‘Sounds hopeful,’ said the Commander. ‘See what your mother can tell us.’
A cloud passed over Tina’s face. ‘I will ask her,’ she said.
The other two stared at her.
‘What’s up, Tina?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘Is your mother in some sort of trouble?’
‘It’s nothing,’ said Tina. ‘Since the funeral she has been a little upset. I will see what I can do.’
After she had gone, Elizabeth said, ‘Whatever we find out, we ought to keep Robert’s lawyer, Toscafundi, informed. After all he’s the man who’s going to fight the case for us.’
‘True,’ said the Commander. He said it reluctantly. It was foreign to his nature to fight battles by proxy. ‘I suppose he’ll have to be kept in the picture. I ought to go along and make my number with him.’
The Toscafundi office was in an old building in the Corso Borgo degli Albizi. The entrance, fronting the street, was a thirty-foot archway embossed with the arms of the Cardinal Prince who had originally owned the building. A notice pinned to the lintel of the door said, ‘It is strictly and absolutely forbidden to bring bicycles or perambulators into the interior.’ The hallway itself was entirely occupied by a low-slung open Maserati coupé, with olive-green coachwork and old-fashioned brass head-lamps. The Commander squeezed past it, and located the lift, which lurched up with him to the third floor. Avvocato Toscafundi, whom he had warned by telephone, kept him waiting just long enough to suggest what an important and busy lawyer he was.
‘Please be seated,’ he said. ‘This is indeed a sad case. You are a friend of Mr Broke’s. Will you please have a cigarette?’
‘Don’t smoke myself,’ said the Commander. ‘Can’t afford it.’
Toscafundi smiled faintly, and inserted a cigarette into a long holder. He said, ‘I have just received a copy of the Verbale from the Procura.’
‘Verbale?’
‘It is the statement Broke made to Sostituto-Procuratore Risso. An ambitious young man, that one. But reasonably capable.’
The Commander turned rapidly through the half-dozen pages of typescript. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much here. Nothing new, that is.’
‘I agree. It confirms the facts as we knew them. Broke was out in his car that night. He drove down the Via Canina. He has no recollection of striking Milo Zecchi.’
There was something in the lawyer’s tone which the Commander found disturbing. He said, ‘When you put it like that it sounds as though you think he may have hit him.’
‘It is a possibility which has to be borne in mind.’
‘I should have thought our job was to put it right out of our minds.’
‘That, if I may say so, Commander, is because you are not a lawyer. My task, as I see it, is to visualize all possibilities, and to advise my client as to his best course in the light of these possibilities.’
‘I’m not sure that I follow you.’
‘There are two points in Broke’s statement that I find disturbing, and if I find them disturbing, be sure that the Court will too. First, that he suffers from periodical fits of amnesia. Secondly, that he can offer no real explanation of how his fog-lamp came to be broken. Not just cracked, you see. The glass shattered and the metal rim dented. He speaks of children playing. But no one saw them. No one heard them.’
‘Are you suggesting – better get this straight – that Broke ought to plead guilty?’
‘It would not be a light responsibility to advise him to take such a course, but I might have to do so.’ The lawyer shifted in his chair, leaning forward slightly, as though to underline his words. ‘If this case was mishandled – it could have very serious consequences.’ He pulled another paper out of the pile on his desk. ‘I have seen the report of the autopsy. Milo Zecchi was alive for at least two hours after the main blow on his head, which probably paralysed him, but did not kill him. Can you visualize the reactions of a Court to this evidence? The picture which they will form of old Milo, lying in the gutter, for two whole hours, helpless, dying, and not dead. So that, had the motorist stopped, and summoned help, he might still have been saved.’
‘It raises the stakes,’ said the Commander uncomfortably, ‘but why do you suggest that it alters our course?’
