned herself with a folder from the top of his desk.
“Nice work, Sister Angela,” he said. “My men should have found it when they searched the basement earlier. But of course, they were looking for the cross and didn’t find it there.”
Tortini delivered cold drinks from the machine and sat on top of the bookcase along the wall. “I got a call just a few minutes ago. They delivered the candlestand to Dr. Piombo and are on their way back now.”
“Any message from the doctor?” DiMarco asked.
“No. I think he’s expecting you to give him a call. He wants you to tell him if you’re looking for anything specific. It would be faster if he could home in on one or two clues. A larger DNA scan might take a couple of weeks.”
“When are you talking to Carlo, Inspector?” Sister Angela asked.
“Tomorrow morning at nine. He’s coming in with a lawyer—Adriano, I think.”
“At least you’ll be able to get both at the same time,” the nun said.
“I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. The minute I talk about Garibaldi, the counselor will come down hard. I don’t know how to approach it without suggesting that the lawyers’ office might have leaked information to the owner of Garibaldi Olive Oil.”
“Would you like me to be here?”
“I would appreciate that. Maybe you can keep tempers from flaring,” he said. “Oh, and by the way. Can you call Mr. Garibaldi one more time? I know he said he only told Carlo about Bernardo, but I have a feeling…”
The nun took out her phone.
“Could you ask him again if he had ever discussed the boy’s relationship to his employee, Nicola? Did he ever mention the inheritance to her?”
“Is there something I should know?”
“No. Now that you have uncovered a weapon that could have been used by a woman, it might be a good idea to start looking into other possibilities.”
“But she was having an affair with the boy. Why would she kill him?”
“Most murders are the result of domestic disputes, Sister,” he said, swigging the rest of his drink. “In addition, she and Garibaldi were seen sitting in his parked car at four this morning on Via di Chiesa, about two blocks below San Benedetto Church.”
With that, the nun began to push the buttons on her little red phone.
*
The group had been sitting around the table for nearly an hour. Carlo answered questions about his whereabouts with few interruptions from his counselor, Eduardo Adriano. DiMarco appeared to have the interview in hand. He seemed to be trying to avoid direct confrontation with the counselor. Sister Angela knew, however, that it was only a matter of time before the inspector would get to Vittorio’s will and learn what Carlo knew about his relationship to Bernardo.
She watched Adriano. He leaned back in his chair, maintaining an unruffled demeanor. Only the strumming of his fingers on the corner of a stack of papers revealed any agitation. But that minor movement was a time bomb. Sister Angela knew he would counter the coming questions because the leak of information tarnished his reputation. He would also want to protect his client.
“Mr. Vitali, would you be kind enough to tell us where you were the night of Bernardo’s murder?” DiMarco asked.
“I always work in the evening. I check out every orchard, every tree until nightfall. Then I go to my office in the mill and peruse our list of customers. I form marketing strategies and scrutinize the situation months ahead to see which contracts are ending and the like. It gives me a chance to start working with the customers early so we don’t lose their business,” he said, looking confidently at each of the listeners. “And then, at about ten, I retire.”
The inspector did not ask for more details about the business. He probably did not understand it and feared he would look stupid. The boy would run rings around him. That is the last thing anyone wanted.
“On the evening of the fifth of July, you didn’t retire, however, did you Carlo? You went into town. You had something to drink and were angry. Did you speak with your father?”
“No. I went directly to my room through a sliding door.”
“But you had had alcohol.”
“Yes, maybe one or two drinks. I have a bottle in my desk at the mill,” he said looking directly at the inspector. “But it usually makes me sleepy, not angry.”
“That isn’t always the case, Vitali, is it? You remember the little accident in Milano just a few years ago, don’t you? The woman who dented the wheel housing on your car complained to the police that you were both verbally and physically abusive, slamming your fist down on the hood of her car.”
“Now, now, Inspector,” Adriano said, interrupting. “Is this necessary?”
“The woman complained that she smelled alcohol on your breath, and sure enough, there was an open bottle under the driver’s seat,” DiMarco said.
“The case was dropped, Inspector,” Adriano said, examining his nails as he slowly slid his eyes to the questioner. “Obviously, the lady didn’t know what she was talking about.”
The lawyer must have known the evidence DiMarco mentioned would never be allowed in court. Sister Angela guessed Adriano was trying to convey that to his client. “No evidence of alcohol was ever presented,” he finally added.
“The woman provoked me,” Carlo said. “She was trying to aggravate me so I would threaten her. She didn’t know how to drive. It was obvious.”
Aware the inspector was stalling to make Carlo uneasy, Sister Angela watched DiMarco stroll across the room and look up some things in a notebook. Adriano gazed at the opposite wall, showing no emotion.
The chief suddenly entered the room and found a seat near her. Sister Angela worried that his presence might make Alessandro nervous, but the inspector did not reveal any agitation. The standoff continued.
