“Considering how traumatizing the event,” Margo said, “at least we had the good sense to photograph my injuries. That is, El did.”
Nicco handed me a business card containing his email address. “Please send the pictures to me now. In the meantime I will take my own photographs.” He turned to Margo and all but clicked his heels. “That is, with your permission, signorina.”
Another Margo de je vu, this one involved the detective instead of Lorenzo. Still, the same gentle touch and tilt of her chin with one hand while snapping away with the other.
“About the murders,” I said after dispatching my photos to Nicco. “Is there anything you can tell us?”
“Only that neither of you should be overly concerned,” the commissioner replied. “Nor should you venture out alone, especially after dark.”
“What about the scene of the crime?” Margo asked.
“But of course,” he said, taking this as his cue to stand. “We would like for you to walk us through the details again, this time at the crime scene. Now, if it is convenient for you and your sister.”
“Absolutely,” Margo said. “Let’s get this over with.”
At least Margo and I agreed on neither of us wanting to waste the entire day repeating what had already been said.
And yet, as soon as we five trooped down the stairs, the morning kept slipping away. Back and forth between the street and in the alley Commissioner Dante alternated his questioning between Margo and me. Again and again, each time changing those questions ever so slightly while Nicco continued taking notes.
“And why were you alone in the alley,” the commissioner asked Margo.
“As I told you before: I may’ve consumedF a bit too much wine.”
“You said grappa.”
“Yes, grappa, isn’t that wine? They both come from grapes, right?
“Please continue.”
“I forgot the question.”
“The alley, Margo,” I said, having had about all I could take. “Why were you alone in the alley?”
“Oh, yes, the alley … how can I put this delicately? My stomach was behaving so badly I felt the need to empty its contents before going upstairs to Lorenzo’s apartment.”
“Where you were an invited guest,” the commissioner said.
“Well … yes and no.”
“Please be more specific, signorina.”
Margo looked at Lorenzo, as did the rest of us.
“Signorina Savino?” the commissioner asked.
“Are you asking me?” I knew he meant Margo. She, however, seemed off in another world of uncertainty.
After an awkward pause Lorenzo spoke up. “Let me answer that, Dante. Although I had not personally invited the signorina, I’d made it clear to Signorina Elena Savino that her sister would be most welcome.”
“Excuse me, Signorina … Margo Savino,” Nicco said. “About the taxi driver—”
“Please, no need to be so formal. Just call me Margo.”
“And me, Ellen.”
“Or, Elena,” Margo said with a glance at Lorenzo. “She answers to both.”
“I see, thank you.” Whatever Nicco may’ve been thinking didn’t change the expression on his face. “Now, about the driver, do you remember his name, the number on his cab?”
“Good grief, who remembers such details? Certainly not me,” Margo said. “El, help me out here.”
Really, as if I’d cared then or now. Before I could provide an answer more polite than my thoughts, Commissioner Novaro’s phone rang. He excused himself and walked away to answer it. Meanwhile Margo started in on Nicco Rizzi, asking for suggestions as to where we should eat and where we might go, as if he were the local tour guide. Not that he gave her much encouragement in the short time it took before the commissioner came back to us, make that to Nicco since they stepped aside for a brief conversation before resuming what seemed more like an interrogation than an investigation.
“Regarding the recent theft of your wallet, Signorina Ellen,” the commissioner said. “We may have some evidence crucial to the investigation. I regret any further inconvenience but will you please accompany us to the station.”
Margo grabbed my arm, better yet my attention. “El, what theft, what’s he talking about?”
“Nothing really, except when I fell on the boat, the woman on top of me must’ve picked my pocket … more like the wallet from my handbag.”
“And you didn’t think it important enough to tell me?” She released her grip on my arm, a good thing since a grip that tight had started to cut off the circulation.
“I must’ve forgotten, what with all that’s happened since then.”
“Signorini, please,” Nicco said. “The two of you can discuss this later, after we finish our business at the station.”
