Words Can Kill (Ghostwriter Mystery 5)

by C. A. Larmer

  Too helpful, Roxy thought now, realising with a tremble how badly she and Caroline had been played. They had trusted this man and he had manipulated them, right from the start.

  She recalled Monty’s words, too, from that first evening, how he’d envied Hugo’s five holiday rentals and sniggered: “Life is too easy for him. He just rents the rooms then sleeps all day. I wish!”

  In fact, he’d wished for it so badly, he was prepared to kill anyone who got in his way.

  Roxy didn’t know if it was Monty’s idea or Valentino’s, but they must have conspired to get rid of Candy and frame Donald for the crime. That way they, too, could live the easy life. All they had to do was convince Valentino’s busy wife Maria to let them start renting out that enormous seaside apartment, then they could just sit back and watch the money pour in.

  And if Maria refused? Well, there was always the cliff top on a quiet and lonely day.

  Roxy trembled again and turned back to Officer Giuseppe. “So why did you arrest Donald this morning? What was that about?”

  “We needed to get him out of Riomaggiore,” he yelled. “We needed an excuse to close down the station. I told you about this, knowing the word would get out. Sofia must have mentioned it to Valentino when she returned to the restaurant, and Valentino must have told Monty. This is what we were counting on. We needed them to think it was over and force their hand.”

  “You mean force them to get rid of Max?” She glanced across to her dear friend who was still being monitored by the patrol officers but had a little more colour in his cheeks now. Caroline had crept to his side and was clutching one hand, a look of shock on her face.

  Roxy turned back to Giuseppe, her emerald eyes flashing with fury. “You risked his life!”

  Giuseppe had the decency to look ashamed and said, “I am sorry about this.” He edged closer to where she was sitting. “You have to believe me, Miss Parker, we had no choice. They had already killed two people, we needed to catch them, how you say, red-handed. We needed them to think the coast was clear and force them to act.”

  Well, they’d certainly done that.

  The motor suddenly dropped down a few revs and Roxy looked up to find they were turning towards an unfamiliar coastline littered with thousands of bright lights.

  “La Spezia,” Giuseppe called out. “The hospital is not far away. Your friend, Max, will soon be okay.”

  Boyfriend, she wanted to correct him, but only nodded, hoping he was right.

  Epilogue

  Max did survive his seven-day ordeal, but he would be a changed man for life, and it saddened Roxy deeply as she watched him lying in his hospital bed, sleeping now, but probably not as peacefully as he once had. He’d probably never sleep quite so peacefully again.

  It had been three days since his ordeal had ended, and while his health was now improving, it would be many weeks before his weight returned. Yet it was his spirit Roxy was most worried about.

  As Max recuperated at La Spezia’s Sant’Andrea Hospital, a drip in one arm, bandages on his forehead and around both wrists and ankles, Roxy thought of what he had endured at the hands of Monty and Valentino Tedesco. She felt bitterly angry but relieved, too, because he had not been killed as Jake had. They had spared him that. Not intentionally, of course, for it was only a matter of time.

  From what Roxy had pieced together with Commander Rossi and Carmela, they had every intention of killing Max, but the police had arrived in Riomaggiore and so they had to put it off until the coast was clear, when they could quietly dump him out to sea.

  Roxy shivered a little at the thought and watched Max sleep, most of her questions now answered, the whole, complicated puzzle now complete. What she hadn’t worked out for herself, Max had filled in between groggy sleeps and doctor’s visits. The police had managed to explain the rest.

  The whole sorry saga had started for Max 500 kilometres away, in a whole different country at a whole different altitude. It was his first Monday night at Mt Pilatus and a perky blonde Australian with a silly name and a flirtatious nature had approached him at the bar below the stairs of the Hotel Bellevue. He was enjoying the complementary Swiss cheese between sips of good Belgian beer, happy in his own company, when Candy waltzed up, her husband back in his room with a headache. They were chatting within seconds, Candy waxing lyrical about her boring husband who often got headaches and always hated to hike.

