by Ewan, Chris
‘You’re absolutely right, Sir,’ I said. ‘And it’s all my fault. I take complete responsibility.’ I placed my hand on my heart. ‘No doubt the best thing I can do right now is go straight to the police and confess everything.’
He stared at me, then stared harder. I got the impression he couldn’t quite believe that I had the nerve to speak.
‘You can forget the ruddy police, Charlie. Goodness, don’t you know who this Borelli character is? He’s a snake. A viper. One of the nastiest thugs I’ve ever had the misfortune to cross swords with.’ He glanced sideways at Victoria. ‘Darling, he’s the very reason I came to Venice in the first place.’
THIRTY-THREE
I got the impression that Alfred enjoyed surprising people. You might say that he’d built his life around the sensation. It was there in the improbable triumph of his casino scams – the turn of an unexpected card, the stunning outcome of a risky wager – and I didn’t doubt that it had contributed to his success over the years. Educated and well spoken, with a ready smile and an easy charm, not to mention a bus pass, he was hardly your typical crook. I felt sure that any casino that didn’t know his reputation would be inclined to underestimate him, along with the crew of pensioners he headed up. That would be a mistake. He was shrewd and enterprising, and from what Victoria had told me, he’d won and lost several fortunes in his lifetime. So he relished a surprise, and judging by the twinkle in his eye, he’d delighted in shocking me, too.
‘You didn’t know?’ he asked.
‘About the Count?’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t know much about him at all, to be honest. Other than that somebody wanted him dead, of course, and that I nearly obliged them in killing him.’
‘That would have been no bad thing.’
‘Dad.’
‘Sorry, darling, but it’s true.’ He patted Victoria’s hand. ‘He’s the very devil of a man.’
Alfred loosened his bow tie and popped the top button on his dress shirt. Standing from his chair, he removed his jacket and hung it in his wardrobe, then unfastened his gold cufflinks.
Watching Alfred get comfortable made me realise how much I would have liked to change my own clothes. Wearing another man’s duds has never been a favourite hobby of mine – especially when the man in question has sweated under duress. Still, now wasn’t an ideal time to ask to borrow one of Alfred’s vests. Better just to try and ignore the fusty scent I was experiencing and focus on what he was saying.
Alfred rolled his shirtsleeves up his spindly forearms and gripped the back of a chair. ‘Darling, do you remember me telling you about John and Eunice White?’
Victoria nodded. ‘Of course. They work with you.’
He grimaced, glancing down at his knuckles. ‘A month ago they came to Monte Carlo. We’d enjoyed a rewarding spell in South Korea, you see, and it was time for a break. Never pays to push things too far. John was always a terrific card man, of course. Brain like a computer. Matter of fact,’ he said, pointing his chin at me, ‘he was quite the crime fiction fan. Enjoyed your work very much.’
There wasn’t a lot I could do with the information. Alfred’s tone told me this might not be the happiest tale I’d ever heard, so I offered him a neutral smile and waited for him to continue.
‘Eunice was a capable player, but where she really scored was awareness. Eyes like a hawk. Can’t underestimate that at our age.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ I said.
‘Fantastic couple. Lovely people.’ He shot a sideways look at Victoria. ‘Your mother and I were very fond of them.’
‘I remember Mum talking about them.’
‘Even so,’ he said, with a tilt of his head, ‘John could be a stubborn old mule. Had this blasted obsession with Monte Carlo. I tried to shake him from it, of course – warned him how tight the security can be. But he was always talking with the group about how marvellous it would be to get one over on such a famous casino.’ Alfred sighed. ‘Your mother and I wouldn’t hear of it, naturally, but he was starting to turn heads. Caused a bit of a rumpus, I must say.’
‘You fell out?’ Victoria asked.
‘Hardly. But things were . . . difficult for a time. At one stage, it looked like the group might even split. Your mother patched things up, as you might imagine, and it seemed as if the entire issue was forgotten. Then John heard that a blackjack tournament had been scheduled in Monte Carlo during our break. He insisted on participating.’
