Death in Tuscany

by Michele Giuttari

  'Right. . . Stella had also taken cocaine.' 'Confirming what you found in the mucous membranes of the nose.' 'Precisely'

  Ferarra could distinctly hear Fanti tapping away at great speed on the keyboard of the computer in the next room, through the thin walls.

  'So she was drugged and raped.'

  'That's for you to establish. I supply the facts, you make the deductions.' 'Anything else?' 'Isn't that enough?' 'More than enough. Thanks, Leone.' 'Just doing my job.'

  There was a knock at the door while he was still replacing the receiver.

  'Fanti, who is it?' he cried, and immediately added, 'Fanti! Where were you before?'

  The sergeant ran to the door, then back to Ferrara's desk.

  'It's Chief Inspector Violante, chief,' he said, looking pained and worried.

  'Send him in, but first do you want to tell me where the hell you've been?'

  'Checking up on Palladiani, chief,' Fanti replied. 'Like you told me,' he added, almost under his breath.

  'Oh, I see. Good for you. What did you find out?' 'Several things, chief.' 'Go on.'

  'Now? What about Chief Inspector Violante? Anyway, I'm still collating the material. If you like, I could prepare a preliminary report. It'll be ready in half an hour at the most.'

  All right. Send Violante in, and bring me the report as soon as he's gone.'

  'Okay, chief.'

  'Good afternoon, chief,' the inspector said, sitting down. 'Do you think so?' Ferrara replied.

  'I'm sorry?' Violante said, not understanding, or more likely not hearing.

  Ferrara raised his voice. 'I said, do you think it's so good? Not to me it isn't! Never mind - do you have any good news for me?'

  'Well, chief, we were in touch with the phone company several times this morning and finally got a reply from them.'

  To get himself back on the wavelength of the Stella case, Ferrara looked through Violante's correspondence with the Prosecutor's Department and with the phone company. He noted that Anna Giulietti had sent copies of everything to her colleague, Deputy Prosecutor Erminia Cosenza, who was dealing with other overdose cases being investigated by Narcotics. This at least cheered him up: he knew how important it was for prosecutors to coordinate their investigations, since even apparently unrelated cases sometimes turned out to have something in common.

  'Good. Go on, I'm listening!' he said to Violante, who had been waiting while he read.

  'Whoever made the call made it from a public phone booth a few hundred yards from the place where Stella was found, quite close to a bar, which was still closed when the ambulance arrived. A five-thousand-lire phone card was used for the call. The phone company have supplied us with the serial number.'

  'That's good. Have you identified the owner?' 'Unfortunately, not yet. There are no names on phone cards.'

  'I know that, Chief Inspector, but they're made to be used.'

  Violante gave him a blank look.

  'You have to put in another request immediately'

  'Go on, chief.'

  'We know for certain that the call was made at 6.45 a.m. on July twenty-ninth. We need the records of the phone booth to see what calls were made just before and just after that one.'

  Violante was starting to understand. A few years earlier Ferrara had managed to identify the killer of a prostitute in that way. But in that case the killer had stupidly telephoned his wife and then his victim just before going to see her and killing her, whereas now they were dealing with a single emergency call.

  'Just before and just after, chief, meaning . . .?' At least half an hour before and half an hour after,' Ferrara said.

  'Okay. I'll get on to it right away, but it may take a few days, maybe even a week, before we get an answer.'

  It was true: it could well be that long, because it took several days for the phone company's computer data to be completely updated. Worse still, if the technicians at the phone company thought the police were investigating some trivial case - nuisance calls, something like that - they took even longer.

  'I know, Violante. But the sooner you put in the request, the sooner you'll get the answer. You just have to keep on at the phone company, keep reminding them this is a homicide investigation.'

  All right, chief,' Violante said, making as if to stand up. 'Wait, I haven't finished.'

  'Go on, chief.'

  'We also need the records for the phone card. We need to know if the caller used it before or after, which phones he used it from, and who he called.'

  'Okay, chief.'

  Violante left the room.

  Fanti came in and handed him his report. 'Would you like a coffee, chief?'

  It was only then that he realised he hadn't eaten or drunk anything all day. The Carabinieri hadn't even had the courtesy to offer him a coffee!

  'Why not?' he replied, forcing himself to smile and take advantage of this break to try and relax. 'And see if you can get me a sandwich, too. But I want a good coffee, okay, Fanti?'

  As always, chief,' Fanti said, withdrawing to his own office.

  The taste of Fanti's coffee tended to vary. Whenever Ferrara had remarked on this in the early days, Fanti had tended to reply with an enigmatic smile, like someone who knows a secret he has no intention of revealing, even under torture. Then one day, he had yielded to Ferrara's insistence and had explained that he used different blends, from different manufacturers, which he then blended before putting in the filter. A blend of blends: that was the secret and the reason for the sometimes alarming variability of the coffee he so thoughtfully served to his chief.

  His secretary really was unique, Ferrara had thought, with a laugh. He was lucky to have found him, because he couldn't have invented someone like that.

