Chase was annoyed. His discharge from Scotland Yard was not a dismissal, at least, not technically speaking. However, he ignored Angelo’s provocation since he didn’t want to take issue with him.
“Yep. I was running because I’m supposed to be on vacation. But you dragged me down here, so I guess my vacation has officially ended.”
“Well, you can’t ask for a better vacation than a case like this one,” Angelo laughed.
The closest house to the villa was the modest place of an old, crabby man, Signor Delitalia. He had a neat vegetable garden, a couple of hens and four or five dogs. He was dressed in old, light blue overalls and a dirty white woollen shirt. A couple of his teeth were missing and he didn’t look comfortable when he saw his visitors.
Delitalia received Angelo and Chase with distrust outside his house, keeping them in the courtyard. He kept a special eye on Chase, since he had realised he wasn’t Italian.
“I didn’t hear anything, of course. I was too far from the villa to be able to do that. The only noise I hear every day is from Galli’s dogs. When it’s time to eat, they start barking. They sense it, they sense it’s meal time, and then they bark. It’s so annoying! Look, my dogs are nice and quiet, but when Piero’s dogs bark, mine bark too. It’s like a bloody concert, I can’t stand them!”
The old man gesticulated like a mime actor. He made a gesture with his arm, hand or body to accompany each word he said. Chase watched him carefully, trying to work out if these actions could help him to better understand that garbled Italian. He guessed he only poorly understood because of the man’s strong dialect. And his lack of teeth made him hiss when speaking.
“Do you know anything about Signor Galli that we should know? Did you like him?” Angelo asked, lighting a cigarette.
“Do you really think I care about the Gallis? Since Marta, Piero’s wife, passed away the whole family’s gone downhill. Piero became bloody rude and no one in that house deserves anything from me. Neither him nor his fascist mother nor his freaky daughter. Not even a cabbage from my garden. So much the worse for them!” Delitalia complained.
He looked angry and upset at the same time, as if he was trying to hide his sorrow with tough words against the Gallis. While he was speaking, he walked towards the old iron gate of his house and he didn’t stop walking until Angelo and Chase were close enough to realise they were not welcome anymore.
“Well, it turns out that we failed. Not epically, but we failed, mate,” Chase said.
“You say that, bello, but we can work it out. I gotta take you home. I have some papers to handle at the police station. You know, I’d invite you to join us for lunch but you have such an allergy to our police station. I don’t get it, amico, really. Why did you leave Scotland Yard? It’s been like… a year or something? And you’ve never told me, what’s wrong with you?”
It was not the first time Angelo had broached that topic. And yet people always said it was Chase who was the nosier of the two of them. Anyway, Chase hated that subject, and the less he spoke about it, the better.
“Could you please shut up and drive? Your driving skills are as terrible as every Tursenian’s. I hate you guys, really,” he said, changing the topic.
Chase had just got out of Angelo’s car and was approaching his home, when a scream pierced the air. It came from Mangia Buono, a traditional shop built into the Etruscan Walls of ancient Tursenia, where Chase used to buy lots of pasta, wine and delicious Tursenian sauces. The voice clearly belonged to Marcella, the sweet woman who owned the shop.
“Chase, they've given you a fine! Go and see it!” Marcella yelled, peeping out from the shop and tying her apron.
If Chase had ever worn her apron, it would have looked like a tight mini skirt on him. Marcella was so tiny that from the back, you’d have guessed she was a twelve-year-old girl. She probably dyed her dark hair as she was in her forties, but Chase didn’t actually know when women started to dye their hair in the battle against going grey. Besides, some women always dyed their hair, no matter their age. Furthermore, Marcella had a lot of little tattoos, not so common for a twelve-year-old girl. Stars, geckos, tribal motifs and so on, her skin was full of inky sparkles.
“What the hell? Are you serious? For what?” Chase shouted back, moving closer to her. “What do they want?”
“I don’t know. I just saw them writing it out on pink paper on the front of your car. That’s it. Go and check it out!”
