temptation in florence 05 - seaside in death

by boeker, beate

Patelli took a deep breath, but his hands remained clenched. “I was in the neighborhood. At least, earlier in the day. I usually go and have cup of coffee with Agatha, the owner of the Caffè Stretto around five in the afternoon.”

  Oh, no. Garini suppressed a groan but made sure his face didn't betray his thoughts. He could already see Agatha and the Mantonis cooking up the perfect alibi for Patelli.

  “That day, I was later than usual. I arrived around six and stayed until six thirty or so, then I went home on foot.”

  “On foot?”

  The tiny house was in Strettoia, a small district inland. It had not taken Garini long to get there by car – fifteen minutes at most, but it had been uphill, and they were now at the furthest tip of a narrow street with broken pavement. In front of the house, a vineyard soaked up the early morning sun in well-ordered terraces that were in stark contrast to the dilapidated state of the street, and on the other side, a row of lemon trees with fat yellow fruit lined the street. Garini wondered if the property belonged to the Patelli family.

  Patelli glared at him. “Yes, on foot, Commissario. I had to sell my car when I lost my job. Besides, I don't have much to do, so I can just as well walk. It helps to pass the time. I arrived here around eight. I'm a slow walker. Later, I had dinner with my mother here. Then we went to bed. So I don't have an alibi.” The lines from his nose to the corners of his mouth deepened.

  Garini felt a twinge of compassion. Here was a man who had lived for his job, and when it had been taken away from him, he had nothing left. What a sad summary for a life full of diligence and hard work. He realized that he wouldn't get anywhere if he continued to talk along the standard lines with Patelli, so he leaned back into the uncomfortable sofa and spread his hands. “Look, Signor Patelli, I'm going to be quite frank with you. From all the information I have gathered so far, few people will miss the victim. He was universally disliked, and with good reason.”

  Patelli leaned forward, his eyes burning in his gaunt face. “I knew it! I knew he had some hold over Signor Ortadella, the owner of the hotel. There was no other way he could have gotten my job.”

  Garini continued as if Patelli hadn't spoken. “But in spite of that, we have to find the murderer and have to punish him. It's not right to take justice into your own hands and execute people because they've done wrong. If we ignore those basic rules, our society will end up in utter chaos.” He pushed aside the thought about all the people in Italy who didn't stick to the basic rules of their society. Now was not the time to discuss politics and crime in general. He had a murderer to catch.

  Patelli's thin mouth turned into a mutinous shape. “I'm not interested in finding the murderer. But if I ever should meet him, I'm going to shake his hand.”

  Patelli's mother crossed herself and threw an apologetic glance at Jesus above the door.

  “You've not thought this through, Signor Patelli,” Garini said. “I'm sure that in the course of your professional life, you've had guests you refused to take into the hotel because you knew they would create trouble.”

  “Why, of course. You have no idea what the wrong kind of people can--”

  “Quite. Now, if one of those people had decided that you were superfluous and an obstacle, they could easily have eliminated you.”

  Signora Patelli murmured something under her breath.

  “But they didn't. Now please cast your mind back and help me find the murderer. I take it you didn't do it?”

  Patelli stared at him. “No, Commissario. I didn't kill Rosari.”

  “Why not?” He shot the sentence out like a bullet.

  Patelli flushed. “Why . . . I . . . I may have talked wildly but . . .”

  “But?” Garini pushed him on. Patelli didn't know it, but his stammering and confusion was quite convincing. So far, he was making a good impression.

  “But I . . . I mean . . . after all . . . you can't walk around killing people, can you?”

  “Exactly.” Garini's voice was dry. “Yet someone did. And we have to find him to stop him from continuing. Who knows, you might be the murderer's next intended victim.”

  “I?” Patelli's eyes widened.

  “Yes. You. If you should return to your old job at the hotel, you'll take Rosari's place. Maybe the job had something to do with it.” That was unlikely, but he had to get Patelli talking.

