Tricky Death

by Beate Boeker

  “Quite.” Garini and Tonio left the room. Outside, they looked at each other.

  “What now?” Tonio asked.

  “I'll talk to the wife of the man who died at the marmi. Make sure you keep signor Brillo safe.”

  “Will do.”

  Stefano researched the address of Anna Anticola. It was in the northwestern part of Florence, Novoli. On a whim, he decided to drive by. Maybe he’d get lucky and she’d be at home. It turned out she lived in an apartment opposite the ugly stone edifice that housed the mercato ortofrutticolo, the vegetable and fruit market of Novoli.

  When he'd pressed the bell, he surveyed the area around him. The street that passed right in front of the building, Viale Alessandro Guidoni, had several busy lanes. Right across, there was a parking space for market visitors, and he knew the airport wasn't far away. If you lived here, you had to be immune to lots of noise and hustle. A rough voice came over the loudspeaker. “Who's there?”

  “I'm Stefano Garini from the homicide department in Florence, and I'd like to speak to you about your husband's death.”

  She didn't miss a beat. “Come up. I’m on the third floor.”

  When she opened the door, he got a shock. The woman in front of him looked so exhausted, he spontaneously wondered if he should prop her up. She leaned against the door frame, as gaunt as a scarecrow, and there were dark circles underneath her eyes. “Finally,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  With a weak move of the hand, she motioned for him to come in. “I’ve been waiting for someone from the police to take notice, and to talk to me, but nobody took me seriously.”

  Garini frowned. The apartment was warm, and it smelled of stale air. The curtains were drawn, so it was hard to make out more than the rough contours.

  “In here.” She opened another door to a gloomy room.

  “Would you mind if I opened the curtains a bit?” Garini asked. If he had to conduct a useful interview, he had to be able to see the face of the woman in front of him.

  She made a weak move with her hand. “Suit yourself.”

  He pulled the curtains wide and restrained himself from opening the window. Then he sat down in the armchair in front of the sofa. Signora Anticola had collapsed onto the couch. She looked so fragile, he wondered if she even made a dent in the cushions.

  “May I tape our conversation?”

  A tired nod was the answer. Garini switched on the recorder and looked at her. “Would you please repeat your last remark?”

  “With pleasure.” Her voice was soft. “I’m glad that finally, someone from the police has taken notice and is willing to talk to me.”

  “About?”

  “About the murder of my husband, of course.”

  “The murder? It was classified as an accident.”

  She snorted. At least, that’s what she probably wanted to do. It came out as a weak squeak. “I’ve been saying from the very beginning that my husband was killed, but nobody wanted to listen.”

  “I’m willing to listen. Please tell me everything.”

  She didn’t ask why he had suddenly turned up. Instead, she launched straight away into her tale. It sounded as if she’d already told it multiple times. “We were on vacation, my husband and I, and we wanted to see the marmi. We went inside one of the excavation areas. It was a guided tour, you see. We got special helmets and everything. It was really very interesting, and while the guide talked, the group sort of dispersed a bit. I didn’t stay right at my husband’s side. I wish I had.” She sighed. “Suddenly, there was a sort of muffled sound, not very loud. I turned, and there he was, on the floor, with his neck at an awful angle. I cried out, and we all rushed to him, but it was too late. He was dead.”

  “Was there anybody near him?”

  “A few people, all tourists. They were all shocked. The police questioned them, but they soon said it was an accident. The floor was a bit wet, and they said he’d slipped, and fallen in a particularly unlucky way. You can die if you hit your head on a sharp corner, even if it’s not very big. There was a marble slab right next to his head. And apparently, he had a fragile skull.” She sobbed. “I read up on that, and it’s true. There are stories of people who fall and break their necks on virtually nothing at all.”

  “So why did you think he was killed?”

  She lifted her sunken eyes to him. “Because he told me so.”

  Garini swallowed. I hope she won’t drag any supernatural communications into this. “When did he do that?”

