Tricky Death

by Beate Boeker

  “I doubt it.”

  Brillo shook his head. “You know, I think you could have vision, if you applied yourself to it.”

  “Let's go back to the night of the raid. What happened?”

  “The plan was perfect. A knock-out drink for Lucio sometime early in the evening. We planned to leave him in a discreet room, with a bunch of incriminating documents. He would sleep peacefully until the police found him … We knew he would never have managed to explain himself out of that situation.” Brillo chuckled. “Not in a million years. I could have been oh, so innocent, so shocked. My poor company, misused by someone I trusted. We had established a careful connection between Lucio and Alfredo, so it would seem as if they had worked as a team.”

  Garini looked at Tonio, who was listening with an open mouth. Thank God that part hasn't shown up in our research. It would just about have finished me.

  “And then, bang. All plans gone awry.” Brillo shook his head with a sad move of his head. “But if your luck is out, it's out. First, Lucio got up and disappeared before we could stop him. That was bad enough. We had planned on assisting him to a bed and then melting away. I sent the boys out to look for him.”

  “The boys?”

  “The brothers, Giorgio and Domenico. They work for me, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Garini had them clearly in his mind, those two morose, lank people, talking in monosyllables. The Berts to Brillo's Ernie.

  “That was the second thing that didn't work out. They are easily scared. Always too careful. Well, they found him.”

  “Lucio?”

  “Yes, Lucio. They found him in a private room, with the dead prostitute in his arms.” He snorted. “And what did they do? They panicked, absolutely and totally. They turned on their heels and left the club without even coming back to me!” The feverish red in his cheeks intensified. “They just left me to deal with everything by myself.”

  Garini frowned. “They found the prostitute already dead?”

  “Yes.” Brillo sighed. “No idea why anybody wanted to kill that girl. She was pretty and harmless.”

  “She was a police spy.”

  Brillo blinked and stared at him. “You're not saying …? Well, I never. I wonder who got her.”

  Garini stared hard at him, wondering if he could believe him. Did Brillo feel it necessary to admit to drug smuggling to relieve his conscience but didn't dare admit to murder, perhaps being held back by some vague idea that murder was worse? But no, he had easily admitted to having killed – or having ordered the killing – of Alfredo, Lucio's predecessor. Garini swallowed. If Brillo had had no part in Ambrosia's killing, he had to look for the murderer somewhere else … and Lucio had gotten himself entangled in not one, but two nets that night. Or had he? A chill went down his spine. What if Emma had indeed found Lucio and Ambrosia Amore in bed? She had been on the spot, and she had been sufficiently stirred up to be ripe for murder. Gosh, he didn't even want to consider the consequences. He wrenched his thoughts back to the sick man before him. “Continue, please. So the brothers left the club in a hurry.”

  “Yes, damn them. And in their haste, they forgot to leave the papers on Lucio. Heedless idiots! If they had come back to me, we could have found a solution. But no. They ran like hares.”

  “And then?”

  “After some time, I became nervous. They had all vanished. So I went to look for them.”

  “What about your customers?”

  Brillo made an airy move with his hands. “Oh, they were with one girl or other. Busy.”

  “Go on. The next part interests me extremely.”

  Brillo gave a wheezy chuckle. “Does it, though? Well, I was in for a shock. I found Lucio, dead to the world, with the dead prostitute in his arms. I was so speechless, I just stood and stared at the spectacle for a full minute. Then I realized the boys must have run away, and I knew I had to do the same. The game was up – or at least, my escape plan wasn't as tightly sewn up as I had planned.”

  “When did you leave the club?”

  “At ten-thirty. I checked my watch before I hurried away. The next morning, I sacked both brothers.”

  “But I talked to them later.”

  “Yeah.” Brillo sighed. “That's because they simply didn't accept the sack, just stayed on, as if nothing had happened.” Brillo pondered a moment. “Well, maybe I had sacked them before. But I never meant it. That night, I meant it, and they didn't get that.”