  “I’m hiking around the trail tomorrow if you want to come along,” Max had said, fatefully as it turned out, and she had gleefully accepted. She had a knack for encouraging male escorts.

  And so they had met for breakfast that Tuesday, Max in hiking boots, Candy with her bubble pink visor on and trekking poles by her side, all ready for a day around the mountain. The walk had been a lot of fun until Candy started to tell Max about a few “silly messages” she had recently received from her business partner in Riomaggiore.

  “What sort of messages?” he had asked.

  “Oh she seems to have it in her head that my husband can’t be trusted.” She laughed then, not believing it for a second, but at Max’s insistence, told him how Maria’s husband, Valentino, suspected that Donald was planning to “bump her off”.

  “It’s ludicrous!” she’d said, but it must have played on Max’s mind because, knowing the couple were heading for Cinque Terre the following day, he began to worry. Unable to convince Candy to take the threat seriously, he phoned his flatmate, Jake, offering to waive his overdue rent if he could get himself to Milan with Max’s good camcorder and telephoto lens by lunchtime the next day.

  “If this guy really is going to try to kill his wife, I’m going to film it all and make sure he doesn’t get away with it!”

  Next he called his mother in Australia and, not wanting to worry her, simply told her he was heading to a place called Riomaggiore. Any more and she’d panic. He should have realised that she would start panicking the minute she heard the tension in his voice.

  And so Max had checked out of Mt Pilatus early and followed the Marlows down to Italy, stopping briefly in Milan to collect his camera gear from Jake. Being a spontaneous fellow, Jake had begged to come along and after some hesitation Max had agreed. He could do with the company.

  That was his first major mistake.

  Late that Wednesday night, the flatmates arrived in Riomaggiore and found a room at Ola’s Villas. The next afternoon, Max caught up with Candy who was stunned to learn he had followed her all this way.

  “You have to report your husband to the local police,” he’d said and she had laughed him off. He was overreacting, she was sure it was all just a silly misunderstanding. “Well, I’m not letting Donald out of my sight,” Max had told her then. “If he so much as tries anything with you, I’ll not only have it on camera, I’ll be there to stop him.”

  That conversation was Max’s second mistake.

  “Valentino overheard the whole thing,” Commander Rossi had told Roxy and Caroline when they met again, just the day before.

  They had all gathered in a small waiting room at the La Spezia hospital. The police had already interrogated the Tedescos and while Monty had not so much as opened his mouth, Valentino’s lips were flapping.

  “He is a big baby,” Carmela had scoffed. “He is crying and trying to say it was all his uncle’s idea. But we know that he is the one who killed Jake.”

  “Ah yes, but he tells us he did not mean to,” said Rossi. “He only meant to drive him back to Berlin and leave him there.”

  “So what on earth happened?” demanded Caroline, but Roxy was already holding her hand up.

  “Sorry, can we just back up a bit first? You said that Valentino overheard Max talking to Candy; that was at the back of Ted’s, right, on the Thursday night? Valentino told us Max was trying to hit on Candy, but obviously he was lying. Max was trying to protect the poor woman.”

  “Yes,” said Carmela. “That’s when Valentino panicked. How could they possibly plant Candy’s murder on Donald if Max
was watching him the whole time? He quickly reported the conversation to Monty who was furious. His plan was about to go belly up!”

  Little did any of them know, Monty’s plan had been many years in the making, his envy of Candy and frustration with Maria, brewing to boiling point. Despite his outwardly friendly nature, Monty was a bundle of bitterness and regret, and he was fed up to his hind teeth with running the hat shop. It was a full-time, thankless job, and one that was so dull he spent his days loitering on the road watching as other people got to enjoy their leisurely lives. He had always longed for a holiday rental, an easy life like Hugo, but he didn’t have the money and time was running out. Would he spend his final good years serving sunburnt tourists while Candace and Donald Marlow got to relax?

  Not if he could help it.