  “Before he was killed. You see, my husband, he was a kind man. Very kind. But he was also a bit … weak. He liked to make people happy, and if they suggested something to him that wasn’t … well, wasn’t quite all right, he glossed it over. He said it didn’t matter. He hated to say no, no matter what it was.”

  “Are you saying he got mixed up in something illegal?”

  She nodded. “Yes. At first, I had no idea. He didn’t talk about it. But one day, he mentioned that it was funny how he was made to order material that wasn’t very useful. And it puzzled him that they sold it at a loss. I mean, why buy more stuff than you need, only to sell it at as loss? He thought about it for quite some time, and then, he decided to ask his boss.”

  “Bianco Brillo?”

  She nodded. “Yes. And he came home quite happy, said that Bianco Brillo had explained it all satisfactorily – something to do with tax reduction or so, I didn’t really understand it, and I don’t think my husband did. But shortly afterwards, my husband got a substantial pay raise. We were happy about it, though I wondered. If your salary is suddenly doubled, you know there is a catch somewhere. But Bianco Brillo said that my husband had worked for so long in the company, he felt it was time to reward him. My husband believed it. Me … not so much.”

  “And what happened then?”

  “I think he must have noticed something strange. He … he became very worried. And he once talked about a connection to a nightclub that didn’t make sense.”

  “Can you remember the name?”

  She frowned. “Something that made me think of Dante.”

  “Dante?”

  “Yes. Purgatory.”

  “Inferno?”

  “Yes! Yes, that was it. The Inferno d’Oro.”

  His heartbeat quickened. “What did your husband say about it?”

  “He had overheard something, and it really worried him.”

  “Did he say anything more specific?”

  “No. He wanted to talk to signor Brillo about it.”

  “And did he do so?”

  “Yes. On the day before our vacation started. He felt better afterwards. Signor Brillo convinced him that all was in order, he said. The owner is his cousin.”

  Garini sat up straight. “The owner of the Inferno d'Oro is Bianco Brillo's cousin?”

  “That's what he told my husband.” She hesitated.

  Garini watched her. “But you weren’t satisfied?”

  She sighed. “I … I knew my husband, you see. It was easy to convince him. I tried to get him to tell me what it was that he’d seen or heard, but he smiled and told me it was nothing for women. He actually winked at me and said it was a man’s thing.” She bent forward. “Usually, my husband shared everything with me. He didn’t have any secrets.” Her smile was small and bitter. “But in this one point, he resisted me. I heard signor Brillo speaking through him when he gave me that wink because that didn’t sound like my husband at all.” She hid her face in her hands. “And a day later, he was dead.”

  Garini waited a moment until she’d regained control over herself. Then he said, “You were right to sound the alarm, and while I understand that my colleagues had nothing else to go on, we are now in a different situation.”

  She lifted her head. “Really? In what way?”

  “Your husband’s successor got into legal trouble, and I am convinced he was framed for something he didn’t do.”

  Her whole face lit up. “Then I was right.” She fe
ll back against the cushions with a sigh. “Thank you, commissario. Please don’t give up. Chase the people who did this. Even if we will never be able to lay my husband’s death at their doors, at least, I want them behind bars.”

  Garini got up. “I’ll see what I can do. But, for now, I can tell you Bianco Brillo is detained in connection with a murder at the nightclub.”

  She beamed at him. “Wonderful. Now I can sleep again.”

  He left signora Anticola with a lighter heart. Not that he’d found anything tangible yet – aside from the very interesting family connection – but the more he learned, the more the whole show stank. He just had to dig deeper. Sooner or later, this case would break.

  His stomach growled. Surprised, he checked his watch. Lunchtime. He remembered that Benedetta was making his favorite dish today, spaghetti all’ arrabbiata, and decided to join the Mantoni family for lunch. Maybe he needed to clear his head with some talks about guinea pigs. Sometimes, distraction was the best way to make progress. He might even tell them about the death of Lucio’s predecessor, to keep them happy. With a wry smile, he jumped onto his motorbike. When had he started to think of the Mantoni family like a pack of wolves that needed to be fed with information?

