Relief mixed with anger filled him. A dream. How dare his subconscious play him a trick like that? He got up. His knees still felt as if filled with custard. Damn. She had lied to him, had pretended to forget Emma in her list of nylon-owners, protecting one of her family again. She had no right to disturb his night like that. I can't trust her. Her omission of Emma in the list proved that all too well.
“What if she really forgot?” A voice inside him, the one that always took her side, said. “After all, Emma has no connection to the case. There's no reason to protect her.”
Garini shook his head and filled a glass with water. No, she had no apparent reason to protect Emma. But how much did he really know about Carlina? So what if every instinct inside him insisted he could trust her. Could he rely on his instincts or was he confused by hormones, a male urge to find a female? He loved the way her green eyes slanted like a cat's, reflected her every mood, shone with enthusiasm or flared in anger.
Cool it, Garini. He gulped down the icy water and could feel how it traced its cold way down his throat.
Maybe he should text a message, ask if she was all right. He checked his watch. Three AM. Don't. She'll be fast asleep now. She won't reply, and you'll spend the rest of the night hunched over your phone.
He sighed and returned to the bedroom. Time to listen to some music, to take his mind off things. The sound of a saxophone always managed to lift his mood, sweep away everything dark. Antonia Hart, maybe. Or Sam Levine. Music had never failed him.
Yet.
III
When he saw her standing behind the counter at Temptation, laughing at something Ricciarda had said, a weight fell from his shoulders. She was fine. Thank God.
He opened the glass door and smiled at them both. “Buongiorno.”
Carlina's face closed. Her eyes darted away from him.
Damn it, she couldn't be nervous of him. “How are you?” He had to hear from herself that everything was fine. Never again did he want to spend a night like the last.
“I'm fine.”
A standard reply. “Really?” His eyes focused on her, taking in every detail. “I mean it. Are you all right?”
She blushed, but her gaze met his this time. “Yes.“
“Good.”
He turned to Ricciarda. “I need to take your statement, but I would prefer to do it where we can't be disturbed. Is that all right?”
Ricciarda nodded, her face calm. “Of course.” She addressed Carlina. “We'll be at La Piccola Trattoria, if you need me.”
“Sure.” Carlina nodded.
Ricciarda got her dark coat and put it on. It made her look like a sleek Madonna, with a dark hood to cover her head. She lead the way to the small restaurant across the street.
The Trattoria smelled of fresh bread and coffee. Garini's stomach grumbled. He had not taken the time for breakfast this morning.
As they took their places in a quiet corner, the waiter hustled up to them and wiped the wooden table with a moist cloth. It left shiny stripes on the surface. “Buongiorno, Ricciarda.” The waiter smiled. He was in his twenties and could hardly take his eyes off her. “You are early today. Will you have the usual?” A curious glance went to the Commissario, but he didn't ask.
Garini wondered if he was considered too old to be a rival.
“Yes.” Ricciarda smiled.
“How about you, Signor?”
“I'll have a pannini and an espresso, please.” Garini took out his tape recorder and switched it on, so his question would also be recorded. “May I tape our conversation?”
“Certainly.”
Again, her calm face surrounded by the dark hair reminded him of the Madonna. She was beautiful in a serene way.
“What do you wish to know?” Her voice was low. It sounded like cream chocolate.
“Please tell me about your day yesterday.”
“Carlina and I started an hour early because we still wanted to put up the special nylon decorations.”
“What time was that?”
“Around nine.” Ricciarda said. “When we had done the decoration, Carlina went to the back of the store to unpack some more boxes, and I--”
“What did you talk about?”
“What?” Her blue eyes opened wide. “I can't recall. Let me see . . . “ She turned a strand of her glossy black hair around her index finger. “Yes. We talked about copate biscuits, and we made a bet.”
“A bet?”
“Yes. How many pairs of nylons we would sell.”
The waiter brought them the espresso, a latte macchiato, and the pannini.
“I see. What happened next?” Garini bit into his pannini. It was still warm, and the cheese was full of flavor, just the way he liked it.
She didn't have to think about this one. “While Carlina was at the back, a customer came into the store and bought some bras and slips for his girlfriend. Later, I learned it was Trevor Accanto.”
“When later?” He didn't take his glance off her. She seemed controlled and in charge. Not at ease, but many people became nervous when questioned by the police.
“I knew who he was when he said I should send the shopping bags to the Garibaldi Hotel because Carlina had told me about him before.”
“What did she say?”
Ricciarda smiled. “She said he was charming and handsome and not to be trusted.”
“So you were curious to get to know him?”
She shrugged. “I know many men who are charming and handsome and not to be trusted.”
I bet you do. “And what did you think when you got to know him?”
Ricciarda sipped her latte macchiato. “That Carlina had been right.”
“So you liked him?”
Ricciarda hesitated. “I was once hurt by a charming man.” Her voice sounded rough. “That's why I don't allow myself the luxury to like them anymore.” Her blue eyes met his a bit defiant.
“I see.” Stefano took a mouthful of hot espresso. “Did he say anything else to you? Where he would go, what he would do?”
“I think he wanted to go running along the Arno. He was wearing running shoes.”
