by Jeff Carson
“You could say that,” she said with a smirk. Then her expression turned serious. “I had to fight for independence from my brothers. Two of them were overly protective of me. I hated it. I didn’t need the protection.”
She paused, glanced to the right, and then cranked the wheel left. This caused Wolf to look to his left so hard it was more a convulsion, before realizing she was using another convex mirror.
She looked at him and laughed softly. “I fought and gained the respect I deserved from my brothers.”
They rode in silence for a minute.
“So, you feel this job ... the colonnello ... you aren’t getting the respect or the chances you deserve?”
She glared out the windshield. “Yeah. Something like that. Valerio was a friend of the family. He grew up with us. He knows I can handle myself. He knows I’m better than what they think. And I know it’s also a matter of paying your dues. But the dues are much more expensive for a woman in Italy.”
Wolf nodded and looked out the window as they drove along the lakeshore. Waves glistened in the sun like crystals.
“What do your brothers do? They cops too?”
“Ehh,” she exhaled. “Let’s see, one is a lawyer in Roma, one is a carabiniere in Bergamo, and one is Guardia di Finanza.”
“What’s Guardia di Finanza? Finance guards?”
“Yes. They are part of the military, kind of like the carabinieri. They patrol the territorial waters of Italy. Working against smuggling, illegal immigration, that type of thing. Among a lot of other duties. Valerio’s little brother is also in the Guardia.”
Wolf nodded.
“Luca,” she said with a fond smile.
“What’s that?”
“Sorry. Luca is my brother in the Guardia. I am most close to him.” She blushed and looked at Wolf, a tinge of regret in her eyes, as if she had just realized she was flaunting a toy that he didn’t have.
She was, but he knew she didn’t mean anything by it. They drove on in silence.
Chapter 19
Wolf and Lia were buzzed into the morgue, this time by a female voice. He met the morning pathologist on duty, Bianca. Lia explained the situation, and Bianca left briefly, returning with the bag from the night before.
Wolf brought the bag into the room where his brother lay, and set it down on the steel table. Lia followed close behind, intrigued. He removed both belts and laid them side-by-side on the table. The brown belt that had been found around John’s neck was noticeably longer. The holes still lined up, but the wear marks were at least five inches apart.
“This brown belt isn’t John’s. It’s from someone with a waist band that is at least five inches bigger.”
“Yeah, but couldn’t the belt have stretched from him hanging on it?”
Wolf looked closely at the leather. “It’s not stretched at all,” he said. “There’s a thread pattern on the edges that would be broken with significant stretching. There’s not one broken thread.”
“Okay, so what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that my brother was found on the floor of his apartment. Not hanging from the ceiling. The chandelier couldn’t hold his weight—there was irrefutable evidence of that. So you tell me which is more likely.
“One, he borrowed someone else’s belt, or stole it for the purpose of killing himself, did some cocaine, then hanged himself with the belt. He hangs there until he is almost dead, kicks the chair out during a convulsion, which sets off a slow drop of the chandelier. But a perfectly timed drop, mind you, because the hanging has to kill him. Otherwise he would have just gotten up later with a bad bruise on his head. So, the chandelier stays hanging, just until he dies. Then it falls within a time frame brief enough that he’s still bruised after death. Because, like the pathologist said last night, bruising can occur for only a short period after death.
“Or, scenario two, someone strangles him with the belt, probably in a fit of rage. In an effort to cover it up, he strings him up, or, rather, they string him up to the chandelier.”
“They?” Lia asked.
