“Not at all.”
Sandro came by the table to deliver Nico’s breakfast.
Nico thanked him and waited until he was back behind the counter. OneWag was busy wandering the café, licking up crumbs. Nico leaned over the small table and in a low voice told Nelli what Gogol had said at the murder site.
Nelli pressed her hand against her mouth and closed her eyes.
“Could he have made that up?”
“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
She opened her eyes filled with tears. “Because he asked me back then if I was the woman Robi had raped. He was pretty sure it had been someone else, but he wanted to be certain it wasn’t me. This was after Robi had left.”
“Why didn’t you give this information to Perillo once you found out the murdered man was Gerardi?”
Nelli pulled her hands over her face. “I was going to. But then I thought he’d try to find out who’d been raped and accuse her of killing Robi.” Nelli dropped her hands on the table. They were spotted with gray and yellow paint. “I couldn’t do it. Whoever she is, she’s suffered enough. I don’t know if you can understand.”
“I do understand what abuse can do to any human being.” His mother had certainly suffered enough of it. And his understanding of another woman’s suffering had ended his career. He and his partner had been first to the murder scene. A man, shot multiple times, lay on his back by the entrance. A woman was on her knees still holding the phone, trembling. A very slight woman, much younger than she looked, he would discover. An intruder had shot her husband, she said in a thin whisper. He walked over to her, helped her up and sat her on a nearby armchair. She explained that she was in the bathroom when she’d heard the shots. She’d rushed out, but the man was gone. He owed money, she said. She didn’t know how much. He loved to gamble.
And loved to hit her, Nico suspected. July. No air-conditioning. Despite the heat in the room, her legs were covered in dark stockings, arms hidden by long sleeves. He remembered how carefully his mother would hide her bruises. When his partner walked into another room, he lifted one of the woman’s sleeves and saw the burn marks.
She pushed the sleeve down quickly. “I bruise easily.”
“I understand that oil splatters when you cook.” He realized he was feeding her a more believable answer. He was going to help her. Gently, he asked where the gun was.
She shook her head. “No gun.” Her eyes darted to a full garbage bag by the door.
“Your husband was going to take out the garbage,” Nico said.
She clutched his hand. “Yes, yes. You see, I forgot to do it.”
And he was going to make her pay for forgetting. “Let me take it out for you.”
“Thank you,” she said in her meek voice.
His partner was back in the room and nodded, understanding he was going to look for the gun. When he found it, he slipped it inside his jacket without giving it a thought. “No gun,” he told his partner, hauling the garbage bag back in. He still remembers the stink on his hands from the rotting garbage. “Maybe the others will find it in there.”
That night, he wiped the gun clean and threw it in the Gowanus Canal. The woman got off on reasonable doubt. A few weeks later, Rita died. Nico went bar crawling with his partner shortly afterward. In a drunken stupor, he’d confessed about the gun.
“When did Robi leave?” Nico asked Nelli.
“Sometime in January.”
“Did Gogol tell you who he thought the woman was?”
“No. I didn’t want to know. I was actually jealous of that woman for a disgusting minute or two. Afterward, I was so ashamed of myself, I sent half my savings to a center for abused women in Florence.”
“And yet you really have no idea who Gerardi was in love with? Please forgive me, but I find that odd. Women in love usually know who their competition is.”
“You think he raped his girlfriend?”
“If he did rape her, that would give her a motive, but even if she wasn’t raped, she might have useful information. I can’t believe no one knows who she is.”
“I followed him once. I could tell he was going to see her by the way he was dressed. Pressed pants, new shirt, polished shoes. I got on my Vespa and followed him up to Radda. He went into a jewelry store there. Crisani’s. Before Robi went in, he combed his hair with his fingers, tucked in his shirt. I just knew she was in there, but I didn’t have the courage to follow him inside. I hid behind a car across the street and waited to see if they’d come out together. Instead, an older man followed him out, screaming at him. I jumped onto my scooter and swung away, not wanting Robi to see me. I went back a few days later and walked into the store, and there was this stunning girl behind the counter. About eighteen. The man who had shouted at Robi came out from a door in the back as soon as I stepped in. I pretended I was looking for a charm for my mother’s bracelet. He dealt with me, she only watched. My mother doesn’t own a bracelet. I muttered something stupid and left, convinced I’d found Robi’s great doomed love. At least, that’s what I hoped. I was twenty at the time, and all I read was romance novels. What else was I supposed to think?”
“Why doomed?”
“Crisani is a well-known jeweler, and Robi came from nothing. Not the ideal husband for a rich girl. I told myself that was the reason for the secrecy.”
“The girl might have been an employee, but you could be right. Why didn’t you tell Perillo?”
Nelli sighed. Men really didn’t understand, not even nice ones like Nico. “For the same reason I didn’t tell him what Gogol had asked me way back.”
Nico nodded. “Of course. This girl could have been the rape victim.”
“That’s right. Besides, that the Crisani girl was Robi’s beloved is just another one of my theories, not fact.”