  Patelli's mother placed her thin hands onto her hips and shot a volley of incomprehensible words at her son. He lifted both hands in surrender and turned back to Garini. “All right, all right, I'll tell you all I know. But it's not much.”

  “Well?”

  “They say there were voices on the night of the murder.”

  “Who's they?”

  Patelli shrugged. “I don't know. It's the talk on the street.”

  Garini gave him a hard look.

  Patelli moved in his seat with an agitated expression on his face. “Truly, I don't know. But people whisper that they heard shouting before the shot. They heard raised voices.”

  “The voices of men fighting?”

  “Yes.”

  “Or a man and a woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “It can't be both, Signor Patelli.”

  “I'm telling you, I don't know!” Patelli sounded exasperated now, but not nervous any longer. “That's what they say. Voices shouting, then the shot. Then nothing.”

  “That's not much to go on.”

  “I know.” Patelli shrugged. “But it's all I know. If I hear more, I'll tell you.” He cocked his head to the side. “How are things at the hotel going?”

  “The staff is trying to keep up.” Garini got up. “If I can give you one piece of advice – and this has nothing to do with this interview – go and apply for another job. I agree with Carlina that you should move on and that you're likely to find something soon with your good qualification.”

  Patelli stared at him. “Ortadella would never give me a good recommendation.”

  Garini switched off the tape recorder. “I wouldn't be too sure of that. Why don't you ask him?” The words were out before he could take them back, but at that instant, he realized that he might have put Patelli into danger. Darn. If Ortadella had been blackmailed by Rosari and had killed him in order to free himself of the blackmail, then Patelli's sudden approach might lead Ortadella to believe that Garini had leaked the information to him. Having killed one blackmailer successfully was excellent preparation for another murder. He liked Patelli, and that had led him to stray onto dangerous territory. It would never do. “On second thoughts,” he said, “I take that back. Don't approach Ortadella at the moment.”

  Patelli looked confused. “Why not?”

  “Because we're still in the middle of a murder investigation and anything you do might muddle the investigation. You can start to apply for other jobs but don't approach anyone who's involved in the case, all right?”

  Patelli shrugged with a sullen look on his face.

  “Signor Patelli,” Garini put his hand onto the thin man's shoulder. “Listen. I like you, and I don't want you to be in danger. Will you promise not to contact anybody who's involved in the case for the moment?”

  Patelli pressed his mouth into one thin line.

  His mother threw him a furious glance, then she stepped forward and drew herself up to her full height so that the top of her head reached Garini's ribs. “I promise,” she said.

  Garini nodded at her. “Grazie.” He wanted to kick himself when he left the house. Under no circumstances should he have allowed his emotions to muddle the case. Giving advice, my foot. Who was he, God on earth? He had just endangered a man who'd had enough to suffer already. As soon as this case was over, he was going to call his friend Peter from the luxurious Garibaldi Hotel in Florence. Peter would know where a good hotel manager was needed. But he couldn't do that yet. First, he had to solve this case and make sure to arrest the right person. Maybe Patelli was the murderer after all. He had to keep a clear head onto his shoulders, no matter how much
sympathy he felt for anybody involved. With a victim as hateful as Rosari, it was hard to keep on looking with due diligence. The temptation to look away became bigger with every new fact he learned about the dead man.

  He looked over the gently sloping hills down toward the coast. The sun was already high in the sky, heating up the summer landscape. On the horizon, the Ligurian sea beckoned to him – blue and beautiful. He missed Carlina's presence. Oh, how he hated to be separated from her after they had quarreled. He had to make up with her as soon as possible, but first, he had to return to the police station. Lampone was waiting for him. But when Garini came into the police station, Lampone's news blew away any other thoughts he'd had.

  “We now know the owner of the gun,” Lampone waved a piece of paper underneath Garini's nose, his white hair standing to attention like an army of soldiers. “You'll never believe this!”