“There’s no way one man could hold a another’s dead weight and string the belt from the chandelier at the same time. There had to have been two people. So, they are trying to cover up the murder with a hanging. They string him up, and all goes wrong when the chandelier won’t hold him. He drops. The chandelier drops. It makes a loud noise, and they freak out. They lock the door and turn out the lights. Cristina said she went downstairs and saw that the lights were off underneath the door. John wouldn’t have hanged himself in the dark. That wouldn’t have made sense.” Wolf saw everything lining up in front of him. “And the door was locked from the inside, keys still in the top lock. So whoever killed my brother had to have still been in there. They probably freaked out after the loud crash ... probably didn’t want to go out the front door in case the neighbors came knocking to see what had happened. So they turned off the lights and sat quiet. Then they heard the knock at the door. They knew they had to leave some other way, like out John’s balcony and along the rooftop next door. They couldn’t have left from the front door because, like you guys said, the door was locked, and his keys were pushed out of the door by the manager when you guys went in.”
Lia was staring at him with raised eyebrows.
He caught her expression and stopped talking.
She looked down at the floor, then back up at Wolf. “I think that there was another man’s belt found around his neck.” Her voice was soft and controlled. “I believe that.”
“Good,” Wolf said. “And how do you explain it? How does he have a heavier man’s belt around his neck?”
She looked at him. “I don’t know.”
Wolf stared wide-eyed at the floor, envisioning the night with perfect clarity. Doubt stabbed his mind, and the story he’d constructed began to waver and swirl apart. “We need to go talk to an astronomer.” He walked out of the room.
…
Lia kept silent for the twenty-minute journey south, allowing Wolf to shuffle the thoughts in his brain.
He stared out the window with an unblinking gaze. In his mind he was there the night of John’s death, one minute seeing exactly how he was killed, the next not so sure. What had really happened? Was it conceivable that John had killed himself? Had he given up on life? He waits to become a mega successful blogger and author, only to end it all after snorting a bit of cocaine?
What if he actually had given up on life? Maybe his apparent successes to the outsider’s point of view were actually a hollow reminder to John of something he didn’t have in his life. What the hell that could have been, Wolf had no idea.
Wolf thought about a bitter Colorado mountain winter day in middle school when the school bully, Billy Tranchen, and his three buddies stole John’s winter hat. John had slogged all the way home on foot that day, come into the house, grabbed a hat, gone to Billy’s, knocked on the door, asked for Billy, and beaten the crap out of him right there in front of his own mother. Then he’d taken back the hat and left.
Wolf had marveled at that story in the years to come, and had never spoken about it with John, but for one time. John told him, “The guy had it coming.” And that was that. John Wolf was a tough, stubborn, hard-nosed son of a bitch, just like himself, and just like their dad.
“Look, David,” Lia said, “I am sorry. I know it must be so difficult. I can’t imagine having to go through this with one of my brothers. If you say he didn’t kill himself and didn’t do drugs, and he was murdered ... then I believe you. But, we must have some indisputable evidence to change the minds of those who have already opened and shut this case.”
He nodded. “Let’s just go talk to this Matthew guy and see what we can find out.”
Chapter 20
The Merate Observatory was three buildings and two telescope domes sitting on a small hill. Tall spindly pines and an iron fence topped with Roman spearheads lined the entire perimeter, which looked to be about five
or six acres in area. Dense foliage of all types filled in the property surrounding the structures within.
The European Union and Italian flags hung limply from the pole next to the wrought-iron gate. Lia jerked off the main road in front of a slowly approaching truck and leaned out the window to push the button in one move. A small sign read “Osservatorio Astronomico di Merate — European Astronomical Society.”
“Pronto?” A male voice crackled through the speaker.
“Carabinieri, possono parlare per un minuto con il dirretore di l’osservatorio?”
“Si, ehh, parla inglese?”
“Yes, I do,” Lia answered.
“Please pull up to the guest parking lot, and I will meet you outside,” said the metallic sounding voice in a well-mannered English accent.
Two lights flashed yellow as the gate swung jerkily open to the inside. Lia waited patiently, then shot through with precise timing to miss the side-view mirrors with an inch to spare.