Finally DiMarco said, “How do you get along with your father, Carlo?”
“Fine. We get along fine.”
“Did you always get along? I suppose you were a typical teenager. Fathers can be particularly annoying around this time, can’t they?”
“I suppose. But we are a close family, especially since my mother died.”
“And he taught you the business?”
“Yes, slowly. I have been working in the orchards for most of my life.”
“And you work very hard, from what I hear. You love the business, don’t you, Carlo?”
“Yes.”
“And being the eldest son, you expect to inherit that business.”
“And being the only one of the family that took any interest in it—yes, I expect to inherit it.”
“So how did you feel when Enzo Garibaldi told you that you probably wouldn’t inherit it?”
The response was quick. Adriano was out of his chair in an instant. He pounded his fist on the table. “No one has revealed the contents of that will to you, Inspector. It’s sealed,” he bellowed. “I know you tried to get the court to open it but you failed, DiMarco. What kind of questioning is this? This isn’t a court case!”
Carlo turned to him and gently pressed the counselor’s arm. “Please, Eduardo, I can answer this. Don’t worry, I can tell them.” He faced the inspector. “I was shocked, but at first, I didn’t understand what he was suggesting.”
“Did you go to your father and ask what he meant?”
“No. My father’s rather frail,” he said. “There have been rumors about a connection with the Renis since I was a child, so when my client approached me with such a statement, it didn’t astonish me as much as you would think.”
“But Garibaldi is a close friend of the family, isn’t he?”
“Actually, no. Maybe at one time when my mother was younger, he was close to the family. But I wasn’t old enough to remember his relationship with my parents. He wasn’t around much when my sister and I were growing up. In fact, I really believe my father handed over much of that par
t of the enterprise to me when I graduated from school because he didn’t like dealing with Garibaldi’s business himself.”
“But he still goes to the processing plant often, Carlo, doesn’t he?”
“Of course, from time to time. But I don’t think he likes to go. He has to appear in public to keep the L’Oro Verde olives name in front of the customers but seems to find it distasteful. At least I believe he does. He never discusses his feelings with me.”
“What did you do after Garibaldi told you about the will?”
“Let me see. I first went through the town records. I looked up data on the Renis and discovered Bernardo had been adopted. I asked the clerk about the birth records, and as
I suspected, if they had them, they were sealed. The hospital didn’t help so I called my mother’s brother in Bologna, who assured me the baby was dead and buried in the grave marked
Mansuieto Vitali. When I noted the similarities in birth date and description, I finally had to guess that Bernardo was indeed my older brother.”
“But you never asked your father?”
“No. I found some pictures of my sister’s second birthday party in a drawer in the house. I have since put them up in the dining room. I don’t know if anyone ever told me about it, but I always thought one of them was a picture of Nicola and me and that the younger boy in it was my cousin, Giorgio. In the background of the other, a little boy is standing with his mother who looks like Mrs. Reni. I compared the pictures. They seem to have been taken at the same party. The little boy in this picture looked like the eldest in the first and is wearing the same clothes. The younger boy in the first picture, therefore, must be me, and the toddler, my sister. I guess I never compared them before. Sister Angela, you asked me about them when you were at the house.”
“So you already knew when I asked you about the pictures at the barbeque?” asked Sister Angela.
“I had guessed, yes. No one ever confirmed that, however.”
“And your father doesn’t object to these pictures being set out on the buffet?” she asked.
“No. My father has been a broken man since Bernardo’s death. Although we never talk about it, I think he is relieved he can finally honor Bernardo.”
“So in your own mind, you verified the boy was most likely your older brother,” said DiMarco. “But how do feel about the will? After all, you have worked so hard to keep the business going.”
“That was harder to confirm. I went to Eduardo here, but he told me nothing. In the end, I relied on common sense. My father would never leave the business to this boy. Bernardo wasn’t smart enough, nor did he have any training. I guess I just didn’t believe Garibaldi.”
“Then why did you lower your prices, Carlo?”
“Because one of my other customers backed out of a deal when his business soured. I needed to get rid of the excess. Garibaldi was always anxious to take more in the past, and again he seemed eager to take it off my hands. A cut in price didn’t hurt the profits that much. In short, it was just business.”
The chief got up and walked out of the room. Lazaro followed. Sister Angela hoped the officer would bring more drinks. She had no idea when the session would end. DiMarco continued as if he had not noticed.
“What would you have done if you found that your father decided to leave the business to his eldest son?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Inspector,” Adriano interrupted. “Carlo has already told you that he didn’t know. There’s no need to speculate unless you have something. If you do, I would advise my client to keep quiet until you produce it.”
“My father still owns the business. I only work for him. If that had happened, I would have gone to my father and asked.”
Lazaro did indeed bring back some water. He handed the bottles to each participant.
“Bless you, Lazaro,” Sister Angela whispered.