“If you like, I will also go,” Lorenzo said. “That is with your permission, Dante.”
“You have only but to ask, my friend,” the commissioner said.
Lorenzo, he’d stayed in the background for so long I’d almost forgotten he was still with us.
***
The commissioner’s sedan was dark blue, set off by a red stripe along the side and a white roof, roomy enough to accommodate the five of us although Lorenzo had no choice but to climb into the back seat. With Margo and me to his left, he sat with his knees squeezed into his chest and brushing against his chin. Considering the short distance we drove, he could’ve walked to the station; but having him seated next to me did provide a measure of security I needed more than anything else. As for Margo, she scooted forward, an ideal position to breathe down Nicco’s neck although he didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, was professional enough to ignore the gesture. Which was just as well since he was behind the wheel and driving through part of the crowded tourist area limited to service and emergency vehicles. Nice, we’d worked our way into the upper echelon of transportation, but for reasons I’d not thought possible until last night.
“Where did you find my wallet?” I directed my question to the front seat, not caring whether the answer came from Commissioner Novaro or his hunky assistant.
“All in good time,” the commissioner said without turning around. End of vehicular communication, even from Margo who rarely ran out of meaningless chitchat.
As soon as we arrived at our destination, Nicco parked in the space reserved for the police commissioner. We entered the station and from there followed Commissioner Dante into a private room where he motioned for me to take a seat, along with Margo and Lorenzo, around an oblong table, its feet planted so firmly on the floor it didn’t move to accommodate us. Somewhere along the way we’d lost Nicco. More like he’d taken a detour, perhaps to the men’s room. I could’ve used a potty break myself but figured we’d get this crime business out of the way before my creature comforts.
“Forgive me for not going into more detail before,” Commissioner Dante said to me rather than to Margo. “But I did not wish to upset you or your sister. It seems a wallet containing several hundred euros has turned up, a discovery my investigators only brought to my attention this morning.”
“Which explains the investigation of my assault getting short-changed,” Margo said.
Margo, ever the narcissistic, it was enough to make me slap some humility into her, though only in my mind, another reminder about not being so hard on my almost murdered sister. I was, however, prepared to jam my heel into her foot but soon got sidetracked when Nicco showed up with a brown manila envelope dangling from one hand.
“About your wallet, Signorina Ellen,” he said. “Could you please describe it?”
“Brown leather, as I told you before. Cheap by Italian standards but I got a terrific deal on it in the States … an outlet mall … never mind. Oh, I almost forgot. It contained a St. Christopher’s medal … for travelers, even though the Church no longer recognizes … never mind again. Also a special charm for avoiding the Evil Eye, which my mother insisted I take. It was her mother’s and before that, her m
other’s mother. Although I’d never encountered the Evil Eye, or what I believe to be the Evil Eye until a few days ago at the Autogrille.”
“Whatever possessed you to bring that silly charm,” Margo said. “I thought you had better sense.”
“Who knew where the Evil Eye might be lurking, especially here in Italy where I’d already had my fill of smarmy gypsies and … and ….”
“El … El,” Margo said. “Are you okay?”
“A little rattled but who isn’t.”
“This malocchio, you didn’t mention it before,” the commissioner said.
“I didn’t make a connection right away.” I told him about the incident at the Autogrille, the gypsy with the mismatched eyes, the Good Samaritan. I even demonstrated how he pointed his pinky and forefinger toward the ground.
“One brown eye and one blue, how weird was that,” Margo said. “I’d’ve gotten tinted contact lenses to match but that’s just me.”
I gave Margo my own version of the Evil Eye. She got the message.
“Sorry, El, I couldn’t help myself.”
“Anyway, I ran into this same Autogrille gypsy in Monterosso, dressed like your everyday-run-of-the-mill tourist.”
“Please,” Nicco said. “No American slang.”