  Chapter 11

  When Carlina woke up and found Stefano gone without a note, she felt bereft. Skipping breakfast, she put on her bikini and the first clothes that were at hand and went down to the beach, feeling the need for solitude and beauty around her. Once she got to the shore, she stopped and took a deep breath. It was early still, quiet and serene. She held her sandals in one hand, so she could walk through the shallow water. The water felt cool and nice, and the soft sand welcomed her feet. Glistening highlights were reflecting on the water. It was all so beautiful, so summery and carefree, but inside her, everything was dark and cold and hard. Aimlessly, she walked on and on and on, with her gaze fixed on the ground.

  How she hated to be at odds with Stefano. He really should have believed her that she hadn't created any false evidence. Why, she had barely talked to Agatha and had come late into the discussion. He should have listened to her. Who did he think she was? A criminal?

  Her thoughts circled around their relationship. It wasn't easy to go out with a policeman when your family was bent on being highly unconventional. She loved him and was very happy with him, but whenever her overwhelming family was near, she felt stretched in two different directions.

  Carlina stumbled into a shallow puddle she'd not seen and looked up with a start. She had no idea where she was. The beach clubs all looked the same – rows and rows of little umbrellas and sun loungers, all identical if you didn't count the change in color every two hundred meters. It would take her ages to return to the hotel. With a heavy heart, she turned around. She was hot and thirsty and discouraged. Most of all, she was angry that neither Stefano nor Ernesto trusted her. Men! They all wanted to do everything by themselves. Stupid guys. She kicked up the sand and grumbled underneath her breath, then decided that she'd better return by way of the promenade. It would be hotter, but she was less likely to lose her way.

  Her thoughts now turned to her cousin. Ernesto had avoided her yesterday, looking as if he hadn't slept in a week. Really, he had clammed up in a completely unprecedented way. She thought back to the conversation they'd had on the pier. He hadn't admitted anything, but when she'd told him that he was covering for someone, he had not protested. Surely that was a sign? If it was wrong, he would have said so. But he hadn't. So maybe he had told her something after all, without meaning to.

  Carlina reached the promenade and marched on, deep in thought. Without the constant distraction of her family around, she finally had time to think. What could Ernesto have meant when he said that growing up was so hard? She stopped in the shade of a leafy palm tree and frowned. Growing up . . . progressing into adulthood with all its challenges and fears. Ernesto was eighteen; they should start getting used to the fact that he was a young adult now. And suddenly, it all came together in one blinding light: His impatience to leave on vacation. His pride in his super cool sunglasses. The excessive use of aftershave. The uncharacteristic stubbornness to give up the room with the free access to the garden.

  Ernesto had fallen in love! He had fallen in love with a girl here in Forte dei Marmi, and he was meeting her secretly, at night. Carlina gasped. Was that the right conclusion? It seemed incredible that Ernesto, who had so far only shown an interest in computer games and chemicals, should have fallen for a girl – and fallen hard, if she was any judge. But then, he had to start at some point. But why was he keeping it a secret? And how had they met? They only spent two weeks of the year here at the seaside.

  She frowned and went on to the closest gelateria. An ice-cream was in order now. It would help cool her brain. She ordered three tastes - mango and apricot and lemon - in a crisp waffle cone, then slowly walked toward the hotel, licking the tangy ice-cream.

  Now that she'd gotten used to the idea of Ernesto having a girlfriend, it didn't seem quite so fantastic anymore. Now that she thought about it, she realized that Ernesto had kept in touch with several locals throughout the years. They'd played together on the beach when they were small, and somehow, a friendship had developed. The parents of the local kids were all busy in some way or other in the tourist trade, without much time to look after their kids during high season, and Ernesto had loved to be surrounded by boys of his age for once.

  At least, she assumed that they were all boys. In fact, one of them had come to stay with them in Florence several years ago. He'd driven home with them after the vacation of the Mantoni family had come to an end and had spent a week with Ernesto at Benedetta's apartment. They had hardly seen the two boys. Maybe that was why she didn't remember his name. Or did she? Flavio. That was it! His name was Flavio. A nice guy. Calm and friendly, if a bit awkward. But then, they all were like that at that age. He was also a bit older than Ernesto. Two years? Something like that. Gosh, that would make him twenty. Not so very young anymore. Suddenly, she felt ancient though she was only thirteen years older than her cousin.

