Into the Killer Sphere
By Stefania Mattana
Copyright - 2013 Stefania Mattana
All rights reserved
www.eraniapinnera.com
www.chasetwilliams.com
Cover by Alessandro Burelli - maestroambrosiano.tumblr.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. For information, email [email protected]
Chapter 1
One step after the other, quick, as quickly as he could. It’s not easy when you have been running for a while and another hill stands before you. Tursenia, “The city of the Etruscans”, was full of climbs, situated as it was in the Apennine Mountains.
Chase Williams knew how to manage his stamina in spite of the hills, even when he was out of breath. Even if running was tiring, Chase loved doing it along the roads, sweating and facing all the various weather conditions, which in London had been mostly cold, windy, cloudy and rainy. A drop of rain splashed on his nose, and Chase instinctively lifted his head up: wasn’t Italy famous for its proverbial sunny weather? His movement meant he didn’t see a pot-hole in the road that made him stumble. Thanks to an unnatural turn of the foot, Chase, his balance gone, let himself fall to the ground. A girl with a heap of curls on her head passed him, laughing.
“Very well,” he muttered, shaking himself and standing back up. “It's raining, I twisted my ankle and a woman just laughed at me: what next?"
The mobile phone attached to his arm vibrated. Every time he went out running he tried not to take his mobile with him, but always did. And it often rang. Chase looked at the display and sighed.
“I can’t take my car, mate, my insurance has expired,” Chase replied to the voice on the phone after a few moments of listening. “Come and pick me up. See you in fifteen minutes.”
Before speeding back home, Chase stopped to have a quick look at some pictures freshly arrived on his phone. He smirked and shook his head.
A couple of days off: Chase had waited for these days for ages, and now they were going to be ruined. He put his keys in the bowl on the TV, and his eyes settled on Ernesto Ceccarelli’s folders lying on the sofa. He was always too busy at Ceccarelli’s cashmere company where he worked, dealing with tons of papers and documents, and having meetings with contagiously stressed managers. And often the work followed him home. He regretted leaving his old job in London for a moment, then frowned as he thought of his days off getting spoiled.
“Surely a master of import/export deals like me deserves a holiday? Apparently I’m destined to work during my vacation too. What the heck,” he said loudly, jumping into the shower. He always spoke to himself when he was alone.
Chase had planned a solitary vacation, but in a matter of thirty minutes he was in the countryside not so far from Tursenia, under a livid sky and surrounded by the rain- scented air. He was staring at the front door of a big villa with a stunning garden in full bloom, an uncommon sight in winter. As soon as he entered the garden, some dogs started barking, disclosing the presence of intruders. Chase looked around him, trying to figure out where the dogs were, but he couldn’t see them.
There was a neat, lush lawn surrounding the villa. The path was lined by hedges of butcher’s broom, while the rose bushes led the eye to the east side of the garden, where a fruit tree overarched the path. A row of purple geraniums towered in the little balcony above the patio, while the west side of the garden was completely enclosed. Since the barking came from that direction, probably that area of the garden belonged to the dogs.
It seemed a nice property. This kind of villa, isolated from any other building, was a favourite target for criminals, especially in Tursenia. Sometimes they were drug addicts, desperate for something that might be exchanged for dope money, but most of the time they were fledgling crooks who had no scruples when it came to pulling a trigger.
But this time no one had shot anyone.
Angelo Alunni had brought Chase to the villa using the police force’s Alfa car. Angelo was an Inspector in the Tursenian police; he didn’t belong to a particular department since in cities like Tursenia there weren’t any separate homicide, anti-fraud or other bureaux. He was simply an Inspector: if there was a problem which needed further investigation, Angelo would be called. And that was a problem.
He knocked at the door with an assured attitude, while Chase was waiting behind him, a few steps away from the entrance.
“What are you looking at?” Angelo asked Chase.
“Nice jacket,” Chase replied.
Angelo raised his eyebrows and kept staring at the closed door. He was of medium height and sturdy build, but not fat. Regular features framed his tired, sunken brown eyes. He was a little older than Chase, and was the very first friend Chase had made in Tursenia eight months before. In truth, he and Angelo had already met each other more than few times when they were younger, as their fathers were fellows during a special Interpol Academy in the late 60s, afterwards remaining friends.
Angelo always had a couple of days’ beard growth, an odd thing for a member of the fuzz, even more so for one of the most promising inspectors of the Tursenian police. He had recently shaved his head in the manner of Inspector Montalbano. He said that this way he would be able to pick up more girls, but Chase thought he’d done it because his hair didn’t suit him anyway.
A forensic officer dressed all in white finally opened the front door, beckoning them in. Chase had sworn to his father he would never be involved in any kind of police-related stuff, not even in Italy. But here he was again, this time in plain clothes. He couldn’t believe he had agreed to be there, searching for clues. Again.
“You sure I’m allowed to be here?” Chase asked Angelo.
“Sì, don’t worry about it. My colleagues barely notice you, as I’ve told you previously. Tursenians are pretty unobservant, you should know that by now. And the police are no different. You are with me, stay cool, bello.” Angelo smiled with confidence.
