Gianni lived above the only laundromat in town. As they walked up the narrow flight of stairs, they could feel the pulsing of the washing machines underneath their feet. Gianni unlocked the door, and they entered into a large square room filled with light from a large sparkling window. One half of the room was a well-furnished kitchen. The second half, divided by a long table, was used as a living room. Underneath the window was a sofa covered by a blue-patterned cloth Nico had seen at the Greve market. One armchair. On the wall hung a calendar featuring Our Lady of Sorrows.
“So, ask,” Gianni said, standing on the kitchen side of the table with his arms crossed.
Perillo took his time sitting down on the sofa. Daniele took out his notebook and pen and seemed not to know where to place himself. Nico sat on the armchair and leaned over to feel the texture of a jade plant. “Who’s got the green thumb in the family?” Okay, so he wasn’t keeping quiet, but he’d found that asking inane questions usually loosened up interviewees.
“Papà,” Gianni answered, his eyes still on Perillo. “Go ahead, then. I’m not planning to offer you coffee.”
Perillo patted the seat next to him. Daniele sat.
“Tell me how you found the money.”
“I already told you.”
“Tell me again.”
“Are you hard of hearing?”
Nico intervened. “There’s no need for hostility, Gianni. Just answer as best you remember.”
As Gianni walked around the table and straddled a wooden chair, Perillo shot a glance of approval at Nico.
“Okay,” Gianni said with a put-upon tone. “Let’s get this over with. I found the bill on the floor at the Greve Coop.”
“When did you find it?”
“I don’t know. About ten days ago.”
“Give me all the details.”
“I was with Stella, who needed to do some shopping for her mother, and this guy kept staring at her, which freaked Stella out. I told him to get lost and he left. That’s when I saw the money on the floor. I guess it belonged to him.”
“You didn’t find any other money?”
“I wish I had.”
“Did you ever see this man again?”
“No.”
“Do you own a shotgun?”
“Sure I do. Doesn’t everyone?” Gianni raised his voice. “What the hell are you getting at? Do you think I killed that man because he was staring at my girlfriend? You’re out of your head!”
“So you know the man from the Coop is the dead man. Why didn’t you mention that before?”
“You didn’t ask. What’s it matter, anyway?”
Perillo fought hard to contain the urge to slap this young man. “There was blood on the hundred-dollar bill you found.” He hadn’t gotten confirmation it was Gerardi’s yet, but he wanted to shake Gianni up a bit.
“So the guy cut himself. What’s that got to do with me?”
“It depends on when the blood got there.”
Gianni lifted his palms in the air. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. I told you how I got the money. I’ve got nothing else to say.” He stood up and pushed the chair back under the table. “No, I do.” He turned around, a finger pointing at Perillo. “You’re fishing around because you’ve got nothing. And I bet Tilde has something to do with you being here. She can’t stand me, and the feeling is mutual. Stella and I are going to get married whether she likes it or not.”
Given Gianni’s arrogance, that “she” could refer to Stella as well as Tilde, Nico thought. Stella had been wise to break up with him.
Nico stood. “I’m sorry, I need to use the bathroom.” An old ploy. Whatever he found couldn’t be used in court, at least not in the States, but it might give Perillo a leg up. He was also tired of just being a witness.
Gianni pointed a thumb to his left. “Second door to the left. Pull hard on the chain. It gets stuck sometimes.”
“Thanks.” Nico made his way carefully past the plant-laden coffee table and turned the corner to face a narrow corridor. He waited for Perillo to start talking again before opening the first door.
Perillo was going to ask to see Gianni’s shotgun, but right now, they all needed to stay right where they were until Nico came back. “Where were you last Monday morning around six o’clock?”
“Here, asleep. Where else?”
Perillo smiled in answer to Gianni’s sneering attitude. Was his antagonistic tone a cover-up for fear? “Was anyone with you?”
“My parents. My mother woke me up at seven-thirty with my caffelatte. She does that every workday. I’ve got to be at the winery at eight-thirty.”