  When he entered Benedetta’s kitchen, lunch was already in full swing. The fragrance of the spicy tomato sauce made his stomach growl again, and with a sigh of happiness, he sank into his chair. Carlina smiled and bent to give him a kiss on his cheek. “I hadn’t counted on you,” she said.

  “Couldn’t resist Benedetta’s spaghetti all arrabbiata.” He savored his first bite. “Delizioso.” He lifted his fork in silent salute to Benedetta.

  Benedetta beamed. “You should eat home more often, Stefano.”

  He didn’t want to start that particular discussion, so he quickly changed the subject. “How is Kabuki? Not any the worse for having eaten the white flower?”

  “No.” Uncle Teo smiled. “He’s a resistant little fellow.”

  “And the peperoncini?”

  Carlina smiled. “They are so cute, you can eat them.”

  “They only eat them in Paraguay,” Ernesto said.

  His girlfriend, Nora, stared at him, horrified. “They do?”

  “Yep. National delicacy.”

  Nora gulped.

  “Well, they won’t be eaten here.” Aunt Violetta forked another spaghetti load into her mouth. “Instead, they’ll be happy and make us happy by earning lots and lots of money.”

  “So, how are your business plans proceeding?” Emma caressed little Zoe’s head and bent forward.

  Uncle Teo sighed. “We were told that we need an MC.”

  “What’s an MC?” Ernesto licked off his fork.

  “A Master of Ceremony.” Aunt Violetta had swallowed her spaghetti and was able to talk again. “Someone who comments during the game and explains details and adds to the fun of it. Like a sports reporter or so.”

  “But couldn’t you do the job, Aunt Violetta?” Carlina smiled at her. “I’m sure you’d have plenty to say about each guinea pig and about the game.”

  “I can’t do it,” Aunt Violetta said with dignity. “I’ll man the betting booth, and as bets are accepted until the gong sounds, I can’t do the preliminary talks and create all that frothy good feeling.”

  “How about you, Uncle Teo?”

  Uncle Teo shook his head. “I’ve got to organize the guinea pigs.”

  “What do you mean, organize them?” Ernesto asked. “You just put them on the table and off they go – or not, as the case may be.”

  “No, we want to equip them with some show gear,” Uncle Teo said.

  “Show gear?” Carlina stared at her great uncle. “Do you mean plumes and stuff, like circus horses?”

  “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.” Aunt Violetta beamed at her. “But it might be a bit heavy. No, we were thinking about a sort of glittering harness. With fake diamonds. Swarovski, you know. They have an astonishing choice of stones, fake and real, in all kinds of colors.”

  Fabbiola, who had listened without a word so far, now shook her head. “You won’t find harnesses for guinea pigs anywhere.”

  “Of course not!” Aunt Violetta glared at her. “What made you think you could ever find anything original all ready made? We have to find artisans who create them for us. But there is no better city than Florence if you’re looking for handmade leather items, after all. We have plenty of artisans who are experts on the manufacturing of leather products.”

  Fabbiola only rolled her eyes.

  “We expect it’ll take some time to put on the harnesses before the show,” Uncle Teo continued. “And that’s why I can’t do the MC, either.”

  Aunt Violetta sighed. “So, once again, we have the human resources problem.” She looked around the table. “Unless one of you wants to volunteer?”

  “How much do you pay?” Ernesto asked.

  “Ernesto!” Benedetta lifted her head with a sharp movement. “You’ve told me you’re already totally stressed out with your work at school!”

  He grinned. “It would be fun.”

  Aunt Violetta eyed him. “Of course, the cash flow is not really very impressive yet,” she said. “But I would consider giving you a larger chunk in my will.”

  Ernesto laughed and shook his head. “Nothing doing, Aunt V. It’s either cash in advance or nothing. For all I know, you might live to be one hundred and twenty, and then where would I be?”

  Next to him, Carina giggled.

  Garini threw her a glance. How like her to laugh about the family.