“Er … right. Now where was I. Oh, yeah, I ran into this gypsy dressed like a tourist as was the man with her. He had a front tooth capped in gold. Or, maybe they ran into me. Or, maybe they were following me. They knew about the motorboat incident, that’s for sure. And when they started mocking me, I did the pinkie/forefinger thing, the one pointing down. Not that it bothered either gypsy. They just laughed and walked away.”
“Anything else?” the commissioner said.
I couldn’t help but look at Lorenzo before adding, “Only that Lorenzo said I must’ve been mistaken even when I knew I hadn’t been.”
“This is true, Dante,” Lorenzo said. He patted my hand as if I were his Zia Octavia instead of the woman he’d been teaching how to make love. “Please accept my apologies, Elena, for having dismissed your concerns so readily.”
The commissioner glanced at his wristwatch. He gestured a ‘get-on-with-it’ to his assistant.
Nicco slipped on a pair of thin surgical gloves. He pulled out a brown wallet from the manila envelope. “Does this look familiar, Signorina Ellen?”
“Without a doubt, that’s mine … except for … wait a minute, can I have a closer look, please.”
Nicco held out his gloved hand, the wallet resting in his open palm.
“What’s that dark stain?” I asked.
“It is rare to find stolen items in their former condition,” Nicco said.
“I don’t suppose the money ….”
“My apologies, for now, we must retain your money for evidence.”
“No problem,” I said, somewhat relieved. “I expected the wallet to be empty. Where did you find it?”
“Unfortunately, not in a good place,” Nicco said. “It was located on the female victim we discovered in the tunnel.”
I heard Margo gasp but couldn’t bring myself to look at her. Instead I asked the question she had to be thinking, same as the one I’d been thinking. “Those dark stains on my wallet, could they be blood?”
Commissioner Novaro ignored my question. At least he didn’t give me the Italian shrug. “Once more, I must apologize for having to upset you but alas it is another necessity.” He gestured to his assistant.
Nicco reached into the envelope again, pulled out a color photograph, and passed it to me. “Do you recognize this woman?”
This woman … this woman didn’t even look like a woman, more like the ghost of what once was. Her face, chalk-white and puffy; her head leaning back, neck exposed to show a line of dried blood from one ear to the other; eyes closed. Had she closed them so her last view would not be of the person killing her? Or to prepare herself for the next world, I tried to imagine myself in her … in that position.
“Did she die with her eyes closed? Or did someone close them after the fact.”
The commissioner ignored what I considered a show of compassion and instead came back with, “Are you not able to identify her? If that is the case—”
“No, I just wondered about the last seconds of her life.”
“Quick and painless,” Nicco said, “but had she known what was about to happen, she would’ve been filled with fear so crippling one cannot begin to describe it. Does that answer your question?”
“Yes, thank you. And yes, I recognize her from the motorboat. She is the woman who fell on me when the boat shifted. I just don’t understand the rationale of one tourist robbing another.”
“Not a tourist, Signorina Ellen. Like the first victim we discovered on the beach, this woman also had ties to the Roma community, one that has little relevance here in Cinque Terre.”
I swallowed the lump taking form in my throat. “Did she die on the beach too?”
“Her body was discovered in the train tunnel,” Nicco said. “That is all we are at liberty to say.”
“The train tunnel that I’d already walked through several times, as had hundreds, no thousands of tourists each day?” As for the nights, I had no way of knowing. Nor did the commissioner have any interest in discussing. His next words to me came off as condescending.
“My men have already investigated the crime scene within the tunnel and have re-opened the area to accommodate trains as well as the pedestrian traffic. It is not our intent to create a tourist attraction for the morbidly curious.”
He stood, gestured for the rest of us to do the same. “My apologies for taking up more of your time than I first expected. Now if you will excuse me, I must return to my duties, just as you and your sister must make good use of your time in Cinque Terre.”
“Well, excuse me, Commissioner,” Margo said. “What about the assault on me last night? Could there be a possible connection between my assault and the murders of these two unfortunate women?”