A mamma’s boy then, Perillo thought. That explained some of his attitude.
Daniele, who had been quietly and quickly taking notes, felt a pang of envy. His mother had stopped offering him caffelatte in bed on his tenth birthday.
“Can anyone else corroborate that you were here at that time?” Mothers never told the truth about their children to the authorities. “Your father?” Not that fathers were much better.
“Papà leaves at five, except on Sundays. He’s a mason working on that five-star hotel Vigna Maggio is building in Vitigliano. It was just me and Mamma.” He leaned back against the table with a satisfied smirk on his handsome face. “Now, I’ve really got to get back to work.”
Perillo stood up slowly and adjusted his uniform, taking up time and waiting for Nico. Daniele followed his lead. It wasn’t like the maresciallo to waste time, but Nico hadn’t come back yet.
“I’ll need to speak to your mother,” Perillo said. He would also have to speak to Stella, who had been with Gianni when he’d supposedly found the money.
“Sure. Mamma’ll vouch for me.” They all heard the toilet flush. Gianni walked to the front door, twirling the key chain. “You’ll find her at the post office in Panzano.”
“I’m not finished yet,” Perillo warned, not moving.
Gianni spun around. “God Almighty, now what?”
“You need to come to the station and sign a statement.”
Gianni pointed at Daniele. “He’s been taking notes all this time. I’ll sign them here.”
“Notes won’t do. We need a formal statement. You can come with us now.”
Nico walked in from the corridor, pushing his shirt into his cargo pants. “Everything okay, Gianni?”
“Well, you weren’t much of a witness, and now they want me to go to Greve and sign a statement.”
“It’s just procedure,” Nico said. “Don’t worry about it.” He turned to Perillo. “Gianni’s quite late for work. Can’t he come this evening?”
Gianni looked relieved, and Perillo understood. Nico had something to tell him first. “No later than seven. Now, we need to take your shotgun.”
“What for?”
“To eliminate it as the weapon that killed Gerardi.”
“I didn’t kill him! How many times do I have to say it? No wonder you guys are known for being slow. How many carabinieri does it take to sink a submarine?”
“That one’s old,” Perillo answered. “Fetch your shotgun now. When you come to the station later, I’ll tell you some better jokes.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“For the jokes, yes. The shotgun, no.”
“I’ll get it for you, but I want it back by next Sunday. I’m going hunting with my buddies.”
“We’ll try our best.”
Back on the street, Daniele asked Nico in a whisper, “You didn’t really have to go to the bathroom, did you?”
“No, but once you get there, why not?”
Daniele hugged Gianni’s shotgun to his chest and smiled. He was catching on.
Nico was staring at the laundromat. “Did forensics look at those machines for blood?”
“Then you think—”
&
nbsp; Perillo cut Daniele off. “They did. Plus the Caritas dumpsters where people leave clothes. Nothing. Now, let’s get this shotgun back to the station. Vince will have to make another trip to Florence.”
“I can do it,” Daniele offered. He’d never been to the renovated Cathedral Museum. He’d finally see the real Baptistery doors.
“No, Dani. I need you with me.”
Daniele knew the real reason the maresciallo didn’t want him to go. He would take twice as long. Vince was a speed demon.
As the three of them walked down to the main piazza, Daniele asked, “How many carabinieri does it take to sink a submarine, though?”
“I’ll tell you a better one,” Perillo said. “A carabiniere runs to his maresciallo. ‘Our squad car got stolen.’ ‘Did you see who it was?’ ‘No, but I got the license plate.’”
“That’s not funny.”
“The police think it is. Don’t get discouraged, Dani. Being the butt of jokes gives us a perverse pride.”
