Chianti Classico

by Coralie Hughes Jensen

  “If she had a child, there’d be something. What about hair or bodily fluids?”

  The nun looked at him. “You’re beginning to sound like a detective.”

  “I’m in a police station most of the day. I pick up that sort of stuff.”

  “According to the examiner, there was hair in the car, but the only matches were hers.” She continued to tap her finger on top of the desk.

  Silvio waited, watching her spellbound expression.

  “I don’t think they ever thought to see if anything might have been from a toddler.”

  “Why would they? They knew nothing about a child until two years later.”

  “Why was the victim driving on that dirt road when she could have been driving on the asphalt road that passed right by the convent? Why would you get off the main road, Silvio?”

  “I might if I knew someone on that minor road,” he said. “Has everyone been interviewed?”

  “Or you might because you thought you were being followed. When she looked in the mirror she saw someone on her tail. Maybe if she turned off, he would pass by. He didn’t. She knew then he was following her.”

  “So she doesn’t stop and try to turn around. Perhaps this road went a ways and then turned back to the main road. She kept going on the dirt one…”

  “And he rammed her. I have a chill just thinking about it. She must have been so frightened.” The nun stopped to take a bite of her sandwich. “So he gets out of the car and grabs her purse, the car registration, and removes the license plates. Let’s just say there was a baby in the backseat. Was he after the baby?”

  “He has the victim’s ID. Does he want Pia too? He must have taken the child and everything having to do with her.”

  “But would he do that and then leave her at the convent? Why not leave the child in the car and let the police handle it. The two year old wouldn’t be able to identify him.”

  “You know, Sister. We have hairs from the car. We could see if the hair from the car matches the kidnapped child’s hair. That would be proof that she was in that car.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Sister Daniela stepped off the train and headed toward the terminal doors. For the second time in as many days, she traveled to Triesa. After dinner the night before, she discovered Carlota La Barca had left a message on her cell phone asking her to return to Triesa. Carlota needed to talk with her.

  Making her way to the café where she’d met Carlota the first time, the nun bought two espressos and two rolls. Then she strode down the road to the house she’d searched from attic to basement.

  Carlota was there to let her in. “We’re alone,” she said. “My parents are again at the shop. This is a good time.”

  “Why did you want to speak with me?” Sister Daniela asked, placing the coffees and rolls on the kitchen table. “Do you know where Pia is?”

  “No. But I have a confession to make.”

  “I don’t usually hear confessions, but if it has to do with the case…”

  “It does. When you asked me if I knew about the body, I told you I didn’t?”

  “You were aware there was a body in the amphora?”

  “I didn’t know there was a dead body inside. I just knew the victim.”

  Sister Daniela tipped over her coffee and ran to collect paper towels to clean up the spill. When the table was clean she sat down again to listen, her heart pounding.

  “His name’s Alrigo Nocera.”

  The nun wrote furiously on her pad. “How do you know him?”

  “He came to the winery a few times. I was alone. Martino always seemed to be away doing business. Alrigo showed up and wanted to know if there were jobs for him at the winery. I told him he’d have to come back when my husband was there.”

  “Did he ever talk with La Barca?”

  “Not at first. As far as I know, he only came by when I was alone. After the second visit, I felt sorry for him. I invited him in for coffee.”

  “What did you find out about Nocera?”

  “He told me his wife and child had been killed a few years earlier and that he lost his job at another winery because he found it too difficult to go back to work right away. I nearly cried for him right there. What a husband he must have been.”

  “And he visited you again?”

  “Yes. I wanted to comfort him.”

  “Did you have sex with him?” Sister Daniela almost blushed. She wasn’t used to being so forward, but the stakes in the case were high.

  Tears began to appear at the corners of Carlota’s eyes. “I tried to comfort him. He was so vulnerable.”

  “How many times did you two meet?”

  “About five times. I have to confess that my desire was to have children by my husband, but Martino always resisted and took protection. He said he wanted to get the damned business going. When Alrigo came along, I thought I might go around my husband, get pregnant by my lover, and pass the baby off as Martino’s.”

  “Did you?”

  “Get pregnant? No.”

  “Did your husband ever suspect?”

  “I don’t know. He probably did. I tried hard to keep the house looking clean and neat so he wouldn’t question me about having a guest.”

  “Did your husband ever meet Nocera?”

  “Yes. The night before I left. Martino found Alrigo by the fence.”

  “Outside the orphanage?

  “Yes. Alrigo told Martino he’d asked me about a job. I think my husband knew something because we had a big row that night.”

  “Did he say he suspected you were having an affair? Nocera must have told him more.”

  “I don’t know. I packed my bags the next morning and hid them in the closet. When Martino told me they were short of help the next day and asked me to check the amphorae, I did.”

  “And you saw nothing extraordinary about the aging wines.”

  “No. That part’s true. I don’t believe Alrigo was dead before I checked them. The chemicals in all ten amphorae were at normal levels. I signed the charts. The next train to Triesa was scheduled for five that afternoon. I left him.”