‘Did any of the others go too?’
The fabric of the chair had become pinched around Alfred’s bony fingertips. His wrists were shaking. ‘The truth is I forbade them. Said it wouldn’t do. Had to protect the integrity of the team.’
‘Well, that makes sense,’ I told him.
‘I thought so too – at least at the time. And Eunice could see things from my perspective. That’s the only reason I know anything of what happened.’
‘Dad, sit down,’ Victoria said. ‘You’re beginning to worry me.’
Alfred did as he was asked, dropping into the chair like he’d been punctured. He took a swig of whisky. The alcohol seemed to help. It didn’t calm him, exactly, but when he spoke again, there was a renewed conviction in his voice.
‘The tournament went well to begin with. John progressed through the rounds as one might have expected. But Eunice was vigilant, as I say, and something was troubling her. She’d become aware of another player. He was watching John’s play whenever he could, and he had a companion with him – a glamorous young woman who monitored John whenever this chap was engaged in a tournament game himself. Eunice became very worried about it. Eventually, she called me.’
Victoria knitted her brow. ‘I can see why she might have been concerned, Dad, but it doesn’t sound all that sinister.’
‘Not to begin with, perhaps.’ Alfred held up a finger. ‘But as the tournament went on, Eunice became convinced that there was something unsavoury about them. And on one occasion, she felt sure that somebody had been inside her and John’s hotel room. Nothing was missing, but some of their belongings had been disturbed.’
‘Where were they staying?’ I asked.
‘A hotel affiliated with the casino, so of course the security was excellent. Eunice reported the incident and the head of security promised to look into the matter. But she heard nothing further.’
‘I suppose it’s possible that she was imagining it,’ Victoria suggested. ‘She would have known that you had reservations about Monte Carlo, so perhaps she was being more sensitive than normal.’
‘Exactly what I told her,’ Alfred said. ‘But I also encouraged her to photograph the pair and send their pictures to me. I have a number of European contacts who I thought might recognise the couple, and I promised to pass the images along.’
‘And did you?’ Victoria asked.
‘Of course. By then, Eunice had found out that the man was a titled European of some description – a minor Count from Venice, or so she’d heard. My information confirmed as much. We even had his name. Borelli. But neither of us could identify his dazzling companion. The Count was said to be something of a playboy character, so we assumed that she wasn’t a permanent fixture.’
Victoria edged forward in her chair. ‘So what happened? Was it similar to your experience tonight? Was John tricked in some way?’
‘Not in any manner we might have expected.’ Alfred tossed back the last of his whisky, his straggly throat bulging and contracting like an intestine. He contemplated the empty glass, turning it in his hands. ‘In fact, John went on to win the tournament. The prize was no fortune – winning at Monte Carlo is about prestige as much as anything else – but I understand he was paid close to a quarter of a million euros.’
‘Wowzer. Good for John and Eunice.’
Alfred smiled glumly. ‘Not so good, I’m afraid. After the tournament, they hired a car to drive down to Cannes. They planned to celebrate, but somewhere along the coast road beyond Nice there was an incident.’ He drew a breath. ‘They were both
killed.’
‘My God.’ Victoria snatched her hands up to cover her mouth. ‘That’s awful. I’m so sorry.’
‘An incident?’ I cut in. ‘What does that mean? Were they in a crash?’
‘No other vehicle involved.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘It was only a little Renault. From what I gather, the thing exploded – went up like it had hit a landmine. They never stood a chance.’
I looked across at Victoria. There were questions to be asked but she was a better judge of her father than me. I waited for her lead.
‘Dad,’ she began, ‘are you saying that you think Count Borelli was somehow responsible for what happened?’
‘One thing life has taught me, darling, is that there are very few coincidences. I always listened to Eunice’s instincts. We walked away from some big wins over the years because she sensed that something was amiss about a given situation. So if she believed there was something fishy about Borelli and his female cohort, then I’m inclined to believe it.’
‘That’s not exactly proof, Dad.’
