temptation in florence 05 - seaside in death

by boeker, beate

  He sighed. “I don't see that stupid Commissario Pucci doing anything besides arresting Ernesto.”

  A high voice cut through the friendly chatter of the coffee shop. “Ernesto will be arrested?” Benedetta rushed from the counter, where she had been waiting to be served, to Garini and gripped his shoulders. “You have to make sure this won't happen, Stefano!” She shouted at him, punctuating every word with a shake.

  All conversation in the coffee shop stopped; all eyes turned to her.

  Benedetta didn't spare them a glance. “I won't see my lamb going into prison!”

  “Shush, Benedetta.” Leopold appeared behind Benedetta and placed a placating hand on her arm. “Calm down, my love. Stefano is a pro. He'll handle the case, and he'll make sure that nothing will happen to Ernesto.” He looked at Garini with an entreating look, much like a puppy asking for a cuddle.

  Garini closed his eyes for a moment. Normal arguments and procedures didn't get you anywhere with the Mantoni family, but he had to try. “I'm not in charge of this investigation,” he said. “In fact, the Commissario suspects even me. I can't promise anything.”

  Benedetta stared at him. “I know exactly what you're saying! You don't want to help Ernesto! You want to stay out of it! I can't believe this!” She placed her hands on her hips. “Is that the way to treat the family of your future wife?”

  Carlina turned to Stefano, her eyes wide, her surprise exaggerated. “Are we engaged? I didn't know that.”

  “Nor I.” He smiled at her. What a gallant fighter she was. She knew that he would do everything he could possibly do to help Ernesto, but she also understood that he was limited by certain facts, something the rest of the Mantoni family never seemed to accept. How on earth had she turned out so sane, coming from this family? Underneath the table, he took her hand and held it.

  Benedetta stomped her foot, recognizing the comment for the distraction it was. “I don't want to talk about your engagement! I want you to protect Ernesto!”

  Garini sighed. “I've called the best lawyer I know for Ernesto.”

  “The lawyer is not family! He won't understand!”

  Garini eyed her. Did Benedetta know more about this whole thing? What was he supposed to understand? It sounded as if “understanding” really meant “hiding”. He would have to talk to her later, without an audience. “I'll do all I can.”

  “There.” Leopold put his arm around Benedetta's shoulder. “That's a promise. You can rely on that.”

  Benedetta sighed and turned away.

  When Carlina and Stefano left the coffee shop a short time later, she said with hope in her voice, “Maybe we can make this lawyer fall in love with Annalisa. Then he'll be one of the family, and even Benedetta will believe that he's doing his best.”

  Garini shuddered. “You don't know Domenico Rulo. Believe me when I say that you don't want him in the family.”

  She took his hand and held it up to her cheek. “Are you sure you're not prejudiced because he works on the other side?”

  He enjoyed the feeling of her soft cheek on his skin, but managed to give a snort in response to her words. “His face looks as if he ran into a wall.”

  Her eyes widened. “All smashed in?”

  “Kind of. It's hard to describe. His nose is pointed and sharp, but it still manages to look as if it wants to retrace its way inside the head. His lips are so thin, they're almost invisible, and the chin is receding a lot, so when you look at him from the side, he's a bit like an egg.”

  Carlina stared. “Like an egg?”

  “Yep. That's our nickname for him. The egg. The bad egg. The rest of him is tall and bony.”

  “He may not be beautiful, but he may have a beautiful soul.”

  Stefano sighed. “Bad eggs don't have beautiful souls. This one is out to make money. Trust me.”

  Carlina swallowed. “Then why did you call him in?”

  “Because he'll reduce that fat good-for-nothing Commissario Pucci to dust. However, he can only get here late tonight, so we'll have to wait.”

  “Then let's make the best of it and go down to the beach,” Carlina said.

  They spent the day like all the other careless holiday guests, but underneath a sense of foreboding went with them. It sneaked with them into the waves while they were splashing around, it froze a part of them when they had a cool and tangy gelato, and it stayed with them like a stone inside their stomachs while they had lunch and took a pisolino, a nap. The afternoon dragged on while nothing happened at all. Finally, the Mantoni family had their celebratory ferragosto dinner as planned, but their gaiety was forced. When Ernesto excused himself early, saying he wasn't hungry, his mother Benedetta was on the verge of tears, but she let him return to the hotel without insisting on accompanying him.