Chase knew it would have happened sooner or later. He couldn’t park his car near his house because he lived inside the Walls, and it was forbidden to park in the historical town centre as it was a preserved area, protected by Italian law. Of course, compared to how many cars were actually parked outside the Etruscan Walls, the number of authorised parking spaces available were relatively few – and so traffic wardens enjoyed themselves by handing out fines. Anyhow, Chase was sure that he’d parked his car in an authorised place, and he was right. He angrily grabbed the piece of pink paper with the fine written on it, then cursed.
“Twenty-five euros? No way!” he exclaimed, crumpling up the fine.
Furthermore, how could the Municipal Police be taken seriously by citizens if they wrote fines on pink sheets? Apparently, it was the Italian law: fines must be written on pastel coloured paper. As if the colour could make you swear less. Add insult to injury.
“You've got to be having a laugh!” he muttered as he made his way to Marcella’s place, close to the main entrance.
“So?” asked Marcella.
“It’s my car insurance. It expired three days ago. Just three lousy days, unbelievable! I knew I couldn’t use the car until I renewed the insurance, that’s why it’s parked and why I asked my friend to pick me up this morning.” Chase sighed, still angry.
In the meantime Signora Paoletta Testi joined them, arriving with her usual shuffled walk. It was impossible to not notice her coming. Paoletta was a pleasant, retired neighbour of theirs who was famous around and about for her love for animals and birds.
“Mamma mia, they definitely have radar on their hats!” Paoletta commented, as though it was totally normal for a person to come into a place and start jabbering about something she was not supposed to know.
“I saw them putting fines on some cars, I didn’t know one of them was yours, caro,” she ended, seeking something inside her big bag.
According to Chase’s knowledge of her, she was probably looking for a tin of cat food or a lighter. Signora Testi and Marcella enjoyed chatting and smoking cigarettes together. Moreover, they had a lot of things in common, even if Marcella was much younger than Paoletta, such as their shared love for cats, their hatred of TV and their way of knowing everything about the people of Tursenia. Actually, Signora Testi really did know everything about everybody in Tursenia. Chase never understood how she did it, nor what kind of spies she had all around the city.
Signora Testi suddenly changed topic, talking about the main news of the umpteenth murder in the villas. She would always jump from one topic to another, which those who knew her were used to and didn’t mind. Chase, though, spent a minute trying to work out how those two topics could be related. He soon gave up and paid attention to their discussion so as to not lose the thread of the conversation.
“Police aren't ruling out homicide, I heard it on the radio. I tell you, this is not the Tursenia I knew and loved twenty years ago. It’s a nightmare, nowadays. You can’t even stay safe in your house because you’ll die in some robbery or God knows what else. I tell you, I’m afraid,” Paoletta said.
“What a tragedy! That kid is an orphan now, she only has her grandma… How will she carry on?” cried Marcella, showing the typical and sincere character of hers that made her so successful with every customer.
“Oh, cara Marcella, I guess she’ll be fine. She went through much worse, you know, because of her… issues. If she doesn’t die prematurely like the rest of her family. Anyway, Piero Galli was not exactly a nice man, especially since his wife
died. Besides, Marcella, I don’t think the daughter is going to have money issues,” Paoletta replied.
“Why, are they rich?” Chase asked. The villa had looked like a very fancy and expensive house, but it was better for him to act as if he didn't know anything about the Gallis. The fewer people who knew about his cooperation with Angelo, the fewer problems they could cause. He knew his father was always trying to keep tabs on what his son was doing, and had plenty of connections at home and abroad to supply his info. He was the Paoletta Testi of the whole of London and beyond: in one way or another, Sergeant Nigel Williams could generally get any information he wanted. This ability of his was why Chase tended to avoid police stations – all police stations.