  Monty wanted to ditch his job and take over managing that enormous, seaside apartment that his nephew’s wife was squandering away. He wanted to rent it out all day every day to rich tourists while he put his feet up. Yet Maria was having none of it. Candy didn’t want to rent it to strangers and Maria didn’t really have the time, her restaurant being a full-time occupation. She was happy with the status-quo, Monty not so much.

  Eventually, as Valentino’s marriage deteriorated—how could it not, the man had eyes for everyone but his wife—Monty convinced his nephew to act, explaining that once Candy was gone, they would both be rich and happy. He knew that Candy’s apartment alone could net more than Hugo’s five crummy rentals. “You need never work in that dingy trattoria again, slave to your nagging fish wife!”

  “The plan was supposed to be a simple one,” said Rossi. “First they would plant the idea that Donald could not be trusted into Candy’s head then, when the Marlows arrived for their annual holiday, Monty would take Candy on a secret walk along the cliff top to discuss his concerns in private.”

  “He needed to do it that first Friday morning,” Giuseppe spoke up now, “when he knew I would not be in town. I only man the office on weekends when it is busiest, you see.”

  “That is right,” said Carmela. “Monty planned to meet Candy in secret at the most secluded part of the Blue Trail, just near the end of the Via dell'Amore. He would take a few photos and then, while she was leaning out to look at the view, he would push her over.”

  “And while Monty did that, Valentino was going to stitch Donald up,” said Roxy.

  “That is correct,” Rossi agreed. “He would drug Donald’s champagne and juice—a drink he had every morning over breakfast at Ted’s when he was in town—then, before Donald passed out, Valentino would get him into Maria’s bedroom above the restaurant, where he would be out of the way and without an alibi. Valentino knew Maria would be at the Monterosso markets, where she was every Friday. If we did not believe Donald killed his wife for the inheritance, a suspected affair would seal his fate.”

  “Of course they knew Maria would deny it, but they were counting on a sceptical police force,” said Carmela. “And if they could stick it to Valentino’s nagging wife at the same time, then, great.”

  “But what if Maria had refused?” said Caroline now. “What if she had inherited the whole apartment and didn’t want to let Monty take it over and rent it out?”

  Rossi’s eyes drooped sadly. “Then there is always the rocky cliffs of the Via dell'Amore.”

  Roxy thought about this and shivered. She hadn’t exactly warmed to Maria, but she was glad she had been spared that. The plan was certainly foolproof, she thought, the perfect murder. Candy would be gone, Donald in jail, and the apartment would be theirs to do with as they liked.

  But they weren’t counting on Candy’s White Knight, Max Farrell, and his sidekick Jake Conway.

  “They must have been very frustrated,” said Carmela, half smiling. “How could they pin this on Donald if Max and Jake were watching him the whole time? That’s when they reworked their plan. Now they would have to get rid of those men, too. And quickly, before the weekend came and Giuseppe returned.”

  So it was, that Friday morning, as Maria headed off to the markets and Candy headed off for her hike, Valentino had to put Plan B into place. Instead of just drugging Donald, he also had to drug Max who was seated nearby.

  “We believe he drugged Mr Farrell first,” said Rossi.

  “What kind of drug?” asked Caroline.

  “We suspect Rohypnol, we have found several suspicious vials amongst Mr Tedesco’s belongings so we will know more soon, when the forensics report comes back.”

  “Are you talking about Roofies, the date rape drug?”

  “That is the one.”

  How typical of that sleazebag, Caroline thought, wondering why he even had the drug in the first place. She shuddered at the thought.

  “We suspect he laced two glasses of the champagne and juice drink, er, what do you call it?”

  “Mimosa,” Caroline promptly answered.

  “Yes, that is it. Mr Farrell tells us that Valentino offered him a complimentary mimosa with his breakfast, it’s about the last thing he remembers, and we suspect it was laced with the strong sedative. When he became groggy, Valentino pretended to help him to the restrooms at the back but really he dragged him down to the wine cellar deep below the restaurant before he passed out.”

  “The cellar is not used anymore,” explained Carmela. “Plus it has thick stone walls. A very good place to hide someone.”