Nico remembered Aldo’s comment while explaining his relationship to the victim. Gerardi had told him he wanted to marry a woman, but the family was opposed. “You’ve been a great help, Nelli. Thank you for telling me.”
“I trust you.”
A smile came to his lips, unbidden. “Now let’s enjoy our breakfast.”
“I’ve already had mine.”
“If you keep me company, I’ll treat you to another cappuccino.”
“Add a custard-filled cornetto and I’m in.” Her wonderful smile came back.
By the time Nico reached Greve’s Piazza Matteotti, he was carrying an exhausted OneWag. He stopped and let a sudden breeze cool his face. It was just past eleven o’clock; the Expo had opened. Nico hated crowds, but he had to speak to Perillo.
Nico walked to the first restaurant under the portico and asked the waiter setting up for lunch for a glass of water. He poured the water into a clean ashtray and put it on the floor. OneWag lapped it up happily. The waiter, a young, skinny black man in jeans and a colorful tie-dyed shirt, brought another full glass. “This one for you. Plain, no gas,” he said with a strong accent. A man who knew the value of water and compassion. One of thousands who were still crossing the sea from Africa, blessed not to have drowned and lucky enough to have found a job.
Nico drank the water and held out the glass and a five euro note. The waiter took only the glass. “Water is free. Come eat, then leave money.”
Nico nodded, thanked him and returned the now-empty ashtray to its original place. He looked above the door and made a mental note of the restaurant’s name. He would come back and eat here, maybe invite Nelli.
“Signor Doyle!”
Nico didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. “Signora Dorsetti.” This time she was wearing something fancy, a shiny apricot-colored dress with ruffles at the hem and sleeves.
“How wonderful that you’re here. And your sweet dog.”
“It’s nice to meet you again.” Nico picked up OneWag. “I hope you’ll excuse me, but I need to
see Maresciallo Perillo.”
“Something to do with the murder?” She gave him no time to answer. “Robi was my brother, you see. As I told the maresciallo, I know nothing about his new life or his old loves. Nothing at all. I think the maresciallo doesn’t believe me. I can’t blame him. Brothers and sisters should be close, confide in each other.” She smoothed her dress. “Robi was a complicated man. Very proud, quick to anger when he didn’t get his way. But I can’t think of why anyone would want to kill him. Maybe for money, but that can’t be, because whoever it was didn’t take his watch. I hope he left me something. If it’s a great deal of money, though, then I’ll be a suspect, won’t I?” She laughed as though the mere thought was ridiculous. “Please, come have an espresso with me. Three minutes and you’re free. Surely you have three minutes to give a grieving sister?”
Nico let out a long internal sigh. “Of course, Signora.”
“Please, call me Maria. When we were children, Robi used to call me Marimia. How would you say that in English?”
“My Maria.”
“Not as pretty. Robi adored me then. I’m ten years younger than him. I was his pet.” She sat down at the nearest table, already set for lunch. “Do sit. I think he stopped loving me when I got married. He was such a jealous man.”
Nico obliged and placed OneWag on his lap as insurance. He felt assaulted by this woman’s unwanted speech.
The African waiter appeared, then smiled at both of them. “Good day, Signora. The usual?”
“Too early for my beer, Yunas. Two espressos.”
That he might want something else was clearly a possibility that hadn’t occurred to her. “No coffee for me, please,” Nico said. “But another glass of water would be welcome.”
Yunas smiled. “Plain. No gas.”
“Thank you.”
“Yunas is from Ethiopia. Italy is full of Africans now. We’ll soon have only cappuccino-colored children. Some people get very upset at the thought. I don’t.” She smiled proudly.
Nico wondered if she expected a compliment for her tolerance.
“Now, tell me about you, Nico.”
“There isn’t much to say.” Before he was forced to supply information he had no desire to give, Yunas appeared with their order. Nico seized the glass and gulped down the water.
Maria realized he was going to rush off. “My brother’s death must have greatly upset Tilde Morelli.” Nico froze. “You’re related, I hear.”
“Yes, she and my wife are cousins.” What was this woman getting at? Nico put his glass down and reached into his pocket to pay the waiter. “I think his death upset many people,” he said curtly.
Maria tilted her head. She’d been very circumspect with the maresciallo, but this man was being rude. She wanted him to regret that. “They were very close, you know.”
Her words felt like a punch to the stomach. Nico stood up, dropped a ten-euro note on the table. “I’m sorry. I really do have to go.”
Maria felt something bubble inside her. Rejection in any form made her seethe. Americans had a reputation for being nice, even gullible. Who did Nico Doyle think he was? She’d only been trying to help, thinking he must be lonely.
“I’m sorry, Maria.”
She acknowledged his apology with her sweetest smile. She was good at hiding her feelings, always had been. She had her pride to think of. This was a stupid man who deserved to have his face slapped.
Nico tucked OneWag under his arm again. “You caught me at a bad time.”
She flicked her wrist in the air. “I’m afraid the good times are gone for everyone.”
“I hope not for you,” he said, and walked away.
“I’ll have my beer now,” she called out to Yunas when Nico was out of earshot. She thought of poor dead Robi, her only sibling, coming back without planning to see her, not even calling. He’d left her to lick his own wounds on another continent. Made himself rich too.