‘It offers us, if I may pursue your own metaphor, Commander, a choice of courses. On the one hand, and I appreciate that this is what you wish to do, we could fight the case, as you would put it, tooth and nail. We could say that he did not hit Milo. That the identification of the car by this witness, Calzaletta, was either a mistake or a downright lie. That the damage to the fog-lamp was unconnected with the accident. We could say all that. But – if the prisoner is disbelieved, if he is thought to be covering up, it will follow that his failure to stop and render assistance will also be thought to be deliberate. And the consequences of that would be very serious indeed.’
‘All right. What’s the alternative?’
‘The alternative is for Broke to plead guilty – to the lesser offence. To admit, on the evidence, that he may have struck Milo. But to say that he had no recollection of doing so. In that case the evidence of his amnesia could be used for him, not against him. You follow me?’
‘Yes,’ said the Commander, grimly. ‘I follow you.’
‘Excellent. Now, if there is nothing else just at this moment–’
‘There is one thing I came round to tell you. It may not fit in with the rather definite view of the case which you seem to have formed, but you may as well have it. It’s about this man Labro Radicelli–’
‘Ah, Labro, yes.’
Toscafundi listened politely. At the end, he said, ‘I fear it is a wild goose, but there is no reason why you should not chase it.’
‘Then you don’t think Labro has anything to do with the case.’
‘I am perfectly sure he has not, and I advise you to forget all about him. Thank you, my dear.’ This was to a girl, wearing her hair over one eye, and a skirt so short that it hardly started. She had come in carrying hat and brief-case. ‘Will you telephone the Commendatore and tell him I shall be a few minutes late.’
‘I am sorry to have made you late for your appointment.’
‘Think no more of it.’
The two men travelled down in the jerky lift together. When they reached the hall the porter was already holding open the door of the Maserati. Toscafundi said, ‘Perhaps I can give you a lift somewhere?’
‘Thank you,’ said the Commander, ‘but I enjoy walking.’ The olive-green coupe slid confidently out into the traffic, which seemed to open up and make way for it.
The Commander stood for a moment, looking after it. His beard was at a dangerous angle. Then he swung round on his heel, and stumped off in the opposite direction.
‘I understand, Commander,’ said the Sindaco, ‘that you are working in the interest of Robert Broke. In such a case, you may undoubtedly count on my assistance. Signor Roberto, as you know, was a companion-in-arms during the war, and such experiences forge bonds which are not lightly broken.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Nevertheless, at this precise moment, it is hard to see exactly what I can do.’
‘For a start I’d like to know what you think of a lawyer called Toscafundi.’
The Sindaco smiled faintly.
‘I know him, of course,’ he said. ‘In fact, I was qualified as a lawyer myself, and we passed our examinations at the same time. Then our ways parted. I branched off into politics. He adhered to the law. He has undoubtedly made a lot more money than I have.’ The Sindaco glanced round his homely looking parlour. ‘Whether he has had such a satisfying career is another matter.’
‘But do you think he’s a good lawyer?’
‘He is a very successful one. Probably the most successful in Florence.’
‘Is he honest?’
‘Really, Commander, that is not a question you should ask one lawyer about another. I think he will fight very hard, and very skilfully, for the man who pays his fees.�
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‘Quite so,’ said the Commander. ‘But it isn’t Broke who’s paying his fees.’
The Sindaco opened his heavily-lidded eyes and stared at Comber. ‘Indeed,’ he said ‘Then who is?’
‘Professor Bruno Bronzini.’
‘That is very generous of him. Is he also a friend of Robert Broke?’
‘As far as I know, they have met once. At a party, at the Professor’s villa. In the course of which they had a heated argument, which nearly developed into an open quarrel.’
‘I can imagine that they would not have found each other sympathetic. Robert Broke is a Stoic. The Professor is an Epicurean.’
‘Then why should he help him?’