In the piazza, the benches were deserted. The old men were home eating a hearty three-course lunch, pasta and some meat with cooked vegetables. For dessert, whatever fruit was in season. For dinner later, it might be a light soup and cold cuts. A full stomach at night brought nightmares. In between, around five o’clock, they would come out again to chat, complain, maybe start up a game of cards. Luciana’s flower shop was shuttered. The café had only a few clients. It wasn’t coffee time yet. The outside tables at Da Gino were almost full. The best place to talk was in the squad car. As Perillo and Daniele were getting in, the lilac-haired waitress, Gino’s daughter, Carletta, waved at the group.
“Why is her hair that color?” Daniele asked.
“She’s young. You’ve made another conquest,” Perillo said.
“No, she’s waving at you.”
“Well, maybe. I got her out of trouble once.” He turned to Nico, who was sitting in the backseat. “I’m listening.”
“I think you have your man. Unless Gianni can explain why he has a thick stash of euros in his house.”
“Where was it?”
“I got lucky, because his room was a holy mess. It looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a lifetime, which works in our favor. I took out a clean handkerchief”—a Rita must-have—“and started poking around. I noticed the guitar was full of dust, except around the rosette and the strings over the sound hole. I took it down and shook it a few times. Some bills fell out. I pressed my eye against the hole and saw more. Lots and lots of hundred-euro bills, bills I suspect were originally dollars. I put back the bills that fell out, rehooked the guitar and went to the bathroom.”
“You think Gianni killed Gerardi for his money?”
“The watch Gerardi wore did announce he was rich, but Gianni would have had to know the man was carrying that much cash.”
“But how would he get Gerardi to walk into the woods at that time of the morning?”
“Exactly. I think that cash was an extra bonus.”
Daniele snapped his fingers. “Gerardi kept writing to his sister asking about Tilde, so much so that she thought Tilde was the mystery woman. When she told him Tilde had a daughter and the dates matched up, he assumed Stella was his. That’s why he came back.”
Nico felt the blood drain from his face. “She told you.”
“Yes,” Perillo said. “Tilde also told me she has proof that Stella is Enzo’s biological daughter. She’s no longer a suspect.”
Nico’s heart pumped fast with joy. “Thank God.”
“The date on the bracelet charm, January first, 1997, is the date of the rape.” Daniele was on a roll. “What Gerardi thought was the date of Stella’s conception. He saw it as her real birthday.”
“Sick, but the only date he knew himself,” Perillo said. “I wonder if he saw giving that bracelet to Stella as a form of apology.”
“If Gianni didn’t kill for money, then why?” Daniele asked.
“That might not necessarily be the case. We’ll ponder it later,” Perillo said. “We’ve got to get this shotgun to Florence. If our luck holds out, it will have traces of Gerardi’s blood. Gianni is obviously not good at thorough cleaning. Let’s meet up at the station after lunch. Three o’clock okay with you, Nico?”
“Fine.”
“Thanks for thinking so fast.”
“The bathroom trick is very old. I’m surprised Gianni didn’t catch on. By the way, his parents’ bedroom is the last room in the hallway. Gianni could have easily slipped out without them knowing and been back in time for his caffelatte. Ciao for now, and buon appetito.”
“Buon appetito to you too.”
Nico wanted to walk up the steep road back to Sotto Il Fico and give Tilde, Stella, Enzo and Elvira a big hug, but it was the height of the lunch hour. The hugs would have to wait. Right now he was hungry. A mortadella and caciotta sandwich was waiting for him at home, plus OneWag. He missed the little guy.
“What the hell have you done?”
OneWag hid his face between his dirt-caked paws. In front of him, the rosebush was lying on its side, roots exposed. Next to it, a deep hole.
Nico didn’t move from the open garden gate. He wanted to be furious, but his good mood prevented it. “Get out of there!”
OneWag stuck his face in lower. The little mongrel had been clever enough to figure out how to slip out the long wooden stick Nico used to close the gate. At least he’d ruined the one rosebush that wasn’t doing well. But while digging for what?
“Out, I said.”
The dog turned on his back, legs in the air.