Maria crunched on the chocolate square that came with her coffee. I hope not for you. Well, that was unexpected. Maybe even sweet. As the chocolate melted in her mouth, so did her anger. There was yet still a chance at good times.
Daniele saw Nico making his way to the northern end of the piazza and met him halfway.
“Where’s your wineglass?” Daniele asked Nico after they greeted each other.
“It’s a little early for that. I’m here to talk to the maresciallo.”
There was urgency in the American’s voice. Something new had come up. Well, he had something new too. “I left him in his office, calling Della Langhe. I don’t know if he’s still there.” He started to pet OneWag. It helped slow his racing heart. “I have something I need to tell him too, something that could be important, something Arben told me.”
Nico could see that Daniele was dying to tell him whatever it was. Daniele kept absentmindedly petting the dog, who surprised him with a lick on the wrist.
Deep in thought, Daniele didn’t notice. Would the maresciallo mind if he told Nico what Arben had said? After all, he’d enlisted Nico to help them. He mulled the possibility over for a minute, then let out a sigh. No. After dealing with Della Langhe, his boss would be furious. He gave Nico his full attention. “I’d come with you to the station, but I’m on duty.”
Nico saw Daniele’s disappointment and said, “We’ll wait for him then.”
Some twenty minutes later, Nico stood in the shade behind the statue of Verrazzano and finally saw Perillo stride into the piazza in full uniform, hat slightly askew on his head and boots shined to a gleam. He looked taller, handsome, important. Relieved to see him, Nico waved. He was eager to share Nelli’s information. Maria Dorsetti’s comment about Tilde he intended to keep to himself for now.
Daniele, who had just patrolled the piazza, spotted the maresciallo and stood up straighter. To his surprise, his boss was in full uniform, which had been required only at last night’s opening. Well, the maresciallo could be a bit vain. The men at the station sometimes made fun of him for it behind his back. Daniele thought it was disloyal and never joined in. His boss did look good in full uniform, except for the dark expression on his face. “Good news?” Daniele asked, knowing the answer.
“News. But not good. Gerardi wasn’t married. The police finally got a subpoena to search his home and office. They took his laptop but haven’t looked through it yet. The computer at the winery only had production and client lists. So for now, no copy of the will and no personal correspondence.”
“He didn’t have a safe in the house?” Nico asked.
“No. He did have a safe deposit box, and according to the Delizioso manager, before Gerardi left for Italy, he added his lawyer’s name for it at the bank and left him the key. The lawyer’s secretary claims she knows nothing about a key, and the lawyer’s on vacation, not responding to calls or email.”
“The police can get a subpoena to open it.”
“They’re trying, but Gerardi’s bank demanded a death certificate first, which then had to be translated into English and notarized. The American embassy in Rome took care of that yesterday, but so far no news.”
Daniele asked, “What about the manager? Are the police looking into him?”
“He’s been with Gerardi since he took over the Delizioso. According to all the employees there, he was devoted to his boss. Plus, he knew Gerardi was dying. They all knew. Why have someone kill him?” Perillo spread his arms in protest. “We’ve got nothing.”
Nico gave Perillo a pat on the shoulder, relieved that nothing involving Tilde had come out. “Murder cases require patience.”
Perillo shook his head. “What they don’t need is Della Langhe. He broke my eardrum with this information, then threatened to send down some ‘experienced men’ from Florence, as if it were my fault we’re still in the dark. I told him to go ahead and send. Of course, he’s not actually sending a goddamn
soul, because in about an hour, he’ll calm down and realize what an idiot he is.” Perillo turned to Daniele. “Are you religious?”
“I go to church on Sundays.” He’d done so since birth. His mother made sure no Sunday Mass was missed. He used to fall asleep as a child. Now he found it restful.
Perillo reached into his trouser pocket and slipped a ten-euro note into Daniele’s hand. “If that lawyer isn’t found by Sunday morning, go light some candles for us. If he is, give it back. It will be the seed for a Dario Cecchini meal.”
“I don’t eat meat.”
“Ah, right.”
Daniele stuffed the money into his pocket. He would add five euros of his own, even though he didn’t actually believe the candles would help.
Cinzia spotted Perillo and wiggled fingers at him. Their booth was only a few feet away. Perillo waved back. Aldo shot him a glance and went back to pouring wine into several raised glasses.
“Salvatore, Nico,” Cinzia called out. “When this is over, you’re all coming to our house for our best wine and my cacio e pepe spaghetti.”
“You mean the Expo?”
“No, the murder investigation. Hope it’s soon.”
“It will be,” Perillo answered with false confidence.
“We have things to tell you too,” Daniele said loudly, his eagerness taking over.
Perillo looked at Nico.
“Yes, I have something new.”
“Very good. The more information, the better. But this isn’t exactly a good spot to discuss anything except wine. Let’s go to the pharmacy instead of the station. It’s just around the corner. The pharmacist is a friend of mine, and he’ll give us his back room while we talk.”
Murder in Chianti Page 21