‘I fancy you will find the answer to that in the forthcoming elections. The case against Broke is being handled by Antonio Risso. He is a political animal. This year he is standing for a seat on the City Council. If he is successful, next time it will be for the National Assembly. Who knows – maybe he will end up as Minister of Grace and Justice. The Professor is of the opposite party to Risso. He would think it well worth paying Toscafundi’s fees to put him down. This case has already aroused feelings out of all proportion to its merits.’
‘I noticed the crowds at the Church,’ said the Commander grimly. ‘I realized then that we might be up against it. And that was before people knew that Milo was alive for two hours after he was hit.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Toscafundi.’
‘And how did he know?’
‘He said he had seen something he called the Verbale, I imagined that it was a summary of the prosecution’s case. I didn’t look at it closely.’
‘It is nothing of the sort. The Verbale is a record of the two interrogations. The first one at the Police Station, and the subsequent one at the Procura. Neither of them would mention the medical evidence, or any other part of the prosecution’s case. This is a matter that wants thinking about. It needs most careful consideration. Thus.’ The Sindaco held out a thick left hand, to tick off the points. ‘First, there was no need to bring forward this medical evidence at all. In a legal sense, it does not affect the issue of guilt – although it might affect the feelings of the Court. But, to bring it forward demonstrates to us the danger of a heavy sentence. Therefore it could have been the first move towards a bargain with the defence. If Broke will plead guilty to the lesser offence, they will not press the graver charge of hitting him, and running away and leaving him.’ The Sindaco, who had started with his thumb, had now reached his little finger. The Commander noticed that the top joint was missing. ‘So, can we deduce a final point? That their case is not as strong or as conclusive as they would wish us to believe. Yes. I think, perhaps, we can.’
‘I’ve got a very simple mind,’ said the Commander. ‘I think Bronzini was up to something crooked. He wanted Broke out of the way. Very likely Milo’s being knocked down was an accident. It’s a dangerous stretch of road. Somebody identified the body, was afraid to tell the Police, but told the Professor, who saw his chance, and took it. All he had to do was to bribe someone to tell the Police they’d seen a car driving away and noticed the number, and send someone round with a hammer to smash Broke’s fog-lamp.’
The Sindaco listened to this in silence. Then he said, with a smile, ‘You realize that there is a third, and even simpler explanation. That Broke did it.’
When Commander Comber got home he picked up two letters which had arrived in his absence. One was from an old naval friend who had gone to New Zealand, and was so enthusiastic about it that the Commander suspected he was getting bored. The other contained a sizeable cheque with a compliment slip from a London newspaper. It was whilst he was putting this away that he realized that something was wrong.
The contents of his desk were as methodically arranged as all his other possessions. Someone had been through them, replacing them carefully, but not quite carefully enough. Also, the drawer of the desk had been opened with a key which did not belong to it, and the person who had opened it had only succeeded in partially re-locking it. Its contents, too, were out of order.
The Commander sat, for a long time, stroking his beard and considering the evidence. The look on his face was one of deep satisfaction. There had been moments that afternoon when he had been worried. He had distrusted Avvocato Toscafundi, and had, accordingly, discounted much of what he said. But the Sindaco he had liked, and his views on the case had had a disturbing ring of common sense about them. Now, however, all doubts were dispelled. The enemy was there all right. A smudge of smoke on the horizon, a blip on the radar screen, invisible to the naked eye, but undeniably and satisfactorily there.
6
Wild Geese
On the morning of the third day after his arrest, Broke was moved, handcuffed, from the Questura to the town prison.
The Murate Jail, standing as it does at the east end of the Via Ghibellina, had suffered the full impact of the flood. Now, refurbished with a new set of wrought-iron grills on its windows, and with its woodwork freshly painted it looked, Broke thought, a good deal more agreeable than the grim Police headquarters in the town centre.
Here, on the afternoon of the third day, the Consul came to visit him.
He found Broke reading a battered copy of Paradise Lost.
‘It belonged to an Englishman,’ he said. ‘They had him here for six months, whilst they were trying to get up a case for false pretences. He translated three of the cantos into Italian hexameters. Some of it’s not bad at all.’