  “Why didn't you leave the country right away?”

  Brillo shook his head. “I trusted in my luck, and leaving Italy was my last resort.” He looked like a sad Ernie now. “They have no idea how to do a mean pasta in Venezuela.” He shrugged. “But in the end, it didn't matter. My luck didn’t hold. And then, the measles got me.” He stretched out a trembling hand. “I'm through. Give me something to drink.”

  The nurse bent forward and assisted him.

  Garini stared straight ahead. His murder investigation was unraveling in his hands, just as he'd thought he'd reached the end. Brillo's story was good news and bad news. Good news, because it confirmed a lot of what he had thought, particularly that Lucio had been framed. But the bad news was excruciating. The drug angle had nothing to do with the murder. He’d have to start his investigation from scratch. He lifted his gaze and found Tonio staring at him. “Your job is done,” Garini said softly.

  “Yes.” Tonio nodded. He wiped the hair from his face and looked at Garini with something akin to pity. “And yours has just begun.”

  Chapter 15

  When Garini returned to the police station, he felt like throwing something against the wall. Damn it all. Who had killed Ambrosia Amore? And why? There was no motive anywhere. He would have to tackle Emma once again. Maybe get her to come to the police station, to intimidate her. Oh, God, she'd insist on bringing little Zoe. The family would murder him – suspecting a young mother of killing a prostitute. He would give anything to avoid that conversation.

  The phone rang, and he jumped at it, happy to reroute his train of thought and to delay any action.

  “Is this commissario Garini?”

  He knew that voice, an elderly man, cultured. When had he talked to him before? “Yes, I'm commissario Garini.”

  “I'm the priest of Badia di Sant'Arcangelo. We talked some time ago.”

  Of course! The priest of Ambrosia's home town. Garini's heartbeat quickened. Did he have news? “Yes, padre? I recall our conversation.”

  “You wanted to know more about Rosetta's family and her brother.”

  He'd almost forgotten that Ambrosia wasn't her real name. “Yes. Have you learned something?”

  The priest hesitated. “I have. But you have to know it's all hearsay. Lots of it may be invented. You know how rumors build up.”

  Garini jumped from his chair. “Just tell me everything, please. We'll sort it all later, to find out if there's any substance in the rumors.”

  “All right.” The priest hesitated. “But do keep in mind that some of it was only passed on in a bar, late at night, and it might not be true.”

  Garini couldn't stop himself. “Were you personally at the bar?”

  “Oh, no, my son. I got this information in a roundabout way. My housekeeper likes to talk, you know. And her husband likes to go to the bar. I've often wondered how I could stop her passion for ferreting out news about everyone around her, but I admit that this time, I used it.”

  Garini heard the faint amusement in his voice and smiled. “What did you do?”

  “I told her about Rosetta's murder and asked her to tell me everything she'd ever heard.”

  “And?”

  “And I hit pay dirt, as they say.” The priest sounded as if he was pleased with his expression. “Of course, she took a long time to calm herself, but in the end, I learned a lot.”

  By now, Garini was grabbing the edge of his desk. “Pray continue, padre.”

  “I think I told you that Rosetta's mother died when she was still smal
l.”

  “Yes.”

  “Her father was a farmer, and quite successful, too. He married again, a woman with money, and she brought her little son with her when she moved in.”

  “Where were they from?”

  “Originally, she came from Naples.”

  “How about the little boy's father?”

  “Nobody knows anything about his father. She didn't talk about him at all. That quite worried my housekeeper, but no matter how much she tried, she never got anything. That in itself shows how strong-minded Rosetta's stepmother was.” The priest sounded as if he wanted to congratulate the stepmother for having resisted the determined housekeeper.

  “I see.”