  As one person, the Mantoni family decided to miss the fireworks this year. None of them wanted to see the lights exploding when every bang would make them jump, reminding them of the fatal shot last night.

  They returned to the hotel after dinner, dragging their feet. Carlina waited until the family was out of earshot and then asked the receptionist if a lawyer by the name of Domenico Rulo had arrived. “Oh, yes,” the receptionist nodded. “He came a few minutes ago and asked to speak to Ernesto Santorini. I think they went to his room.”

  Garini lifted his eyebrows, took Carlina by the arm and led her out of the lobby again, down the path that led around the hotel toward the pool.

  The heat of the day still came off the stone walls of the hotel, and in spite of the dark, they could see that the gravel gave up little clouds of dust with every crunching step they took. Garini could feel a trickle of sweat running down between his shoulder blades.

  Carlina pulled at his sleeve. “If we step onto the grass, they won't hear us.”

  He smiled at her. So she already knew what he was trying to do.

  Without another word, they moved away from the path and inched closer to Ernesto's room. Next to the door that led to Ernesto's room, a bougainvillea as large as a tree reached up to the next story. It foamed with its red flowers. Next to it, a rosemary bush went up to Carlina's hips. Still warm from the hot day, it gave out a powerful scent.

  Carlina and Garini went as close as they dared, screened by the shrubbery, and leaned against the faded orange wall of the hotel.

  With care, Garini stretched and looked through a gap in the flowers.

  The glass door stood wide open, but he couldn't see anything. However, they could hear voices.

  “I've already told you everything. That's all I can say.” Ernesto sounded tired.

  A nasal, unemotional voice replied. “Look, I don't care if you killed him.”

  “I didn't kill anybody!”

  “Let me proceed, please.” The voice was cold. “As I said, it doesn't make any difference to me if you killed him or not. It's my job to get you out of this mess, and if you help me, it'll be easier. So tell me everything you know, even if it's to your disadvantage, and I'll decide how much has to be disclosed to the police. The worst thing you can do is not to trust me.”

  “The lawyer sounds terrible.” Carlina whispered into Stefano's ear.

  Stefano nodded.

  “I've told you all I know.” Ernesto's voice became stubborn. “Now leave me alone.”

  “I'm supposed to defend you, my boy.”

  “I don't need a defense.”

  Domenico Rulo's voice turned colder still. “You should have told me that before I had to rush here on ferragosto of all the days in the year. Do you think I like to waste my time?”

  “No. I'm sorry.” Ernesto sighed. “I didn't know that you would come. My family arranged it, and I wasn't aware of it. I could have told them it's useless.”

  Stefano turned his head and met Carlina's unbelieving gaze.

  A sudden noise shook the house. It sounded as if someone had opened the door to Ernesto's room with so much force that the door had banged against the wall.

  Like an echo, a loud explosio
n and banging started outside. The fireworks of ferragosto had begun.

  Inside, the voice of Commissario Pucci rang out like a fanfare. “I've come to arrest you, Ernesto Santorini!”

  Chapter 6

  Carlina grabbed Stefano's arm and held onto it with all her might.

  He covered her hand and held it in a clasp that was not only comforting but also made sure she didn't rush forward.

  “Can I see your warrant?” The lawyer's voice sounded bored.

  “Who the heck are you?” Pucci didn't give an inch.

  “My name is Domenico Rulo. I'm an attorney, and I'm representing Ernesto Santorini. I'm surprised that you don't know me.”

  “I can't know every lawyer,” Pucci said in an offhand voice. “Now, you'd better come without a fight, Signor Santorini.”

  Rulo gave an annoyed hiss. “Let me repeat it once again: You've got to show me the warrant before you can take my client anywhere.”

  “I'll have it the day after tomorrow,” Pucci said.

  Stefano's jaw went slack.

  Pucci continued, “In the meantime--”

  Rulo cut in. “You can't arrest my client without a warrant.”