  “But hang on,” said Roxy. “What about that text message Max sent me: SOS. Was Max in the cellar then?”

  Giuseppe nodded. “His memory is very vague, of course, but we believe he must have sent that message before he was properly tied up. Valentino must have left your friend for a few minutes while he drugged Mr Marlow and got him into Maria’s bed. Mr Farrell must have come to at some point and sent that text before he fell unconscious again.”

  “And Sofia, the waitress?” demanded Caroline. “She was on duty that day, how on earth did she not notice all these men disappearing out the back, looking stoned to their eyeballs?”

  Rossi shook his head. “There is no evidence that Sofia is involved and we do know that Valentino kept her busy with the tables out on the patio, so it is likely that she did not see any of this, but we are still checking. We have also confirmed that Ola does employ Sofia to clean her hotel rooms, so it is not suspicious that you saw her outside Max’s room that day. Still, we are keeping an open mind.”

  Roxy said, “Okay, so Valentino drugs both men and gets them out of the way, but where is Jake in all of this?”

  “Ah yes, the third man,” said Carmela. “The one who has been confusing us all.”

  Understatement of the week, thought Roxy but she just listened as Carmela continued.

  “Valentino had quite a lot of luck on his side. He did not have enough of the drug for all three men, but he was guessing from the previous morning that Jake would not come to Ted’s for breakfast, he would be sleeping in.”

  “So,” interjected Rossi, “according to Sofia, just before 11:00 a.m., Valentino suddenly put her in charge of the restaurant claiming his cousin had called with an emergency in Roma. He said to tell Maria he would be away overnight.”

  “But really he was heading straight to Ola’s Villas to offer Jake a lift back to Berlin, right?” said Roxy and they all nodded. “He probably woke him up and told him they had to leave immediately.” They nodded again.

  While Valentino must have loathed the idea of a gruelling, twelve-hour drive, he knew he had little choice; he had to get Jake out of the way, pronto. The plan, however, was not to kill him, or at least that’s what he told the police. He was simply going to get him to his apartment, freshen up quickly, then get back in the car and head home. The problem was, Jake started listening to his answering machine and there were dozens of increasingly frantic messages left by the Farrell family, desperately looking for Max.

  That’s when Valentino panicked.

  As Jake left his first message for Caroline, Valentino grabbed the nearest object he cou
ld find and smashed his head in. Then he wiped all the other messages and headed back to Italy as fast he could drive, thinking he had got away with it and congratulating himself the whole time. Little did he know, the young woman in apartment 3A had heard some words of Italian being spoken in the corridor that night, and a young parking attendant back in Riomaggiore had a thorough knowledge of road tolls.

  “Okay,” said Roxy. “So while Valentino was doing all the heavy lifting, Monty was doing a little push and shove? Throwing Candy over the cliff?”

  The detectives nodded again. “He was clever, our Monty,” said Rossi. “The old-timer knew the path well. He knew there were bends where you could walk unseen, where you could push your victim off the edge and no one would notice a thing.”

  What Monty didn’t know, thought Roxy, was that he would be noticed in absentia—when a loud American woman would get so badly sunburnt she would come calling for a hat. As she sat in the Laundromat that day, watching the spin cycle, Roxy realised that Monty, too, had no alibi at the time of Candy’s death, yet she quickly dismissed this. After all, why would Monty want to kill Candy? He was just a helpful local. The husband was the one with the motive.

  As if reading her mind, Carmela said, “When Donald woke up from his drug-induced sleep late Friday afternoon, still in Maria’s bed, he had no idea what had just happened and absolutely no alibi.”

  “And what he didn’t know,” added Rossi, “was that it wasn’t just Sofia who saw him coming out the back of Ted’s. Maria had also spotted him.”

  Carmela laughed suddenly. “Poor Maria! She was so confused! She could not work out why he was in her room. She says she never looked twice at her friend’s husband.”

  “And why would she?” chimed in Caroline, recalling his pale splotchy skin, his sharklike teeth.