  “You’re aware that your statement makes your husband appear guilty. He hadn’t only met Nocera, but maybe figured out you were having an affair.”

  Tears ran down Carlota’s face, and Sister Daniela handed her a tissue. “What do you know about Pia’s disappearance?”

  “At first I didn’t know a child was kidnapped.”

  “According to the timeline, that must have happened before you left—the night of the row. Nocera was out in the field, waiting for the children to go to bed. He took Pia out of the orphanage. By the next afternoon, he was dead, and Pia was missing. When you were with Nocera, did he ever mention Pia’s name?”

  “No.”

  “Did he ever ask or say anything about the orphanage?”

  “If he did, I didn’t hear it. We didn’t talk. I concentrated only on reaching my objective.”

  “Aside from the story about his wife, did he ever say anything about where he came from?”

  Carlota dabbed her eyes and then rose to throw out the paper cups. She stood in front of the sink and stared out the window. Then she turned around and said, “Rufina. The first day when he asked me to get him a job at the winery, he said he had experience. He’d worked at a winery in the Rufina region.”

  “Did he give you the name of the winery?”

  “No. I suppose my husband would’ve asked him if he knew he wanted a job.”

  “When did you learn about Pia?” asked Sister Daniela.

  “I read about it in the papers after I arrived here.”

  “What did the story say?”

  “Just that a child had disappeared from an orphanage in Filari.”

  “You worked at the orphanage and knew the orphanage was next door to your husband’s winery yet you called no one to inquire about it?.”

  “Yes, I worked at the orphanage and knew most of the children, but I wouldn’t call about w
hat I thought was a runaway,” said Carlota.

  “Now that you know about the case, can you tie Nocera or your husband to the kidnapping?”

  “I once knew both men, Sister. I don’t think either man would be involved in a child’s kidnapping.”

  As soon as Sister Daniela was seated on the train, she took out her cell phone and called her friend. The more mature nun was back at the Castel Valori police station about to go out and visit those involved in the reported domestic disputes.

  “I know who took the child,” Sister Daniela blurted out.

  “We can go out now and pick up Pia. Where is she?”

  “No, I know who the old nun is—or was. His name was Alrigo Nocera. He was from Rufina.”

  “Where did you get the information?”

  “I’m in Triesa. Carlota La Barca confessed to having an affair with our victim.”

  “Did La Barca know about it?”

  “Carlota isn’t sure, but La Barca did meet him. He questioned Nocera when he was by the fence near the orphanage. Nocera told La Barca that he’d asked Carlota for a job. Carlota claims her husband returned to the house very angry, and the couple had a fight. She ran away the next day after testing the wine in the amphora. She told me Nocera was alive the night of the quarrel and that the checks on the aging wine were normal the next day.”

  “Do me a favor and contact Ricco. Maybe he can get something more out of La Barca.”

  “Wait. Nocera told Carlota his wife and child had been killed. You don’t suppose…”

  “I suppose nothing. If he was Pia’s father, he could’ve asked for his child. Why kidnap her?”

  Turo walked out of his office and handed Sister Angela a sheet of paper. “Here’s the mechanic’s report on the vehicle.”

  She read the information. “The VIN had been sanded. After the person in the second vehicle took the time to clean out the victim’s car and take the plates, I’m not surprised. My colleague did find out that our kidnapper, and victim, is from Rufina. He told the winemaker’s wife that he worked at a winery there. Now that’s a clue we might be able to run with.”

  “What about the domestic situations?” asked Turo.

  “I’m just on my way out the door, Detective Sergeant. Is Silvio around?”

  “I think he’s with his motorbike.”

  The nun opened the door to find Silvio just outside, revving the motor. He handed the nun her helmet. “Hop on,” he said. “Do you have the addresses?”

  “Yes. Most are in town. One’s on a farm a bit farther out.”

  “Let’s start in town. Hang on.”

  The two took off on a narrow drive just off the piazza that led them down the hill. Silvio made a sharp left turn at the bottom and goaded his bike up about half a block before slowing to a stop.

  “This is Signor and Signora Sultana,” said the nun, dismounting and taking the few steps up to ring the bell.

  Silvio followed as soon as the woman appeared.

  “Please come in,” she said. “I have hot tea, if you’d like.

  “We have questions about a report you made against your husband four years ago.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, pouring a cup of tea for the nun. “He’s dead, bless his soul.”

  “Please tell me what happened.”

  “My husband hit me. He did it a lot. A neighbor heard my screams and called the police.”

  “You stayed with him?” asked Silvio.

  The old woman shrugged her shoulders. “You’ve a lot to learn, my son.”

  Waiting for the tea to cool, the nun rose from her chair and walked over to the mantel. “Who are these children?” she asked, pointing to a row of photographs.

  “Those are mine.”

  “You have young children?”

  “No. They’re old pictures.”

  “Do you have grandchildren?”

  “I have two great grandchildren, Sister.”

  “How old?”

  “They’re just starting school.”

  “When did you see them last?”