They parked and got out. Wolf had been studying the foliage of the area, and could only come to the conclusion that nature looked confused. There were palm trees, pine trees with long drooping limbs, stiff spiked trees with red flowers that looked like fruit, large-leaved prehistoric looking bushes, pine trees you might see in Colorado, and a variety of exotic-looking foliage he’d never seen. The lawn was lush green, full of grasses and thick-stemmed wild flowers with tiny yellow and blue blossoms, and at least a foot tall. One thing was certain—this area got a lot of rain.
The surrounding area seemed densely populated—cornfields lined with dense pockets of apartment buildings and villas of all sizes, much like the part of northern Italy he’d seen so far. Definitely not the best location for observing stars.
A tall, lanky man with thick glasses approached with clicking shoes. He was disheveled looking—pants too tight, too high, and one side of his collared golf shirt tucked in. It looked like he’d just finished using the bathroom and re-dressed in haste.
Wolf hoped that wasn’t the case as they shook hands.
“Hello, I’m Stephen Wembly,” he said with precise Queen’s English and a squint-eyed smile. “I’m the director of the observatory. What may I have the honor of helping you with today?”
Lia stepped forward and offered her hand. “Hello. We are looking for an astronomer, Matthew Rosenwald, who we understand works here.”
“Oh, yes. Well, he isn’t here. I haven’t seen him all week.”
“Do you mean he hasn’t been to work all week?” Wolf asked. “Or that you just work at different times?”
“I mean he hasn’t been in at all.” Deep lines formed on Wembly’s forehead. “Quite frankly, I was wondering if something dreadful had occurred ... has something ... dreadful occurred? Oh my. Is that why you’re here?”
“We just want to talk with him,” Lia said.
“Well, we can go inside and I could get his phone number for you if you like?” Wembly said. “He hasn’t been answering for me.”
…
“This is the Zeiss one-meter telescope, installed in 1926.” They entered the large dome-ceilinged room. “Light pollution for this area is considerable nowadays, but the telescope is still used for University of Milan students on clear nights. Otherwise the observatory complex is now a leader in X-ray optics development, and ground-based gamma-ray astronomy.”
The telescope was painted off white and lime green, the paint scheme of a 1950s Colorado house.
Wembly stood beaming at the telescope for a few seconds, then seemed to snap out of his tour-guide mode. “Ah, yes, sorry. This way please. I need to get my mobile from my office.”
They followed closely behind Wembly. Outside of the main telescope dome room, the rest of the building was not large by any means. Wolf counted five offices through the hall, some with open doors, and all with nametags that read like an international phone book. Chang. Izhutin. Rosenwald. Egger. Vlad. Wembly had an office at the end of the hall and around a corner. Wolf looked over his shoulder as they walked onward. There looked to be a similar wing in the opposite direction.
Lia got the number from Wembly and called Matthew Rosenwald.
“Dr. Rosenwald is our one and only representative from the southern hemisphere here at the observatory,” Wembly told Wolf, rocking on his heels.
Wolf heard movement from the Vlad office and glanced in that direction. The scientist was kicking the rubber doorstop with his heel, trying to shut his door.
Lia pointed to her phone with the universal No luck happening with this call facial expression, and Wembly read it.
“Vlad! These two are looking for Dr. Rosenwald. I was telling them about how he hasn’t shown up in the last few days.” Wembly turned to Wolf. “This is Dr. Vlad. He knows Dr. Rosenwald on a more personal basis.”
“Uhh, yes, I do not know where he is.” Vlad’s voice was raspy, like he hadn’t used it in a day or two. He cleared his throat for a few seconds.
Vlad was a short, large, and sweaty individual. His jet-black facial hair was sporadic, denser on the neck, and he had not shaved recently. Whether or not he had showered within the last week was a toss-up. His dark-gray shirt had darker still finger-sized grease stains, the result of eating potato chips from the bag splayed open on his desk. Four haphazardly placed and partially crushed Coke Lite cans cluttered the desktop. He wore dirty jeans and flip-flops. A hand wasn’t offered as introduction, and Wolf thanked Jesus for that.