“Oh, of course they are rich, caro mio! They come from a wealthy family, thanks to Piero’s mother. She has always known how to manage people… and money.” Signora Testi shook her salt-and-pepper bobbed hair and smirked. As usual, she enjoyed sharing her knowledge about Tursenian society.
“You have to be trained on the subject, mio caro. I'll tell you what happened to the Gallis before you got here,” Paoletta said to Chase. “Piero’s wife died of a heart attack ten years ago. People used to say that she was too stressed by her daughter’s situation; she’d got into bad company hanging around the town centre. Some said she was pretending to be in trouble in order to be the centre of attention, others that she was an alcoholic or a drug addict. I’d go for the last one,” Paoletta specified.
She went on to tell Chase that after Marta’s death, Piero fell into a deep depression and closed himself off. He began leading a solitary life with his dogs, not caring about anyone. She reported how people also said that Agata Galli, Piero’s mother, was a Fascist spy during World War II, but changed her stance shortly before the Partisans began their assault, and helped them to take possession of Tursenia. Then she gained a small fortune, thanks to her powerful contacts and some good investments, and later her husband joined the Masonry. That was thanks to her social position, but women could not be members. Agata’s husband died in the summer of 1981 from a stroke.
“I was told that their grandchildren - she has one granddaughter from Piero and three grandchildren from Marco, her younger son - are mean and selfish, and can't wait for their grandma to die so they can get her inheritance as well, but it’s such a cliché.” Marcella commented at the end of Paoletta’s report, while sorting out stuff in the “Great offers” box at the entrance of the store.
“Yes, it is. But in every rumour there’s also a bit of truth,” Paoletta replied, then turned to Chase. “You’d better watch out,” she said to him, clearing her throat and changing topic again. “I think someone informed the traffic wardens about your car insurance. I can’t figure why, though. You’re such a nice guy.”
After saying this, she made her farewells and went to call the cats with her usual whistle to feed them.
Chase looked at Marcella for some explanation of her behaviour, but Marcella simply shrugged.
“Don’t know what she meant,” she placidly commented.
Chapter 3
“I’ll brief you quickly: we’re going to meet Agata Duranti - that was her maiden name, then she became Galli,” Angelo said to Chase before entering the villa’s living room.
“First you gotta tell me why we’re here again,” Chase complained. “We were here one hour ago. You dropped me at home and then you picked me up again half an hour later… Mate, what the hell?”
Angelo shook his head and put a hand on Chase’s shoulder, patting it.
“You still have to get used to Italians. You think I like going to and fro in Tursenia because the old lady has finally woken up and agreed to talk to us?”
Even if Chase got Angelo’s sarcasm, it didn’t make any difference to him. Angelo had asked for her as soon as they had got to the villa earlier that morning, but Ramona had told them she was resting as she was too upset by events and needed to lie down for a while. She was quite old after all, and her heart might have given out.
Chase made a face of displeasure which didn’t stop Angelo from completing his briefing.
“Anyway, Signora Galli is in her eighties. We need to go carefully.”
“Prego, have a seat,” Agata began as soon as they entered.
She attempted to make them welcome in the severe and dark living room with a coffee and some biscuits served by Ramona. She lightly put a hand on Chase’s shoulder, inviting him to sit next to her. Chase knew that old ladies and mothers always liked him at first sight; unfortunately he didn't have the same effect on their daughters and granddaughters.
Agata’s face was lined with the signs of an eventful life. Her pure white hair was done up in a fine, old fashioned bun. There was something about her that Chase didn’t like. Maybe it was just a hunch, as he’d heard she used to be a spy, and spies were professional liars. And he didn’t like liars.
Agata told the police she had been at home the evening her son died. She had been upstairs finishing a book when, by chance, she had heard some noises coming from the library.
“The thunderstorm outside had been very loud and had mostly drowned out every other sound,” she commented.
She called Piero several times to find out what was going on, but he hadn’t replied.