‘I trust they won’t keep you here for six months,’ said the Consul. ‘How are things going?’
Broke marked his place in the book with an old bus ticket, shut it carefully, and put it down on the bed. Then he said, ‘Toscafundi was here again this morning. He seems very anxious for me to plead guilty.’
‘On a lesser charge?’
‘The charge would be involuntary manslaughter. In view of the state of the lighting, and the bad reputation that road has got for accidents, the Court might accept the view that I’d hit Milo without realizing it. I’d still be legally responsible, but I’d get off a good deal more lightly than if they thought I’d hit him, realized what I’d done, and left him to die.’
‘And that’s the course that Toscafundi advises?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s reasonable. All the same, there’ll be three disappointed people if you do. Your friend Commander Comber, your daily help, Tina Zecchi – and my daughter Elizabeth.’
‘A formidable trio,’ said Broke, politely. ‘What is their idea of what happened?’
‘It’s a bit complicated. But as far as I can gather it goes something like this. Professor Bronzini is up to something. Possibly criminal, at least shady. He thinks you may be a danger to his plans. Therefore he has – I think the correct Americanism is “framed” you. If you are tucked away in jail awaiting trial you won’t be in any position to intefere with his schemes.’
‘I see,’ said Broke. ‘And why has he sent me his own lawyer? A fit of conscience, do you think? Or to disarm my suspicions? Or is the idea that if he can get me to plead guilty, he will be certain that I shall get some sort of sentence?’
‘The latter, I fancy.’
‘And how do they suggest that the frame-up was operated?’
‘They think that someone saw Milo lying in the gutter, recognized him, knew that the Professor was his patron, and telephoned him. Someone was then suborned to say they had seen your car at the scene of the accident. And, to add a little colour to the charge, your fog-lamp was broken during the night.’
‘Ingenious. It makes the Professor a positive Moriarty of crime. I don’t see him in that role, somehow. Do you?’
‘To be honest, I don’t believe a word of it.’
‘And what particular shady work do they suggest he’s up to?’
‘I don’t think they’ve quite worked that out yet. But it would be something to do with the sale of Etruscan relics.’
Broke thought about this, riffling through the pages of Paradise Lost as he did so. It seemed as though he was anxious to get away from reality back to the Garden of Eden, to the mighty opposites of Good and Evil at warfare in the starry void. Sir Gerald had talked to many men in prisons in different parts of the world, but never to one so apparently uninterested in his own fate.
‘Though I don’t suppose there’s anything in that idea either,’ he added.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Broke. ‘There was one rather odd thing. When I drove out to the digging that afternoon, the Professor’s steward, Ferri, showed me round. He seemed quite knowledgeable about it. He said it was the clan tomb of a well-known Etruscan pirate, thought to be called Thryns. There was a picture of him, on his warship. He was wearing a very elaborate and distinctive helmet. Later on, when we were going out of the tomb, I wanted to look into one of the lesser chambers, on the other side of the central passage. Ferri didn’t seem keen on the idea. He hurried me past it. But I had my torch with me, and I did happen to see something in it. It was the same helmet that I’d seen in the picture.’
‘The helmet itself?’
‘That’s right.’
Sir Gerald thought this out. He said, ‘I don’t quite see–’
‘If Thryns was the man who owned the helmet, and he was head of the whole family or clan, the helmet would have been in his tomb. Easily the most important tomb in the whole complex. The treasure house. The thing they are meant to be still looking for.’
‘I see,’ said Sir Gerald. ‘You’re suggesting that they may already have found the important treasure, and are keeping quiet about it.’
‘Well, it’s one explanation.’
‘I told you so,’ said Elizabeth, ‘I knew there was something going on. We’ve got to do something about it.’
‘But, my dear old girl, even if Broke is right about the helmet, there’s no reason to suppose it had anything to do with his accident.’
‘There was a connection and we shall find it.’
The Etruscan Net Page 12