  “It's ferragosto, and that's why I can't get a hold of the right people at the moment.” Pucci said in a nonchalant way as if his behavior was standard procedure. “Now don't confuse the issue. The warrant is a mere technicality in this case.”

  “The mere technicality, as you call you, Signor, is absolutely necessary. Who do you think you are? The Gestapo?”

  Pucci's voice rose. “I have a right to make an immediate arrest if I fear that the suspect is going to escape.”

  “I'm not going anywhere.” Ernesto sounded close to panic.

  Carlina made a step forward, but Garini pulled her back.

  “You've heard my client.” The lawyer's voice was cold. “Besides, your findings are way too weak to justify an arrest at this point.”

  “That's where you're wrong, Signor!” Pucci was shouting now, so Carlina and Stefano had no problem following the conversation. “We've found the murder weapon underneath the suspect's bed!”

  “What?” Ernesto's voice rose an octave. “The murder weapon was found underneath my bed?”

  “Yes.” Commissario Pucci was clearly proud of himself. “We searched the house this afternoon, while you were all out, and we found it right away. It wasn't a very clever hiding place, you know. I've just returned from the station with the result, and yes, the bullet did come from this gun.” There was a rustling sound. “Here it is. Now, do you recognize it?”

  “I've never seen it in my life,” Ernesto's voice shook. “Never!”

  “I didn't expect you to say anything else,” Pucci's voice was an insult.

  “Did you check if it's registered?” The lawyer asked.

  “Not yet.” Pucci sounded patient, as if he had to explain things to a slow child. “But how many more facts do you want?”

  “Quite a few, Commissario.” Rulo's voice couldn't become any icier. “As you said yourself, the hiding place was too obvious. Someone else might have put the gun underneath my client's bed.”

  “Rubbish. I don't understand at all why you have to go ahead and make things complicated when everything is crystal-clear.”

  “Have you ever heard of a solution that's too easy?”

  “Bah!” Pucci said. “Ninety percent of the people who find the victim are the murderer.”

  It became so still that they could hear a lone cicada singing in the garden.

  Then Domenico Rulo said, slowly, pronouncing each word with care, “What's your name?”

  “I'm Commissario Pucci, and I'm in charge of this case, though as far as I'm concerned, it's already solved. You may say what you want, but--”

  The lawyer interrupted him, “Where is Commissario Garini?”

  “Commissario who?”

  “The man who called me in.”

  “He means Stefano Garini,” Ernesto said. “You talked to him when . . .” he gulped, “when you came to see the body.”

  “Oh, him.” Pucci's voice was full of contempt. “I don't know where he is. He's not important.”

  Rulo said, “He will be.”

  “I have no idea what you mean,” Pucci's voice was waspish, “and I sure don't want to know. You're obstructing the police. Now, let's go ahead with the arrest.”

  “You're not proceeding with this outlandish arrest, my lad,” Rulo said. “Go back to where you came from and get the necessary documents. Once you have them, you can contact me again. Here's my card.”

  “I'll hold you personally responsible if the suspect escapes!” It was clear from Pucci's tone that he had finally realized his weak position.

  “Yeah, sure.” The lawyer sounded bored. “Now go.”

  The door banged, and for an instant, they could hear nothing but the excited buzz of the cicada.

  Then Rulo said, “Can you explain how the gun came to be underneath your bed, Signor Santorini?”

  “No!” Ernesto's voice was still much too high. “I swear to God, to the Madonna! I've never seen the gun in my life.”

  “Never?” Rulo's voice was dry.

  “Never! I don't even know how to shoot! I've never held a gun.”

  Rulo sighed. “You're hiding something, and let me tell you that you're doing a bad job. Even a fat loser like this Commissario Pucci can smell a rat when it's as badly hidden as that.”

  “I'm not hiding a rat.” Ernesto sounded like a stubborn child. “I'm not hiding anything.”

  “Wrong.” Rulo cut in with angry tone. “I know better, and I can tell you that your behavior is obstructing the case. Look, I've gotten quite a few criminals out, but you have to work with me to make it happen. I'm on your side.”