  “Well, the patchwork family wasn't a happy one. I wouldn't go so far as to say that the story reminds one of Cinderella, but apparently, Rosetta's father had always wanted to have a boy, so he was delighted about the new son and preferred him in many ways. The mother didn't take to Rosetta, either. The girl ended up being lonely. I knew too little about it, or I would have tried to help her more.” He cleared his throat. “You know, I always prided myself on not being nosy. I keep to myself, and if people want to unburden themselves, they can come to me. But in Rosetta's case, I feel guilty. Maybe my careful neutrality only veiled a form of disinterest. Maybe I could have helped her if I had been more alert, more ready to reach out.”

  “It's a thin line to tread,” Garini said. “It's so easy to come across as a busybody.”

  “Exactly.” The priest sighed. “But that's vanity, isn't it? I shouldn't wonder about myself. I should only consider the situation of the soul in trouble and reach out. Maybe, in the future, I'll listen more carefully to my housekeeper.” He took a deep breath. “But I was trying to tell you her story. When Rosetta became a teenager, things became worse. She hated her stepmother, hated her stepbrother, and even hated her father. She had rows with her father that could be heard two houses farther down.”

  “Not with the brother, though?”

  “Oh, the brother was a different kettle of fish altogether. Very charming on the surface, someone everybody loved. Often, he even seemed to be shy and friendly. But he had a terrible temper. My housekeeper told me that once, he got into a fight with a boy about some toy. He kicked the boy down and continued beating him long after he'd fallen. And Rosetta …” His voice trailed off.

  “What about her?”

  “Apparently, he broke her favorite doll in a rage attack one week after they'd moved in. Rosetta never forgave him, and the relationship went downward from that point on.”

  Garini frowned. He would need to learn this from more than one gossipy source. “How about friends?”

  “She didn't have close friends. Apparently, most of the girls in the village were in love with her brother and couldn't understand why they didn't get along. My housekeeper said she'd once caught him in the act of stealing a cake she'd left on the window sill to cool. But he was so charming that she forgave him and even let him go with half the cake. Later, she didn't know what had come over her.” The priest paused. “That's the first time I ever heard her admitting to a weakness, by the way. She's not usually a woman who can be charmed.”

  Garini suppressed a smile. It sounded as if the priest had tried and failed, living now under her iron thumb. “But sooner or later, his temper would show, wouldn't it?”

  The priest sighed. “His charm always got him out of trouble, so he grew up with the notion that he could get away with anything. The father doted on him, and the mother adored the father. So they were a very happy triangle with only one disturbing element – Rosetta. On the day when she turned eighteen, she left the house without leaving a forwarding address. But my housekeeper knew she'd wanted to go to Florence.”

  “Did only the housekeeper know about that?”

  “No. The whole village knew. Even I did.”

  Garini frowned. “I'd really like to talk to that brother. Though I fail to see what motive he might have had.”

  “Oh, he had a motive all right,” the priest said. “I told you about the sudden death of the parents, didn't I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you see, Rosetta inherited everything, and the brother only got the absolute legal minimum.”

  Garini froze. “She inherited everything?”

  “Yes. The farm and the land and all other assets. It's quite valuable.”

  “But why? If the father didn't even like her?”

  “It was a mistake. You see, the stepmother had made a will, leaving everything to her husband, and if he should be dead, to her son. With a farm, it makes sense to split up as little as possible, otherwise the whole operation will not be profitable anymore, so the will was only logical. Because of the boating accident, she died a day before her husband, so Rosetta's father inherited everything she had. And the next day, Rosetta's father died.”

  “And he'd never made a will?”

  “No. Apparently, he was a bit superstitious about it and felt he was way too young. And as he had never formally adopted the boy, his next of kin got the lot, and that's Rosetta.”

  “Leaving the boy who grew up as the favorite without a penny?”

  “Exactly.”

  Garini dropped into his chair, his thoughts racing. “But still, that's no reason for murder. After all, he doesn't inherit anything from Rosetta, and I doubt she would have shared anything with him.”

  “That's where you're too rational, my son. Also, you underestimate the conceit of the boy. I told you he could be charming if needed. He decided to find Rosetta and talk her into giving him at least half of everything.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He talked wildly before departing.”