  Aunt Violetta shook her head and sighed. “That’s family for you. I guess we’ll have to keep on looking. Whenever you see a suitable young man or woman, let me know.” She shook off the problem and started to beam again. “We’ve also planned a grand opening, with balloons and radio advertisements and the whole show. It’s this coming Saturday.”

  Carlina frowned. “But that’s rather short notice. What’s the location?”

  Aunt Violetta smiled at her. “Well, that’s where you come in, my dear. We thought Temptation might be a good place.”

  Chapter 13

  Carlina’s smile fell from her face. “What?”

  “It’s smack in the middle of town, everybody knows the Via Tornabuoni, and we’ll have plenty of tourists walking past.”

  “But it’s tiny!” Fabbiola shook her head. “I mean, guinea pigs are much smaller than horses, but where do you want to put all the people? Three people, and the store is full.”

  Garini put his hand onto Carlina’s leg underneath the table. He knew how much it hurt her if people belittled her store.

  “It’s not that small, mamma,” she said with dignity. “But it really isn’t large enough for the sort of event you’re planning, Aunt Violetta.”

  “It’s plenty.” Aunt Violetta grinned at her. “We’ll ask the family to step back whenever someone comes into the room who’s new, and besides, overcrowded places attract people much more than half-empty rooms. I’ll put the booking table at the front, outside on the pavement, and people can line up to register.” Obviously, she already entertained a rosy vision of a long line of people, stretching to the river Arno, impatient to place their bets.

  Ernesto cocked his head to the side. “I'm not so sure, Aunt V. It's difficult to see the guinea pigs if several people are standing around the table.”

  Aunt Violetta made a negligent move with her hand. “That's no trouble at all, Ernesto. I've already thought about it, and I've decided to install a TV high up on the wall, so people can follow the race even from a distance.”

  Carlina choked. “Install a TV in my store? I'm not sure I want that! Buying underwear isn't something you want displayed on TV. It'll scare away my customers.”

  “But it's only for one night, Carlina!” Aunt Violetta frowned.

  “It's at least two days,” Carlina said. “One day for setting up, creating enough chaos to make sales impossible, then, in the evening, the event, and
the following day, the upheaval of getting everything back into shape. No, thanks.”

  “But Carlina!” Uncle Teo looked at her like a sad dog. “We counted on you.”

  “Actually, it's not a bad idea,” Emma said. “I mean, it's good advertisement if your name is broadcast everywhere.”

  “I don't subscribe to the thought that any advertisement is good advertisement.” Carlina's voice was acerbic. “Since when do people feel like buying underwear in a betting hall – even if it's only for guinea pigs?”

  “The first mantra about advertisement is that people know where you are. And if anybody says ‘Hey, I want to buy underwear’, and someone replies, ‘Remember that store with the fun guinea pig event? Why don't you go there?’ I call that good advertisement.” Emma nodded to herself. “And guinea pigs are cute. We're not talking about spiders or rats or something.”

  “That's indeed a positive aspect I hadn't considered.” Carlina's voice was dry.

  “Great!” Aunt Violetta clapped her hands. “That's settled, then.”

  Carlina stared at her. “Nothing is settled.”

  Aunt Violetta bent forward. “Carlina. We need your support. It's possible that this is the last wish I'll ever ask of you. I might drop dead at any moment! Do you want to live with the memory of having refused my last wish?”

  Uncle Teo moved in his seat. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.

  “That's emotional blackmail,” Garini said. “And I don't think it's fair to put Carlina under so much pressure when you all know she's the most loyal person on earth. She'd back you, the whole family, against anything. However, Temptation is her livelihood, and you have to respect that it's her business, and hers alone.” He looked at Aunt Violetta. “You don't accept anyone else meddling in your business, either. Carlina is a chip off the old block in that respect. You should value that.”

  Aunt Violetta looked dumbstruck. For an instant, she sat back and stared at him, then she said, “I see your point.” She turned to Carlina. “Now, Carlina, if I were an investor and would ask you to lend me your store for my event, what would be your terms?”