Alfred reached across and squeezed Victoria’s knee. Offered her a feeble smile. ‘You’re right. And that’s why, when it seemed the police were doing nothing about the situation, your mother and I decided that I should come and see what I could find for myself. I didn’t get very far in France – the police and hotel security were next to useless – but then I heard about the blackjack tournament here in Venice and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to assess the Count on his own territory.’ He patted Victoria’s thigh, then seemed unsure what to do with his hand. He settled for closing it into a fist and propping it on the arm of his chair. ‘I hoped I might be able to monitor him and see if he slipped up in some way. Perhaps even gather enough evidence to go to the French police myself and embarrass them into arresting him, or failing that, confront the brute directly. And if not,’ he said, unfurling his fist as if releasing something he’d been holding on to, ‘I rather fancied the idea of taking the prize money from him. It struck me as a fitting penalty – at least to begin with. And if all that failed, I thought I might return with the rest of our gang and see what other justice we might be able to exact.’
‘But meanwhile,’ I said, ‘somebody tried to kill him with a bomb of their own.’
Alfred frowned, seemingly disappointed by my contribution, as if I’d hit a bum note in the middle of a three-piece instrumental we’d been performing. ‘Oh no, Charlie. I don’t believe so. I rather think that bomb may have been destined for me.’
I can’t say I’m all that familiar with the correct etiquette of how one should respond when a man tells you that he’s been the subject of a murder plot. Admittedly, I knew not to guffaw loudly, or to accuse him of being a conspiracy nut, but I was unsure what to say next.
Mind you, it must have been worse for Victoria. This wasn’t just a random fantasist – this was her father. And since I’m not completely insensitive, I realised it might be better for me to be the one driving the questioning. After all, nobody enjoys telling their parents that they’re talking horse manure.
‘You look surprised,’ Alfred told me.
‘Maybe a little,’ I admitted.
‘You think I’m mad?’
‘Hardly. But if you’ll forgive me for saying so, I’m not sure I quite follow your logic.’ I pressed my palms together and raised my hands, as if in prayer, so that my fingers were touching my nose and my thumbs were hooked beneath my chin. It was intended to be an educated pose, of the type I’d seen psychologists adopt on television dramas. I wanted Alfred to feel completely at ease. Maybe that way he’d share everything that was going on in his feeble old mind and realise for himself just how much of a loony he sounded. ‘Perhaps you could explain why you think the bomb that went off in Count Borelli’s palazzo was intended for you.’
He pursed his lips, looking as if he was sucking on something sour. ‘Not me, necessarily, though I do believe there was a very good chance of it finding its way to my door.’
‘I’m not sure I quite follow you.’
‘I might have thought it was pretty obvious to a crime novelist.’
Hmm, now that sounded a little passive-aggressive, didn’t it? Still, like any good head doctor, I was willing to weigh all the evidence before I delivered my diagnosis.
‘It’s not as obvious as it might be, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, you do understand that John and Eunice were killed by a bomb.’
‘I understand that you believe that to be the case.’
Alfred’s lips peeled back, revealing his upper incisors. I got the impression he wasn’t the most patient of characters. It was probably best to let him get on with it. I rolled my hand, signalling for him to do just that.
‘Well, I rather think the question becomes: Why?’ Alfred peered at Victoria to make sure she was keeping up. She nodded vaguely and took a sip from her whisky, avoiding his eyes. ‘Two reasons occur to me. One is pure spite – the reaction of a bad loser. Perhaps we can’t rule that out altogether, but I don’t like it a great deal. If someone kills from anger, they’re unlikely to use a bomb. A knife or a gun strikes me as much more common. That leaves reason two. The murder must have been designed to conceal something.’
‘Okay.’
‘Now, from what Victoria has told me, the briefcase you were asked to deliver to Count Borelli was very similar to the one the winner of tonight’s tournament would have been presented with.’
‘It did look that way,’ I allowed. ‘But the case was pretty high up. I’d need to study it much more closely before I could say for certain.’