  Cheered by that memory, he opened the file. He was still immersed in it when Fanti returned with a ham roll and the coffee. The sergeant did not dare to interrupt him. He almost tiptoed in and carefully placed the tray on Ferrara's desk.

  Ferrara continued reading as he ate and drank. The coffee was bland and slightly watery.

  UGO PALLADIANI/SIMONETTA PALLADIANI NEE TONELLI - COLLATION OF OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS AND REPORT

  Subject 1

  UGO PALLADIANI, originally Folco, born Florence 30/01/1940, resident there, at 680 Via della Vigna Nuova.

  •Identity Card AE 6149065 issued Town Hall Florence

  •Passport B 031285 issued Police Headquarters Florence [see appendix A]

  •Driving licence AB Florence 0784612

  •Weapons licence 468905 79 issued Police Headquarters Florence

  •Administrative documents: see appendix B

  •Various: see appendix C

  REPORT:

  Subject 1 comes from a family of rich Florentine textile merchants. Only son. Cavour Senior High School 1954-58, Bocconi University Milan, 1959-63. Studies interrupted by death of father. Takes over family business in crisis. Business declared bankrupt [see appendix B subsection 4] 1965.

  1965-76: details missing at present time [presumably devoted to social life: see appendix C subsection 3].

  1976: marries Susanna Spotorno, wealthy Roman retailer, owner of two clothing shops in the capital: one in the Largo Argentina and the other in the Via Cola di Rienzo.

  Following his marriage, embarks on clothing business, successfully but briefly [Note: these are the years of the Gucci crisis and Ugo Palladiani appears to realise that new developments will be in casual clothing, as turns out to be the case. But he seems unable to adapt to the changes of the Eighties and the trend in designer casuals. He continues with mass produced clothing, inevitably losing out to more prestigious brands which capture the market during these years]. His financial failure does not prevent subject from continuing to lead an extravagant life [see appendix C subsection 2]-

  1986: divorces Susanna Spotorno.

  1989: marries Simonetta Tonelli [see subject 2].

  1991: declared bankrupt by the court of Florence [see appendix B subsection 1] [Note: declaration is
evidence of extent of Subject l's debts].

  1994: subject settles debts and founds a public relations company, UP Communications Ltd, based at 680 Via della Vigna Nuova. Substantial profits up to and including year 2000.

  Subject 2

  SIMONETTA PALLADIANI NEE TONELLI, born Carrara 17/11/1967, residing 135 Via Roma, Marina di Pietrasanta (Lucca).

  •Identity Card details requested from Town Hall Pietrasanta 07/08/01

  •Passport B 031285 issued Police Headquarters Lucca

  •Driving licence information requested Prefecture of Lucca 07/08/01

  •Weapons licence: None

  •Various: see appendix D

  REPORT:

  Subject 2 is a woman with an active social life [see appendix D].

  At this stage of the investigation, there is no available

  information on her family and education. 1989: marries Ugo Palladiani.

  1996: moves from Florence to Marina di Pietrasanta. Active presence in cultural and social life of Versilia coast, not Florence [Note: civil marriage still valid. Maintains friendly relations with husband] [see appendices C and D].

  Report compiled in accordance with your instructions Signed: Sergeant Nestore Fanti Florence, Tuesday 7 August 2001

  Appendix A was an old, invalid passport that had been returned to Ugo Palladiani when he had applied for a new one. He opened it.

  He studied the photograph for a long time. Despite his age, Palladiani looked relaxed, well groomed, a man who took care of his appearance. He wore his greying hair rather long, like an artist. Perhaps he had been one of those men who are convinced they will always be young.

  But he did not recognise the face. He had certainly never met him: he had a photographic memory and would surely have remembered him. But it was strange, because the name . . .

  The other appendices were a report that he owned three hunting rifles; the hunting licence itself; a report of the theft, two years earlier, of his car, a Mercedes CLK; balance sheets; declarations by the Bankruptcy Tribunal and various newspaper cuttings (appendices C and D), either showing him at various social occasions alone or with his wife, or reporting events on the Versilia coast, at which Simonetta Palladiani appeared with various people, but never with her husband.

  There was no doubt that Simonetta was a very beautiful woman. She was tall and sensual, and in some of the photos she looked more like Ugo's daughter than his wife.

  Even knowing Fanti's diligence and meticulousness, Ferrara could not help wondering how he had managed in less than twenty-four hours — six or seven if he had followed his advice and had gone to sleep the night before - to gather such an impressive body of information. Fanti had done an extraordinary job, and although Ferrara was usually sparing with his praise, this time he couldn't help telling him.

  'Fanti,' he called.

  Fanti came in looking anxious, as if expecting to be reprimanded. 'Yes, sir?' Fanti replied.

  'Excellent work, Fanti. Congratulations!'

  Fanti blushed visibly. 'But it isn't finished, chief

  'I know. Don't worry about that. What I'd like to know is how you found out all these things. I don't mean what's in the documents. I'm talking about all these "notes", the story of his clothing business . . . Who did you get that from?'

  'From a neighbour, the Contessa Servi,' Fanti said, with legitimate pride. 'Don't you remember, chief? The old lady who came to us in June to report a theft from her apartment.'