“Did he talk to Carlina?”
“A bit. She said he should be careful.”
Damn. “Careful of what?” His voice had sharpened.
“Careful with her cousin, with Annalisa. They were lovers, and Carlina didn't think it would last.”
“Would you say it was a warning from Carlina?” Say no.
Ricciarda shrugged. “I can't tell; I wasn't close enough to understand every word. I only heard him say he had everything under control.”
Famous last words. Garini decided to switch the topic. “Do you know the Basilica di Santa Trìnita?”
“Of course.” Ricciarda smiled as if she remembered a lover. “I'm an active member there, and I often go to pray.”
“So you know Padre Balli?”
“Yes.” Her smile deepened. “He's a wonderful man.”
“Did you by any chance go to church to pray on the day Trevor Accanto was strangled?”
Her face reddened. “No. And I think it's a disgrace to kill someone inside a church. Padre Balli must have been so upset. I feel very sorry for him.”
“Have you seen Padre Balli since?”
For an instant, her lower lip trembled. “No. I'm not sure if I'll go back. I have the feeling that my church has been desecrated. It makes me feel so . . . so uprooted.”
Garini didn't say anything. His mother had been a devoted Catholic, chastising herself for everything she did, be it wrong or not. A church would never feel like home to him, but he knew how she felt, having seen his mother's eyes when attending the service. “Please continue to tell me about your day.” He took another bite of his pannini.
“We had no customers at all. It was disheartening. Finally, Carlina said she wanted lunch, so she left.”
“When was that?”
“I can't recall.” Again, she turned a strand of her hair between her fingers.
“We don't keep exact hours, it always depends on the customers. I think it was at one.”
“At one?” He frowned. Carlina had said twelve. Has she lied again?
Ricciarda shrugged. “Maybe it was earlier.” She pushed back her hair. “In fact, I think it may have been earlier. I really can't recall.”
“When did you go?”
“As soon as she came back. It was still dead, no customers at all, so Carlina said I could stay away a bit longer.”
“So how long were you gone from the store?”
Ricciarda took a deep breath. “Half an hour at most. I didn't want to leave Carlina too long, as I had a feeling that she was taking it badly. But you can ask the waiter here. I always come here for lunch.”
“I will.” He said it with a sinking feeling. It was all too vague. He wanted to cross off suspects from his list, but instead, he was walking in a fog that was getting denser by the minute. Most of all, he wanted to cross off Carlina, not to prove to himself that she hadn't done it, but to make sure that nobody else would be able to point a finger at her. Damn it all. He had to show results, and soon, or Cervi would needle him with nasty comments.
He sent Ricciarda back to Temptation and summoned the waiter to the table. “Could you take a minute and answer some questions?” He showed his police identification.
The young man's eyes widened. “Golly.” He slid onto the seat vacated by his idol. “Is Ricciarda in trouble?” He cast a haunted look at the restaurant. “I can't stay long, you understand, but if you need something from me, of course I'll tell you anything you need to know.”
Garini could tell that he already saw himself in the role of savior, protecting Ricciarda. She had not talked to him on the way out, but maybe she had briefed him before. He had better make it clear this was a serious business. “We're checking the whereabouts of people connected with a murder that happened yesterday.”
The waiter nodded with enthusiasm. “The rich American who was strangled at the Basilica di Santa Trìnita. I heard about it.” He leaned forward. “What do you need to know?”
“First of all, can I record our conversation?”
“Yes, of course.” He didn't hesitate.
Garini pressed the recording button. “Please give me your name and address.”
“I'm Enrique Passo, and I live on Via Faenza, 13.” His gaze was clear and direct.
No fear there. Time to make sure he got the right idea. “Before you reply, please be aware that this is a murder investigation, a serious breach of law. Choose your words with care and remember that you might be asked to swear to your statement in court. This is not the time to say what you think happened or what you believe or can't believe. I want the facts, and nothing else. Is that clear?”
The young man nodded, his face serious. He had lost his buoyancy, which was exactly what Garini wanted.
“Please tell me about yesterday from eleven thirty to two thirty.”
The waiter frowned and pushed a hand through his brown hair. “It was quiet at first, very quiet. Usually, it's teeming just a few days before Christmas, but yesterday was odd.”
That chimes in with Carlina's statement. “Yes?”
“So we only had the usual customers, old Signor Pepoli,” he nodded toward the corner at his left where a white-haired man was reading the newspaper. “He comes every morning at ten and leaves at twelve.”
“Who else?”
“Signora Barberini, she comes at eleven and drinks one espresso every day. Then two tourists I didn't know.”
“Did you know the American?”
“No.” Enrique shook his head with regret.
“Who else?”
“Ricciarda came for lunch, as always.”
“When was that?”
He didn't hesitate. “She came at five minutes past one and stayed until one thirty-five.”
“How come you can tell it to the minute?”
Enrique flushed to the roots of his hair. “I just know.”
“Hmm.”
“Was Signor Pepoli still there?”
“Oh, no, as I said, he always leaves at twelve. Ricciarda came later.”
“Every day or was this an exception?”