“That I cannot answer until further investigation,” he said. “Please enjoy the rest of your day.”
As if nothing had happened, please. I raised my hand, a reminder of simpler times, of my students back in St. Louis … if they could see me now. Better they should not. “One more thing, Commissioner.”
“Yes, signorina, what is it?”
“I understand why you’re holding the money but could you please return my amulet? It’s not that I’m superstitious; I just like having all my bases covered.”
“Covering your bases, I don’t understand.”
“It’s a baseball term,” Margo said. “You know, just to be on the safe side.”
With that, the commissioner nodded to Nicco. He gave me the amulet, along with a chilling comment. “Perhaps this will safeguard you better than the woman who died with it in her possession.”
Chapter 23
Salvaging the Day
Enjoy the rest of your day, Commissioner Novaro told El and me. Yeah, right. As if either of us needed reminding. No way would I have let this inconvenient blip on the screen ruin the best of our holiday, one I’d already extended to keep an eye on El who was such a babe in the woods when it came to men. And life in general, not that I was that much better, given the Giorgio fiasco, oh, well, live and learn.
Back at the police station I really thought El was going to lose it. Never have I seen her so rattled, not even when she left the convent. If anyone had the right to be rattled, it was me, Margo Savino; having survived almost getting my throat ripped from ear to ear, just like that gypsy in the tunnel and the one before her, on the beach of all places. Bled out was the term Trevor Whatshisface had used. Hmm, maybe he and the other guy weren’t so bad after all. Good lord, I must’ve been more desperate than I first realized. One thing was for sure: neither Americano could hold a candle to Nicco Rizzi, my new acquaintance who made Giorgio look like a schoolboy … better yet a mama’s boy. Forget that twerp. At this point I considered myself the proverbia
l third wheel, what with El wrapped up in Lorenzo’s every word and Lorenzo wrapped up in hers. A dismal first for me: taking a back seat to my little … eh, younger sister. Oh well, better it should’ve been El with Lorenzo than me with him. Lorenzo, definitely not my type—make that another for sure.
There we were: El and me on either side of Lorenzo, heading for the tourist scene, a perfect time to express what I’d been thinking all morning.
“I absolutely, positively cannot take much more of this. Give me some fun and give it to me fast.” My comment prompted Lorenzo to check his watch and then his phone for a text message I tried to make out but couldn’t without being too obvious.
“Regretfully, I must take care of business this afternoon,” he said to El more than to me. “But we still have time to enjoy a mid-day meal, that is, if you feel up to eating.”
Eat, drink, and romance, in no particular order, wasn’t that the objective of our trip to Italy. Although after last night I did promise myself to go easy on the grappa. The romance too, after what I will forever think of as the Giorgio fiasco. The memory of which I so wanted to erase from my brain like misspelled words from a dusty chalkboard. But this mistake was still too fresh. I needed to carry it around for a while, if for no other reason than a reminder of my stupidity. Mom would’ve said: some wounds need to fester before healing without the telltale scars. Truer words were never spoken.
I glanced over to El, off on a planet other than Earth and incapable of making a decision about anything, let alone lunch, so I chimed in with, “Just lead us to your top choice, Lorenzo. I’m positively starving.”
For some godforsaken reason I did not understand Lorenzo took us to an out-of-the-way trattoria that didn’t seem especially touristy. Okay, so maybe he had done right by us. The hostess, who obviously knew him as did everyone else in the place, directed us to a private room—near the kitchen, of all places. What? No sunshine, no lemons, no hustle or bustle of tourists, only the waiter staff carrying trays of food balanced on their shoulders. Oh, well, after last night and the grueling morning, all I could think about was a relaxing meal and a few glasses of wine. Again confirming Lorenzo did not disappoint. The food was delish, the wine superb, and after a while, El loosened up a bit, which relieved me from having to keep the conversation going.
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