  Ferrara remembered her well: a sprightly old lady, dressed the way women of good families used to dress. Commissioner Lepri had asked him to take her off his hands.

  'The Contessa Servi's apartment,' Fanti continued, 'is in the very same building where Ugo Palladiani lives, on the same floor.'

  'Lived,' Ferrara corrected him.

  'Yes, chief, lived.'

  'And his company also has its offices there, doesn't it?' 'No, the offices of the company are on the ground floor, and the apartment's on the second floor.' 'Did you go to the offices, too?'

  'No. Or rather yes, but they're closed for the holidays.'

  A thriving company, according to the balance sheets. I wonder how he managed to recover, after so many disasters . . .'

  'Maybe his second wife was rich.' 'There isn't much about her, is there?' 'I'm still investigating, chief . . .' 'Didn't the contessa tell you?' 'What?'

  'If she was rich.'

  'I didn't ask her,' he admitted, mortified. 'Don't worry, it doesn't matter. You did an excellent job, as I said.'

  'Thank you, chief.'

  Ferrara fell silent, lost in thought.

  'May I go?'

  'Of course . . . Oh, just a moment, Fanti.' 'Chief?'

  'I'd like you to get hold of Superintendent Rizzo. Tell him I'm sorry, but I need him to interrupt his holidays and get back here as soon as he can.'

  As soon as he can? What does that mean?'

  'It means as soon as possible, Fanti. In fact, right away'

  'I'll get on to it now, chief.'

  He left the room.

  Ferrara went back to the file, concentrating this time on the financial affairs of Subject 1, as Fanti had dubbed him. He could not understand how he had managed to recover from a

  setback which would have floored businessmen a lot more hardened than Palladiani seemed to have been, how he had bounced back and established his PR company. Even with a rich wife, it couldn't have been easy.

  What if Ugo Palladiani had been in debt to a loan shark, and was murdered because he couldn't pay? he wondered. It was pure speculation, not too far-fetched - there were an alarming number of similar cases - but speculation nonetheless. It did have the advantage, though, of clearing Massimo.

  Finding Massimo - finding him alive - was unfortunately another matter, he thought with a pang in his heart.

  He dismissed the implications of this last thought and tried to concentrate on practicalities.

  First of all, he had to ascertain if Simonetta Tonelli was a rich woman. It might be worth having a chat with the Contessa Servi, who gave the impression that she knew a lot.

  'Fanti!' he called.

  'Chief ... I haven't been able to reach Rizzo.' 'Keep trying. But that's not why I called you.' 'Go on, chief.'

  'Phone the contessa and ask her if I can go and see her. Today, if possible.'

  ‘I’ll get on it right away'

  Fanti went out and Ferrara looked at his watch, sighing as he did so. It was 4.01.

  Rita Senesi hadn't phoned. It was time to call her and tell her what had happened.

  12

  There were so many people in the streets, constantly slowing down the car, that Ferrara asked the driver to let him out in the Via Cavour and walk the rest of the way. He cut through the queue of tourists waiting in line to get into Santa Maria del Fiore, saying, 'Pardon, excuse me, bitte, permiso!' and thinking that he would soon have to learn how to say it in Japanese and perhaps even Chinese, and walked around to the other side of the baptistery like a sailor in a storm-tossed sea of people. Not only were there the crowds to contend with, and the chaos in marked contrast to the harmonious lines of Giotto and Brunelleschi's architecture, there was also the stench from the horseshit deposited by the animals pulling the carriages, a stench made all the worse by the heat.

  He crossed the Piazza della Republica to the Via degli Strozzi and he could not resist a glance in passing at Giambologna's grim little devil at the corner of the Via dei Vecchietti. He wondered if that devil, too, felt lost in the middle of all the crowds. Perhaps he was the one who had summoned them, and was now thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

  The building in the Via della Vigna Nuova was as imposing, solid and aristocratic as the street itself - today the heart

  and drawing room of the city - one of the two streets, the other being the Via della Vigna Vecchia, which Ludovico de' Medici, lover of good wine and good food, had named after the vines in 1477.

  The caretaker, a fat man made haggard by the heat, must
have left the jacket of his uniform in his lodge and was idling in shirtsleeves beside the front door, looking vaguely dazed. He didn't even ask for Ferrara's name, just told him which floor to go to.

  The lift was a heavy black iron structure which squeaked as it ascended. It smelt of wood, and had an ornate interior, with a small bench upholstered in red velvet. The velvet was frayed, which seemed to Ferrara to complement the slowness with which the lift moved.

  A black man in white livery opened the door, and led him into an elegant air-conditioned drawing room. The furniture was antique, some of it English and some of it nineteenth-century Florentine. Big mirrors on the walls displayed the reflected images of old master paintings, mostly landscapes and religious subjects.

  'Very punctual, Chief Superintendent, please sit down!' the contessa said in greeting, dismissing the servant with a slight gesture of the hand. He was immediately replaced by a woman in a white starched cap and apron, with olive skin and oriental features, carrying cups, teapot and cakes on a silver tray, which she placed on a large glass table next to the sofa.