  “Nobody's on my side.” Ernesto said so softly they almost didn't hear it.

  Carlina swallowed. What had happened to her easy going cousin?

  “Have it your way, but you have to know that I don't like to be defeated. If you're not willing to work with me, then I'll refuse to take your case.”

  “Why did you come in the first place?” It was clear from Ernesto's tone that he had decided to keep the lawyer at arm's length.

  “Because Stefano Garini called me. I don't have much use for him; he's too straitlaced, but the fact that he called me intrigued me. He must have been pretty scared to call me in, so I couldn't resist coming and having a look. But I won't be defeated by the stupid behavior of a scared teenager.”

  “Stefano? Scared?” Ernesto sounded as if he had only taken in half the words.

  “Yes.” Rulo said with an openness that bordered on brutality. “And from all I've seen, he has a right to be scared. So will you tell me all you know or won't you?”

  Ernesto didn't reply.

  Rule gave a snort. “Here's my card. I'm leaving. When you change your mind, call me. I've booked a hotel two streets down. I'll give you until eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. If you don't contact me by then, I'll be off again to enjoy the rest of my holidays.”

  Carlina grabbed Stefano by the arm. “Come along,” she whispered. “We've got to talk to Ernesto.”

  They hurried around the house, keeping to the shadows as much as possible to avoid being seen. A thin moon was rising, and a soft murmuring wind relieved the heat of the day. Just before they came around the front corner, Carlina stopped. “Wait,” she hissed. “I don't want to meet Rulo.”

  They watched as the lawyer strode out of the lobby; a scowl on his face. He had his cell phone at his ear and was barking something into it. Then he threw himself into a black Mercedes convertible and raced out of the hotel parking lot with tires screeching.

  Carlina ran forward. She hurried through the lobby, intent on reaching Ernesto, but a wheelchair shot out of nowhere and came to a stop right in front of her. Carlina stumbled over it and lost her balance, but managed to avoid a fall by gripping the wheelchair. For a moment, one side of the wheelchair hung in the air, and it was t
ouch and go if the whole thing would overturn with Aunt Violetta in it.

  However, Aunt Violetta was much more flexible than her bulk and age led one to expect. She threw herself to the side and managed to get the wheelchair back onto the ground again. “What on earth do you think you're doing, Carlina?” Her booming voice filled the lobby.

  “Sorry, Aunt Violetta.” Carlina still held onto the armrest of the wheelchair. “I . . . I just wanted to reach Ernesto.”

  “He's talking to that lawyer. A nasty bit of work, that man, if you ask me.” Aunt Violetta glowered at Garini. “I have no idea why you called him in. He doesn't even have a nose.”

  “He's the best attorney I know.” Garini said. “When did you talk to him?”

  Aunt Violetta drew herself up. “I wanted to be present when he talked to Ernesto, to help the lad, but this . . . this terrible piece of work threw us out.”

  “Us?”

  “Yes. Benedetta, Fabbiola, and myself.”

  Carlina saw a muscle twitch at the side of Stefano's mouth and could guess what he was thinking. No lawyer in his right mind would allow those three undeniable forces to join in a difficult interview. Hastily, she said, “Let's see if we can talk to Ernesto now.”

  “I'm coming, too.” Aunt Violetta turned her wheelchair with dexterity and rolled down the lobby.

  Carlina gave Stefano an apologetic look and shrugged her shoulders, then she ran after her.

  When they reached Ernesto's room, the door stood half-way open. Aunt Violetta flung it open. “Ernesto, what did that awful man--?” She broke off.

  Carlina looked over her into the room and saw that it was empty. The French door leading to the garden was open, with the thin gauze curtain that veiled the doors moving like rippling water in the soft wind.

  “Maybe he's in the bathroom.” Aunt Violetta rolled her wheelchair over and flung open the door without so much as a knock.

  But Ernesto wasn't in the bathroom, either.

  “He's gone.” Her voice was bitter. “I wonder where he went.”

  “No doubt he needed a bit of time to recuperate this strength.” Carlina gripped Stefano's hand and pulled him back. “In fact, I think I need some time to recuperate, too. It was an exhausting morning. See you later, Aunt Violetta.”