“When I got to the library I found Piero lying on the floor and the smashed chandelier next to him,” she said, showing no emotions, like she had prepared her script. “In the meantime, Rachele and her fiancé had arrived. They helped me, since I fainted at the sight of my dead son. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”
Agata’s eyes were small and prying, and Angelo suffered under their scrutiny. Usually he was the one that made others feel uneasy. On one hand, her calm while describing the facts and her fainting episode was disconcertingly weird. On the other hand, Chase thought, rich, “aristocratic” people tended to not show their feelings, whatever their nature. Appearances meant everything for them, as they had to keep their composure and protect their family honour.
“Signora Agata, we know that you’re quite a wealthy lady. Do you think Piero’s death could be connected with that in any way? I mean, maybe someone knew about that and tried to rob you?” Angelo asked.
“Yes, I’ve put a few euros aside,” she nodded. “But please, gentlemen, don't look at me that way: I’m old but not stupid. They would have taken something valuable if it was a real robbery. We need to face the truth.”
Agata crossed the room towards Chase, hindering Ramona who was serving the coffees.
“I know that my grandchildren have their eyes on my money. They go to great lengths to pretend to be nice and affectionate towards me. But the only thing they care about is that their lovely grandma Agata won’t forget them on her deathbed.”
“Don’t say that, Signora! Your grandchildren truly love you, I’m sure!” exclaimed Ramona, unable to contain herself.
The old lady thundered back.
“Ramona, how many times have I told you not to butt in while I’m talking to guests? Go away, you miserable girl!”
The maid looked down mortified and left the room apologising, while Angelo and Chase watched the whole exchange in silence, glancing at each other. Chase had seen these scenes (and even worse) in downmarket superstores, but would never have imagined that a refined lady such as Agatha Galli could have washed her dirty laundry in public like this. Or worse, in front of the police.
Angelo kept stirring the sugar in his cup, trying to not make any noise.
As soon as Ramona was far enough away from the living room, Signora Galli’s mood flipped again and she calmly explained herself.
“She’s such a lovely girl, you know, but she’s so ingenuous! She’s the only one who really cares about my health and I’m so grateful to her. You know, I hired her because one of the ladies I know was trying to find a job for her. Ramona comes from a very poor and uneducated family, she’s terrified of animals and can’t ride a bike or swim. She’d never seen the sea until she came here
to Italy, can you believe it? I’m teaching her everything, including how to do the housework, interact socially, and not to bother about some kinds of people. At the same time, though, she should learn to bite her tongue sometimes. That’s why I’m so tough with her from time to time, it’s for her own good.”
Angelo gently tapped the teaspoon on the edge of his cup so that the coffee drops clinging to the inside fell back down to the bottom. Then he got the conversation back on track before the old woman began to ramble on again.
“I see, that’s very considerate of you. Now, Signora Galli, you told Inspector Mecci that you believe your son was killed, didn’t you?”
Agata straightened up in her chair and subtly lifted up her chin.
“I knew someone finally would believe me. That’s why you two came here, isn’t it? Oh, thank God.” She actually sounded quite annoyed. Angelo stole a quick glance at Chase, which meant, “I really don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“I don’t believe it, Inspector. I’m sure of it,” Agata proclaimed, relieved to let her suspicions out. Her scraggy, wrinkled hands covered with little scratches made two tight fists.
“And why are you so sure, Signora?” Angelo probed.
“Here’s the thing. You can’t think of my grandchildren as being normal people of their age. They’re mean. They grew up in rich surroundings, where they got everything they wanted. My granddaughter Rachele is the worst of the lot. And concerning the other three grandchildren, they are so selfish that they only show up when they need a favour or it’s Christmas. They’re the exact opposite of their kind mother; it’s too bad. But Rachele is the evil one. She has been up to all sorts of things in her life, and after her mother died she soon became sick and tired of her father’s illness, until she couldn’t stand it anymore and so she killed him.”
“Rachele is Piero’s daughter?” Chase stepped in, and the lady nodded. “Do you have any proof of what you are saying?”
Into the Killer Sphere Page 2