“Mr. Adriano, you know full well I don’t have that information because the inheritance Bernardo would have received was a pittance,” DiMarco said, his voice even. “I’m sure the business is still bequeathed to you, Carlo.”
“I have never revealed the contents of the will to anyone except for Vittorio and Mariella Vitali. And that policy of silence pertains to Enzo Garibaldi. He seems to have come to the exaggerated conclusion that he knows something everyone else does not. Don’t attempt to smear my practice further, DiMarco. My office has the power to take even you to court!” He got out of his chair to collect his papers and briefcase.
“Are there any other questions for Mr. Vitali before he leaves us? Please sit down for one more minute, Mr. Adriano. I haven’t dismissed this inquiry,” said DiMarco.
“I have a question, Inspector,” Sister Angela said, raising her hand in schoolgirl fashion. “Carlo, you said you didn’t go to your father about either the business or the possibility that
Bernardo was your older brother.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“But what about Nicola? Surely you were concerned for her.”
The change was sudden. His face turned ashen.
“I don’t think this has anything to do with the nature of this investigation, Sister.” the counselor said, again standing.
“It most certainly does,” the nun shot out. “This is a murder investigation, Mr. Adriano. Perhaps you have little experience with this type of crime, but every detail has to be covered. If Carlo has no motive, there are others around him who might. I suggest you sit down now until I’m satisfied with Mr. Vitali’s answer.”
The counselor sat down, and the nun suddenly heard the creak of the door.
There in the entrance stood the chief, his mouth open with surprise. “Please excuse me, Sister. I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just that I heard yelling and—please excuse me,” he stammered, again shutting the door.
She looked back at Carlo and said more softly, “You were going to say?”
“Yes. I did tell my sister but that’s all I’m going to say about it.”
The inspector leaned against the wall, realizing the implications of that statement.
“We already know from your father that Nicola was seeing Bernardo. Were you aware of the relationship?” DiMarco asked.
“My father isn’t well, Inspector. He sometimes confuses things. He also drinks too much. My sister and I haven’t listened to my father since my mother’s death. I suggest you and Sister Angela do the same.”
Twenty One
He touched her hand, and she slowly slid it away.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly
“Have they gone?”
“Yes. You can stay here a while longer—until you feel ready for me to take you home.”
Lifting herself onto her elbow, she listened to a dog barking in the distance. It was still dark, and she watched his shadow cross the room to pull the drape away from the window. Hues of blue-gray streamed in.
“I believe it’s nearly six. Do you think Vittorio will worry?” he asked.
“No. He rarely checks. When I was out with Bernardo, he never said a word,” she said, her voice cracking when she said his name. “Poor Bernardo,” she whispered. “What have I done?”
“You did what you had to. Good God, you couldn’t have kept it anyway. There’s a reason relatives don’t breed.”
He came back to her side and placed her small hand in his. Too weak to recoil, Nicola let it rest there. She avoided his eyes, though, having trouble hiding the revulsion she felt.
“You seem feverish. Do you feel bad? Your face is so pale.”
“I’m fine. Shouldn’t you show up at work today? You can drop me off at home and then go into work.”
“Gisella will want you to help with the wedding. I don’t think you’ll be strong enough,” he said. Then he let out a low moan, “Oh God, what have I done? Please forgive me. Lord, have mercy on my soul.” He knelt down beside the bed and began to pray, never letting go of her hand.
“You?” she said. “You don’t need pity.
It was my decision. If God is angry, it’s because of me.”
He hesitated and gazed at her. Deep furrows separated his tired gray-green eyes. “Ah, but I talked you into it. You would have kept it.”
“It was my decision in the end, Enzo. My body is my own,” she said, leaning back against the pillow. “But I don’t know if I want to live without it. It’s my only gift from him.”
“Come away to the coast with me, Nicola. You know, to the house in Vernazza. The salty air will do you good.”
“And where’s Gina?”
“I haven’t spoken with her. You know we never talk.”
“Yes, I know that. She’s a symbol of your place in society. You’ll never leave her because she paid for your empire, and you’ll lose it if you walk. And don’t even mention the Church, Enzo. You talk to a god who says that you have to stay with someone you don’t love, and at the same time, professes that it’s wrong to be with the one you do.”
Enzo sighed, “Please don’t think about that right now, Nicola. You need to be calm so you can get well. You know my wife means nothing to me.”
“But I have to be with my family, Enzo. Carlo needs me. I will never leave him when he needs my support.”
“Yes. I see how he protects you,” he said, his lip curling.
“No. You are wrong. Carlo would never have killed him,” Nicola said, tears filling her eyes again. “Oh God, why did he have to die? Why wasn’t he spared? I could have lived without his touch as long as I could see him. Please, God, let us go back and do this again,” she implored, turning her face to his. “Get out. I’ll be all right. Just leave me alone.”
“But I love you…” he whispered.
She turned her back to him and listened as he descended the steps and shut the door behind him.
*