  “I haven’t seen them at all. My grandchildren live in England. They send pictures, though. I framed them and put them up over there in the hallway.”

  The nun walked over to the photographs. “Are all of your grandchildren grown?”

  “No. Some are still in school. Why?”

  The nun sat down again and sipped her tea. “Because four years ago a child was left at the Sacro Cuore della Francesca. Sometimes there are problems in a marriage that might force the parents to give up a child.”

  “You think I’d do that? I had seven children, Sister. I’d never do that to one of my children. My husband would’ve killed me if I had.”

  The second house was above the grocery near the terminal. Again Sister Angela dismounted while Silvio lagged behind.

  “I know this family,” he said. “Are you sure it’s them?”

  “Perhaps it’s better if you didn’t come in. It might be embarrassing to both you and the family.”

  A woman opened the door and led the nun up the steep stairs. “Hello, Sister. Are you asking for alms? I can give you what I have, though I’m afraid it isn’t much.”

  “No, no.” said Sister Angela, beginning to huff and puff as they neared the landing. “I’m here because of a police report from four years ago.”

  The woman stopped in her tracks. “Sorry? I didn’t know the church would be involved with the police.”

  “I’m not here representing the church, Signora Ussi. I came to this house trying to find out why a two year old was left off at the local convent four years ago. The police came to your home then because of a domestic dispute. I was wondering if the child belonged to this family.”

  The woman held her chest like she was going to swoon. “Four years ago, the police came here because my son and I were arguing. He wanted to work in town instead of continuing with his schooling.”

  “I’m sorry to bring it up. He didn’t have any children?”

  “Now he does, but not then. He works for my husband in the shop downstairs in order to have an income for his wife and child. Excuse me, but I don’t think it’s right that four years later the police want to visit the situation again.”

  “No. It doesn’t sound right. The child involved was recently kidnapped, and we’re trying desperately to find out where she came from. I’m so sorry to interrupt you, Signora Ussi. I’ll report to the police that your family isn’t involved.”

  When the nun stepped outside in front of the grocery, Silvio revved his engine and sped out from between two buildings on the opposite side of the street. “Now for the farmhouse?” he asked.

  Silvio kept driving well past the last houses of the village. The hilly countryside spread before them—yellowing grassy fields with lines of cypress and beautiful estates.

  “There was a domestic dispute out here?”

  “You don’t have to be poor to have problems, Silvio.”

  “How would you know that?”

  Sister Angela let the warm breezes glance off her face. “Only God knows.”

  Suddenly the motorbike slowed to a stop.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I’m not sure if we’re in the right place,” he said.

  “There’s a postbox up there. Let’s check the number.” As he slowed the motorbike, she checked the number on the box with her list. “This is it, Silvio. You’re better at this than even you know.”

  Silvio pulled the bike up to the gate and pressed a button.

  “Who are you?” a scratchy voice through the tiny speaker squeaked at them.

  After waiting for the gate to open, Silvio let the nun off at the front door. Sister Angela knocked and waited until a woman came to open it.

  “Signora Colletta?” the nun asked.

  The woman stepped aside to let her enter. Signor Colletta’s in his study. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  “Just let her in, Dona,” he spat. “Of course
I know she’s here. If you’d done your job and answered the intercom, then I would’ve needed to be told. He approached the door. “Please come in, Sister. You’ll have to forgive the help. They’re all hopeless. I don’t know why I pay them.”

  The nun entered and sat down on the soft loveseat. “Signor Colletta, I’m here concerning an incident that resulted in a police report four years ago.”

  He gave her a withering stare, but Sister Angela didn’t shrink away. “So the police are checking up on me now? For God’s sake, you’re seriously reexamining a case that happened four years ago? Why’s the Church involved, Sister? Did something happen to my ex-wife?” He lit a cigarette and paced the room like a wild cat.

  “So Signora Colletta and you are divorced.”

  “We settled just a few months after the complaint. The witch married me for my money and figured out a way to take much of it with her.”

  “Were there children?”

  “No, thank God. She was well past her prime when I married her. She came from a supposedly affluent family. She’s a Brit. Her father made his money in industry, but I think she made her fortune through all her marriages. She’d been married four times before. The whole relationship was a joke. I must have been out of my mind. It lasted less than a year.” He stopped to snuff out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table in front of the nun. “I suppose you disapprove.”

  “It sounds terrible, Signor Colletta. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” she said, rising from her comfortable throne.

  “So tell me why you’re here. Is she dead?”

  “I’ve no idea. I’ve never met her. I’m investigating the kidnapping of a young child for the police. If there were no young children involved in the separation with your wife, it doesn’t concern me. I can see myself out. Thank you for your help.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Viviana braced herself against the top of the marble headstone to look closer at the picture of Mara. She’d been so alive just weeks earlier.

  Viviana didn’t hurry when she first heard Mara had taken ill but immediately visited her when she was told her mother was in the hospital. Mara was already unconscious. Had her mother realized she was there or was she already preparing to leave this world? Was Nonna’s death so hard on Mara?