  Now she remembered another thing. Ernesto often played online games with partners that could be at the other end of the world, and some of them came from Forte dei Marmi. He had once mentioned that, and she knew that he spent half his day texting friends and keeping in touch via Facebook or whatever social media platform they used. So maybe it wasn't far-fetched at all that he had found a girlfriend from Forte dei Marmi.

  Somewhere, a radio played this years' summer song, a happy tune that invited you to skip a bit and hum along. True summer feeling. She sighed. Everything could be perfect. Instead, they had to chase a murderer. She finished her ice-cream with regret and continued to think. So Ernesto had a girlfriend. And he was covering for her with a fierce protectiveness that spoke volumes. First, of his love for her. Second, of his conviction that she was guilty. A shiver ran down her spine. What if she really was guilty? No wonder Ernesto was crushed. Imagine, loving someone, à corps perdu, as the French said, with your whole body lost . . . and then to find that this person was a murderer. She didn't even want to imagine what she would feel like if she'd ever have to suspect that Stefano had murdered someone. She stopped in mid movement, her foot in the air. Wait a minute. That's what Stefano had had to imagine several times already about her. She shuddered again. Good thing this time her motive for killing the hotel manager was negligible. Now back to Ernesto. Who was the girl?

  She could try to find this friend of Ernesto, Flavio. But she wasn't even sure that she would recognize him. Boys changed a lot from fifteen to twenty. Besides, she had hardly seen him during that short week in Florence all those years ago. She couldn't ask Ernesto, that much was sure. She couldn't join the gaming community and try to get into that circle, either. She had no clue what games Ernesto played and it would take way too long. She had to find that girl now.

  Carlina walked on, her mind circling around the problem, hardly noticing where she was going. The day was scorching, with the heat coming off the asphalt in waves. Without making a conscious decision, she found herself back at the hotel, next to the pool. It was deserted. No wonder, considering that this was where the murder had taken place. Besides, it was almost lunch time now, so people would be flocking to the restaurants.

  The water beckoned to her, cool and
blue. A bird chirped somewhere in an olive tree, and the bees were busy. It was a peaceful scene, one where murder didn't belong.

  On a whim, Carlina pulled off her shirt and shorts and slipped out of her shoes, then dove into the water. It was cooler than she'd expected, and she came up again gasping for air but at the same time, feeling much better. She turned onto her back and stretched out with a contented sigh, floating on the water without moving. This was, after all, her holiday. When she lifted her head just a little bit, she could see her toes peeping out of the water. The dark-red nail polish with an extra glittering layer looked nice next to the blue. She dropped her head back and continued to float, enjoying the cool water all around her while feeling the warm sunshine on her face. This is heaven.

  That's when she heard a gasp.

  Her eyes flew open. At the edge of the pool stood the waitress Nora. She had pressed both hands against her mouth.

  “Nora! What's the matter?” Carlina swam to the side of the pool and gripped the edge. “What happened?”

  Nora's brown eyes had widened so that the whites showed all around. “I thought you were dead.” She gulped and sank down at the edge of the pool, her knees folding underneath her as if they didn't have the strength to carry her anymore.

  “I'm sorry.” Carlina wiped the water from her eyes. “I was just relaxing a bit. I didn't mean to startle you.”

  “That's all right.” Nora still seemed to have trouble with her breathing. “I shouldn't have reacted like that. I just thought it was another body, and so close to the spot where Signor Rosari's body was found . . . that startled me.”

  Carlina blinked. So close to the spot? She didn't know where the murdered man had been killed. Somewhere at the pool, yes, but she hadn't asked Stefano for any details. How did Nora know about that? Carlina hadn't seen any spots of blood – but she hadn't looked for them, either.

  Nora gave her a nervous glance. “Silvia, the girl who does the rooms, told me about it,” she said as if she had read Carlina's thoughts. She pointed toward the hotel. “You can see the pool from the guest rooms.”