Chase decided to stay cool and relaxed into his surroundings. He began to look around inside the villa, which was very quiet. He still hadn’t got used to not seeing wallpaper on the walls and no carpets on the floor, so the rooms seemed to him brighter and bigger than they really were, with tiled floors, finely furnished and well-accessorised. The dining table was full of bridal magazines and samples of fabrics strewn here and there, as if someone had left everything there waiting for a selection to be made.
Angelo sped up towards the library, where his forensics colleagues were still searching for evidence. The room was big and cold, furnished with precious Italian and French antique-style furniture, inspired by the Sun King’s era. A half-timbered chimney - decorated with images of hunting scenes - was next to one of the two French doors. Everything seemed in perfect order, from the books on the shelves and the throw on the armchair, to every trinket in the cupboard and on the desk. Everything, except for the rosy marble floor, where a heavy crystal chandelier lay shattered into a thousand pieces. Angelo had a quick look at the cigarettes in the pocket of his shirt: he wanted to take one, but he was in the middle of a crime scene, so would have to wait.
“Piero Galli, sixty-nine years old, died here at about seven or eight o’clock in the evening. Be careful, Chase, there's still a lot of glass on the floor. Apparently the chandelier fell and crushed him, but this version of the story doesn't make any sense.”
A man lay on the floor, facing up, his body sprayed with little pieces of glass. The floor around him was dotted with blood. Chase could see only a quarter of Piero Galli’s face, all shredded by shards of glass,
because the head was turned almost 180 degrees, in an unnatural position. His nose looked broken, judging from the evident swelling and the bruising underneath both of his eyes.
This was why Angelo had called Chase. Even if he wanted to erase it from his memory, Chase had been a promising young detective in the London Metropolitan Police. His father was a renowned sergeant at Scotland Yard, and Chase took after him in his unerring instinct and sharp wit. But Chase was also a daredevil, and after having been responsible for a big mess, they sent him to Italy to behave like an angel.
“You couldn't call someone else, could you, Angelo? What about your fellow cops – Sasso, Bibi, Mecci, anyone?”
“Come on bello, are you serious? Mecci is such a jerk; those fruit machines are frying his brain! He said it’s a matter of accidental death and wanted to file the case, but I tell you, there is something going on here. All possible suspects have a watertight alibi, except for one, Piero’s mother. Anyhow, Mecci said she’s too old to kill a big man like her son. Basically he could not wait to go home. You got to help me out.”
Chase sighed, bothered, but Angelo hammered on.
“Look, bello, it’s homicide, you know I’m never wrong. It’s just that I need your help to figure it out. I know that you’re not into police stuff anymore and blah blah blah, but you can’t let your friend down. You miss the police, don’t you? Come on, no one is going to know. Promise.”
Chase sighed again. He hated admitting it, but Angelo was damned right about his feelings. He missed his police life a lot.
“There’s no evidence of a struggle, so if Galli was murdered by someone, he didn’t fight to save his life,” Angelo said, peeking into his little notebook.
Chase gave the room a once-over, making note of the exits: a French door leading to a fruit garden to the east, and another leading to the west side and the dogs’ pen. From this viewpoint Chase could see the movement of the dogs in their enclosure. The locks on the doors had no signs of forced entry, so Galli had let in his presumed murderer without resistance.
Chase was leaning out of one of the doors when Angelo scolded him.
“Don’t go out of the room, Chase. Yesterday it rained a lot so the fruit garden is muddy. You could contaminate the crime scene with your footprints.”
His friend was right again, how could Chase have forgotten that? Angelo didn’t shut up for a minute, pointing out the shape drawn on the floor.
“You see the way the body has fallen? It’s not normal, falling like that if a chandelier crushes you accidentally.”
“Yep, I see,” commented Chase.
Angelo started miming how the things might have happened.
“If you’re hit by something falling down on you, you don’t fall that way. If something hits your head, you would probably collapse and later fall to the ground, face down.”
"Instead he’s on his back," added Chase.
"Exactly. I think he was moved, or he died later, after the impact from the chandelier."
“Look at his neck. It seems broken,” Chase pointed out.
Angelo nodded. “You said it. Another point for me and my homicide theory.”
“Any fingerprints?” Chase asked.
“Not one, of course. We would have found some if it had been an accident. But we didn’t find any. Tell Mecci.”
“These modern-day murderers watch too much television,” Chase remarked carelessly.
“You said it. Too many CSI agents running around on TV has made them clever.”
Then Angelo led Chase over to the fireplace.
“Look. Does it seem normal to you?”
Chase stooped to inspect it. Angelo handed him a latex glove, which took Chase three attempts to pull on before tearing it. He had never had a good relationship with latex. He tried two more, tearing each one of those too.
Angelo passed him a fourth.
“If you break this too, I’ll smear your blood all over it, and make you appear as the murderer, I’m telling you!” Angelo grinned. Chase laughed and finally managed to put the glove on.
“If you look at these traces of blood at the bottom of the chimney, you can see that someone moved the body from the place it actually fell,” Angelo added, while Chase was sinking his white finger in the blood, checking its consistency.