“It's not always regular, it depends on how many customers they have.” A smile made him look younger. “But I expected her earlier yesterday, as they had no customers at all.”
“How do you know that?”
“I can see the shop window if I look into that mirror over there.” Enrique pointed at the wall.
Garini got up and checked the mirror. It offered a great view of the door to Temptation. “Interesting.” He returned to the table and waited for Enrique who had jumped up and served a customer in the break.
“Has this mirror always been there?”
“Well . . . “ Enrique again turned bright-red. “Em. We recently put it there because it reflects the light much better.”
I bet. “So did you happen to see Ricciarda come out of the store?”
“Listen, Commissario,” Enrique pulled at the sleeves of his shirt as if it had suddenly gotten too small. “I'll be honest with you. She's a great woman,” he said it with a kind of awe that showed how hopeless his case was, “and I can't help being in love with her. But I'm not harassing her or anything.”
“I didn't accuse you of that.” Garini's voice was calm.
Enrique eyed him. “No?”
“No.” Garini smiled. “So please answer my question.”
“What question? Oh.” Enrique swallowed. “Yes, I did see her coming out. Her boss went first to have lunch, which is unusual. Usually, she lets Ricciarda go first. They never close during lunch-time, you know.”
“Did you see when her boss went for lunch?” Really, this waiter proved to be a gold-mine. He could get quite used to him.
Enrique shrugged. “Around twelve, I believe.”
Clearly, Carlina wasn't the object of his desire. But at least it fit with Carlina's statement.
“So Ricciarda left the store at one and came directly here?”
“Five minutes past.” Obviously, the wait had been endless. “Yes, she came directly here, and she also returned directly to the store.”
“Was she in any way different?”
He frowned. “No. She was calm, as always. Maybe quieter than usual, even. She's like a saint, you know, always friendly.”
Gag. “Quite.” Garini leaned forward. “And you are quite sure that Ricciarda didn't ask you to confirm these times? It sounds a bit too perfect, you know.”
Enrique blanched. “She didn't. I tell you. I wouldn't want to hurt her, not for a minute.”
“If you are covering for her, you would do her the worst possible service.”
The young waiter sat up straight. “I only said the truth! I can't help it that I notice the time when she's here. It's . . . it's just the way it is. You can't blame her for that.”
Indeed I can't, and somehow, you're more convincing than you know. Garini changed track. “Did you see an American in sports clothes going into the store? Middle-aged, slim, tall, black hair?”
Enrique shook his head. “I can't recall someone like that at all, but then, I don't see everybody.” A lopsided smile. “When I know that Ricciarda is unlikely to come out, I stop checking the mirror. When was it?”
“Between nine and ten in the morning.”
“Oh, no.” Enrique lifted both hands. “We only open at ten, so I wouldn't have seen him anyway. Besides, in the morning, I'm often clearing up and can't keep an eye on the door of Temptation.”
Garini switched off the recorder. “Thanks. I might come back later to check some details.”
“Sure.” Enrique jumped up. “Anytime.” He hurried to serve his customers while Garini stared at his back with a frown. This young man was a bit too convenient. But then, if Ricciarda had needed an alibi, she would not have constructed one that was so obvious. Somehow, Enrique didn't look like a good actor.
Friendly, yes.
Devious? Not at all.
He did not believe for one minute that someone as intelligent as Ricciarda would place herself in the hands of someone who might turn out to be a liability. Unless . . . He went up to Enrique and stopped him before he could get within hearing distance of the next table. “One more word, Signor Passo.”
“Yes?”
“Be a bit careful in the next weeks.”
Enrique's mouth went slack. “What? Do you think I'm in danger?”
“I didn't say that.” Garini looked him straight in the eye. “Just avoid dangerous situations, will you?”
The waiter swallowed. “Yes.”
When Garini left the café, his cell phone rang. With one hand, he pulled it out and answered it while using his other hand to pull the collar of his leather jacket closer around his neck. The wind had a sharp edge to it today.
“Hello, this is Piedro speaking.”
“Piedro. What happened?” His assistant rarely ever went to the trouble of calling him.
“We just got a report about Signor Accanto's uncle.”
“Good.” Garini sensed his mood perking up. The uncle would help him to get a better picture of Trevor Accanto, to show another side he had not yet been able to investigate - about his family, about a person who had been with him over a longer period of time, as opposed to the ever changing women at his side. “What does it say?”
“He doesn't exist.”
“What?” Garini felt his hope dropping to the floor with a thud.
“The report says they hunted for relations of Signor Accanto high and low, but they did not discover a single trace. He had a mother whose birthday was January 3rd and it seems he often came to see her when she had still been alive.”
“Damn. When did she die?”
“Seven years ago. She was eighty-nine.”
Garini's mood sank. It seemed Trevor had preferred all his relations to be short-lived or superficial. A sad life, when you thought about it.
“Commissario?” Piedro sounded insecure, as always.
“Yes?”
“Do you want to know anything else?”
Garini curbed his impatience. “Does the report mention anything else? If yes, then I'd like to know about it.”
“Oh.” Piedro sank into ruminative silence. “No, I don't think the report said much else.”
Charmer's Death (Temptation in Florence Book 2) Page 11