“Have you talked to him this week at all?” Wolf asked.
“No, I have not,” he said as he shook his head.
His accent was Eastern European, sounding similar to Cristina’s, John’s girlfriend he’d met the night before.
Vlad’s shifty eyes darted between Wolf’s clothing, the wall behind him, and Director Wembly. “I have not spoken to him all week.” His glance rested on Wolf’s eyes for a split second before jumping to the wall behind him again.
“So, you know Dr. Rosenwald on a personal basis? Do you guys spend a lot of time with each other?”
“We have gone to have a beer or two after work a few times before,” said Vlad.
“Have you met my brother before? His name is John Wolf.”
“Oh yes, I have.” Vlad’s voice was suddenly quiet.
“How did you meet him?”
“I believe he has, eh, come out with Matthew with us for a beer after work a time or two.” Vlad’s forehead was glistening with sweat. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m asking because my brother was killed this weekend, and I’m looking to Matthew for some answers.”
Vlad’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, that’s terrible. I …”
Wolf waited. “You what?”
“I, I ... that’s terrible. What happened?” He looked Wolf in the eye, then wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand.
“He was killed in his apartment, and someone is trying to make it look like suicide.”
“Oh, wow …” Vlad looked down, shaking his head. “That’s terrible. And you think Matthew has something to do with it?”
“That’s what we’re checking. Was there a particular bar you guys went to for beers?” Wolf asked.
“Yeah, well, no,” his face flushed red and his eyebrows rose for a split second.
“Did you guys ever used to go to …” he fished the receipt out of his pocket, “the Albastru Pub?”
Out the corner of his eye, Wolf saw Lia turn and look at him.
“Uh, yeah. We’ve been there before,” Vlad said.
“What were you doing Friday night?” Wolf put the receipt back in his jeans pocket.
“I was working in the office, actually. I was here quite late on Friday night.”
“You weren’t with them at the pub, getting a beer that night?”
“What? No.” He was excited now. “I was at work all night.”
Wolf paused for a few seconds and stared at the scientist. “Okay. Thanks, Dr. Vlad. And you didn’t see Matthew or my brother at all
last weekend?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t.”
“So what do you do here? Are you an astronomer as well?”
“Me? I, uh, I work for the EAS. I am overseeing the refurbishment of the Zeiss telescope.”
“Vlad is an important man in the world of astronomical equipment, Mr. Wolf,” Wembly said. “In any given month, a lot of equipment is exchanged between countries and continents, and Dr. Vlad has become the top man for the EAS to oversee its logistics. We are lucky to have him here.” Wembly wore a proud expression.
Vlad nodded with closed eyes and held up his hand—as if he was a movie star and Wembly a raving fan.
Wolf nodded back to Vlad. “Where are you from?”
“I’m from Romania.”
“What part?”
“Cluj.”
“And what about Dr. Rosenwald? What does he do here?”
“He works on our gamma-ray astronomy team,” Wembly answered behind them, “with Dr. Chang there.” He pointed toward the center of the building.
“Okay. Mr. Wembly—”
“Doctor Wembly ... never mind, sorry, it doesn’t matter.” He shook his head and squinted his eyes in apology.
“Dr. Wembly,” Wolf said, “how did he get to work? By car?”
“Yes, he drove a car.”
“And what is the make, model, and color of it?”
“It’s a, um ... oh, you know better than I, Dr. Vlad. What did he drive?” Wembly asked.
Vlad was pulled from deep thought. “He drives a blue Fiat Panda.”
Wolf looked back to Dr. Wembly. “Do you mind if we question Dr. Chang? And can we please have Dr. Rosenwald’s address? Do you have that on file?”
“Yes, I believe I do. Let me fetch it for you.”
“Thanks, Dr. Vlad. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”
Vlad stuck out his hand to shake, and Wolf walked out the door.
…