Alfred propped his elbow on his knee and pinched his bottom lip between his finger and thumb. ‘The Count was meant to be at the final table tonight, agreed?’
I agreed.
‘That means he had a one in six chance of taking the main prize. But let’s assume he wanted to improve his odds.’
It was a reasonable enough proposition. The Count had certainly been eager to get to the casino, which made me think he’d hoped to win quite badly.
‘Well now, what better way to improve his prospects than to ensure that he’d take home the money no matter who won the contest?’ Alfred showed me his palm, like a magician aiming to prove that he wasn’t concealing anything. ‘Let’s say I’d won – which, by the way, I was certainly on course to do – I’d have been presented with my briefcase of cash, yes?’
‘One would certainly hope so.’
‘And meanwhile, the Count had an identical case.’
‘My God,’ Victoria said. ‘You think he planned to switch them?’
Alfred clicked his fingers. ‘Precisely. He walks away with the money, and I walk away with a case full of Semtex. Then, when I open the thing . . . SPLAT!’ Alfred slapped his hand against his bony thigh. ‘I’m a dead man. No chance of me pursuing my missing half-million.’
He reclined in his chair and studied me for a time, waiting to see the light hit my eyes. The light was a long time coming. I was having trouble with the theory.
‘But the Count didn’t have the case. It had already exploded by then.’
‘Ah, but only because you decided to open it. If your curiosity hadn’t got the better of you, he would have had a perfectly primed weapon.’
Hmm. I supposed the theory wasn’t completely without merit. But it was a long way from watertight.
‘There’s still plenty of holes in your explanation,’ I told him. ‘The girl who gave me the bomb did it because she wanted Borelli dead. So did the people she works for. I was told to go back and shoot him. That has to mean the explosion was originally intended to take him out.’
‘This girl,’ Alfred said. ‘Victoria tells me that you believe she was the dealer at my table tonight?’
I nodded. ‘Her name’s Graziella. And my understanding is that she rigged the cards in favour of the fellow with the high-calorie diet and the wayward beard.’
‘I confess, that did surprise me. I’m not sure how he fit
s into the picture quite yet.’
I didn’t risk looking at Victoria. I wasn’t about to explain our connection for fear of sidetracking Alfred. ‘He’s not someone you’d noticed before?’ I asked.
‘I was aware of him – been noting his progress during the tournament. French by the sounds of what little he said at the table tonight. Or possibly Belgian. Certainly lacking in manners, not to mention how shoddily he was dressed.’
It was probably best not to concern myself with Alfred’s opinion of my own outfit. ‘But doesn’t the way Graziella helped him to win suggest that Borelli’s chances of getting his hands on the case were practically zero?’
Alfred’s mouth became a squiggly line. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, then heaved himself up out of his chair and stepped across to a suitcase on a fold-out stand beside his wardrobe. He unzipped a compartment and removed a brown business envelope, offering it across to me.
‘What’s this?’ I asked.
‘Take a look.’
I parted the envelope and slipped my hand inside. The envelope contained a set of colour photographs. The images had been printed onto sheets of A4 paper, wrinkled by heavy ink. They looked as if they’d been pulled off a home computer. I shuffled through them, then passed them to Victoria.
‘That’s Borelli and Graziella,’ I said. ‘Her hair might be blonde in the photographs, but I happen to know she has a wig just like it.’
‘I recognised her myself,’ Alfred told me.
‘But what does this mean?’ Victoria asked, waving the photographs in the air. ‘What’s the significance of these pictures?’
Alfred rested a hand on her shoulder and bent down to kiss her on the crown of her head. ‘These are the photographs Eunice sent me from Monte Carlo. I think we could have assumed it was the same Count. But until I began playing in the tournament, I’d never spotted the girl before. She was dealing every night this week, and our friend Borelli always seemed to rally when she was at his table. I knew why, of course, but now I understand from Charlie that as well as being a card sharp, she also has a facility as a burglar. You’ll recall that Eunice believed her hotel room had been broken into. I’d say it’s highly likely that our girl here was responsible.’