  “It seems I really have to find Rosetta's brother at top speed. What's Sluppo's real name?”

  “Filippo Arcardi.”

  Garini made a choking sound in his throat.

  “Have you come across him, my son?”

  “I have.” Garini's voice was flat. “He works as a waiter at the nightclub where Rosetta was killed.”

  Chapter 16

  “Careful with that mannequin!” Carlina shouted to Ernesto, who had slung it over his shoulder in fireman-style and was carrying it with too much nonchalance out of the store. “If you hit its head against the wall, I won't be able to use it anymore.”

  Annalisa grinned. “Maybe Stefano can then take it to decorate his office. With blood red underwear.”

  Carlina rolled her eyes but didn't comment. She was freaking out because the whole family was milling in and out of Temptation, setting up the big guinea pig race event. “Please pack the content of the shelf behind you into one of the boxes you'll find in the storeroom, okay?”

  Annalisa sighed. “Do I have to?”

  Carlina lifted an eyebrow. “No. Alternatively, you can clean the bathroom. The toilet has to be pristine.”

  “Okay, you win. I'll box your stuff.” Annalisa moved her shapely behind with a languid movement in the direction of the storeroom.

  Carlina turned around and darted forward to grab one end of the long table that was destined to become the racing course. “Hey, stop moving! If you continue in that direction, you'll ram it right into my counter.”

  “I'm sorry, Carlina.” Leo panted. “I didn't see that.”

  Emma dropped her end of the table and wiped her forehead. “Tell me again why we're doing this?”

  “Because we're starting a super successful start-up business,” Aunt Violetta boomed. “This event will put Temptation on the map!”

  A shudder went through Carlina. Do I want to put Temptation on the map with guinea pig racing? The question still haunted her, but it was too late now to stop the project.

  Leo and Emma changed course and managed to ease the table to the side.

  Fabbiola dragged an unknown man into the store. “You don't need to be afraid of the underwear, signor.” She beamed at him. “For the moment, it's not underwear but guinea pigs, so you can
relax.” She turned to Carlina. “Here's the man to set up the TV screen on the wall, Carlina!”

  Carlina heaved a sigh of relief. She had insisted on a professional for the huge TV screen, petrified by the idea that Uncle Teo might climb onto a wobbling ladder and affix the screen with weak screws into the crumbling old walls of the historical building.

  The professional didn't look as if Fabbiola's reassuring words had done any good. His eyes had widened when she had mentioned the guinea pigs, and he now seemed to regret having accepted the job.

  Aunt Violetta rolled forward. “Do you like the races, by any chance, young man?”

  The young man, who was in his late fifties, gave her a wary look. “The races?”

  “Yes. Horses. Gambling. Come on, don't be so shy! I'm sure you've spent a bit of your money on the big chance, haven't you?”

  “And what if I have?”

  “If you're interested, I can give you a perfect tip.”

  Carlina grabbed the handles of Aunt Violetta's wheelchair and pulled her backwards. “Aunt Violetta, this is not the moment for a sales pitch. I need to show this man where to put the TV.”

  Aunt Violetta pouted. “You're a hard woman, Carlina.”

  “I have a goal, and that is to have everything ready by eight PM tonight. I'm not sure we can make it if we continue like this.”

  “Oh, well, have it your way.” Aunt Violetta sighed.

  Quickly, Carlina pointed out the right position for the screen, so the expert could get to work on the crumbling walls.

  Aunt Violetta sighed again. “I guess I'm not needed here anymore.”

  Carlina eyed her. Where did this soft act come from? Was Aunt Violetta having second thoughts about her business venture? If yes, this wasn't the right moment at all. “I'm sure you still have plenty of other things to organize, don't you?”

  “Nope.” Aunt Violetta lifted her chin. “I'm all set. Nothing forgotten. Nothing can go wrong.”

  Carlina felt a familiar shiver. Whenever someone said something like that, she felt as if they were tempting fate. “Cool. How about the Master of Ceremony? Did you find one?”