Nico stepped into the vegetable garden. “That’s not going to work.” He noticed OneWag had something in his mouth. He walked in closer. “That better not be one of my vegetables.”
No, it was something plastic. He tugged at it. OneWag let go. A sheet of thin plastic. Nico took another step and looked into the hole OneWag had dug. It was full of small pieces of soft, clear plastic. He reached into his pocket and took out his phone.
“Has Vince left for Florence yet?”
“He’s leaving now,” Perillo said. “Why?”
“Tell him to stop by my place first. My dog dug up something forensics needs to look at.”
Taking advantage of the moment, OneWag snaked his way behind Nico, his long ears dragging dirt. It was back to the streets for him.
“What is it?” Perillo asked.
“I think it’s the plastic poncho our murderer used to keep the clothes clean. It’s been cut up into slivers.”
“Bravo, Rocco. I’ll send Vince over right away.”
“His name is—” Nico started to say, but Perillo had already hung up. By now, OneWag was past the gate, ready to start running.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Nico asked. “Come here.”
OneWag started to snake his way back, his small body tensed for a kick or a whack with a stick.
“Walk on your paws. You’re dirty enough as it is.”
OneWag stopped. Nico saw he was trembling and picked him up. He brushed the dirt off his face, his ears, his silky fur. He held the dog tight against his chest to soothe the tremors. He remembered the poor dog had likely experienced some terrible things. “It’s okay. You did a good thing this time.” He turned OneWag’s snout so they were eye to eye. “No more digging in our vegetable garden, okay? You got that?”
OneWag blinked. Nico let go of his snout and got a lick in return. Nico put him down. “Off you go.” OneWag trotted out, tail held high, and dropped down on the grass outside the gate.
Vince showed up five minutes later, and he and Nico gathered all the plastic pieces and carefully dropped them in the evidence bag. On the way back to his car, he dropped a cowhide bone for OneWag. “Rocco should join the carabinieri,” he called out as he gunned the motor and raced out of the driveway, spitting gravel in
every direction.
The three of them sat in a shaded bench in the park facing the carabinieri station. Perillo was in his usual jeans and crisply ironed shirt. Daniele had kept his uniform on. OneWag sat at Nico’s feet, chewing on Vince’s gift. At three in the afternoon, no one was around. They could speak freely, and Perillo could smoke.
“All right, we think Gianni is the killer,” Perillo said. “Now, let’s go over the possible scenario. He sees Gerardi staring at Stella at the Coop and confronts him.”
“What’s more important is that Gerardi sees him with Stella,” Daniele adds. “Am I right?”
“Yes. Gianni is a possible conduit to Stella. After Gianni confronts him, Gerardi asks him to meet somewhere else so he can explain his interest in Stella. I don’t think he makes his plea outside the Coop with Stella nearby. They meet that day or the next, and Gerardi explains Stella’s his daughter, and that she’s going to inherit a lot of his money. He begs Gianni to convince Stella to see him. From how she reacted in the Coop, he knows she’s scared of him. Maybe he offers Gianni some money. Gianni sets up a fake meeting early in the woods behind Nico’s house. Unaware that Gerardi is a dying man, he kills him.”
“The woods behind Nico’s house,” Daniele repeated. “I forgot to tell you, I got the report from the other land experts. No vines are going to grow on the land Gerardi bought.”
“Good,” Perillo said. “Aldo will be happy to hear he wasn’t cheated.”
“So Gianni kills Gerardi,” Nico said, “and in his mind, Stella inherits, which to Gianni means he won’t lose her to some Florentine. She stays in Gravigna, and they get married and live happily ever after on her money. I do think Gianni is arrogant and stupid enough to think that’s how it would have worked out.”
Perillo stubbed his cigarette out on the sole of his shoe. He was about to toss the butt when he caught Daniele looking at him. “We’ll have to wait for forensics to nail him.” He pushed the butt into his pocket. Daniele turned away to hide his smile.
Murder in Chianti Page 28