“Have you already sent it to forensics?” Chase asked Angelo.
“Yes, and I'm sure it's Piero Galli’s,” he replied. “Plus, if you’re still not convinced, apparently the chandelier was cut down with some blade. I’m waiting for the forensic tests but we’re ninety-nine percent sure. So, what do you say?”
Chapter 2
Chase had always hated it when a guest smoked inside the host’s house. It was not polite at all, in his opinion, even if Angelo had requested permission to do so. It didn't seem such an urgency to Chase. Nevertheless, Angelo couldn't resist any longer and lit his damned cigarette.
Ramona Sadoveanu’s hand was trembling as she handed the porcelain ashtray to Angelo. Her eyes were full of tears and, when she spoke, her voice was interrupted by soft sobs. She knew she was their prime suspect: a Romanian working in a house where someone died in obscure circumstances was always guilty in Tursenians’ minds. There were too many robberies in villas ending in a death, too many Albanians and Romanians involved in violence and crimes. Ramona immediately gave the police her alibi.
“I was at the supermarket, the big one in Ferciano, as I told your colleague,” she began. “It’s not too far from here, closer than the ones in Tursenia. I came back as soon as Signor Galli’s daughter called to tell me what had happened. Here.”
The woman took a piece of paper from her pocket and gave it to Angelo.
“This is the receipt from the supermarket. Look, there’s the time, it was 7:45 p.m. when I left the shop.”
“Signorina Sadoveniu, no one here is implying that you are a suspect,” Chase said coolly.
The woman started crying desperately and had to lean on the table.
“I can’t believe Signor Galli is dead! I’ve lived with him, his daughter and his mother since I’ve been in Italy. His wife was already dead when I came here. God, I can’t believe he’s dead!”
Angelo looked at her, entranced by her long blonde tresses waving every time she sobbed. Chase thought that maybe Angelo was not as used to seeing such blonde hair as he was.
“Signorina Sadoveianau, do you know if Mr Galli had any enemies?” Chase asked, cursing to himself about those wretched surnames being so difficult to pronounce.
The maid noisily blew her nose on a napkin, then offered the men a plate of sweets with the same hand that she’d used to blow her nose. Angelo made a face and declined.
“Basically, nobody could stand him. It’s unpleasant to say, but it’s true,” she shrugged. “He was always grumpy and rude to everybody. He was sweet and nice only to his dogs. His daughter really didn’t like that. Not being nice, I mean. Anyway, even if he used to make people uncomfortable, no one had a reason to kill him, in my opinion. He stayed with those creatures all the time, people didn’t bother about him anymore. And neither did his daughter: she knew her dad was out of his mind, so she left him alone.”
“According to what you’ve just said, no one could have killed Piero Galli. The receipt you’ve shown us is proof of your innocence, but apparently you’re feeling agitated about it.”
Chase turned again to Angelo, who was playing with the smoke from his cigarette, blowing rings into the air. It was really annoying and smelly. Angelo didn’t get Chase’s intention, so he kept speaking.
“I mean, I can understand that you’re upset about Signor Galli’s death, but you look like you’re concealing something. Don’t you think that there is something inconsistent here?” questioned Chase.
Angelo turned to Chase and frowned, wanting an explanation.
Ramona squeezed her handkerchief tighter again and started crying harder.
“I know, Signor… sorry, I don’t remember your name. It’s obvi
ous I can’t be a suspect, but I feel like I’m the murderer at the moment! Signora Galli will never forgive me. It’s my fault if that chandelier fell. She’s always telling me I don’t do my job properly. If I dusted it more often, I would have noticed that it was faulty and no one would have died!”
“Thank you, Signorina Sadoveanu. I have to ask you please not to go anywhere and to stay in the villa as much as possible. We may need to talk with you again,” Angelo said, taking his leave.
Afterwards Angelo led Chase outside the villa. They closed the main gate behind them and started walking along the pavement.
“Where are we going?” asked Chase.
“Checking the surroundings. We should find out if anyone heard or saw anything suspicious yesterday night. There must be some neighbours somewhere,” Angelo replied.
Even though the villa was quite isolated, there was a property not so far from it, less than half a mile. That was the place Angelo was going to.
“Do you know who lives there?” Chase questioned.
“Roughly. A man, don’t remember his name.”
Chase opened his eyes wide. “I can’t believe you don’t know whose door you are going to knock on. Haven’t you written down his name?”
“No. I don’t need to. We can have a look at the name displayed on the intercom at the gate,” Angelo calmly replied.
“Don’t you know that your attitude is irresponsible?” complained Chase. He could not get used to Angelo’s and the Tursenian police force’s inattention to details.
“Why are you limping, by the way?” Angelo changed the topic, focusing on his friend’s awkward gait.
Chase lowered his head.
“It’s nothing. I twisted my ankle this morning when you called me,” he justified himself. He knew that it was a lie, but why did he have to tell him the truth and look like a real idiot?
“Why were you running in the morning? What about your job? Don’t tell me they fired you! You can’t keep a job, huh?” said Angelo.
Into the Killer Sphere Page 1