temptation in florence 03 - bankers death (9 page)

Stefano clenched his teeth so hard that the muscles at his jaw bunched together. “Sergio - he's my colleague who was supposed to take over - was stupid enough to mention that he wanted to congratulate the murderer of your cousin.”

“What?” Carlina shouted the word, then caught herself. Thank God no customer had ventured into Temptation this early in the day. “He wanted to congratulate the murderer? Why on earth--?”

“Because Valentino apparently planned something unsavory with his sister. They stopped him in time, but when Sergio learned that the victim was Valentino, he almost whooped with joy.” He gave her a quick glance. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that, he's your cousin and all . . .”

“Oh, I think quite a few people whooped with joy when they heard of Valentino's death.”
Most of all his near and dear ones.
Carlina's voice was dry. “Well, you got to know him. “She shrugged. “He was a real pain.”

Stefano nodded. “Still, I hate to investigate your family. I hate to be the enemy once again.”

Carlina looked at him.
You're not the enemy. You're the savior. If only you knew it.
She cleared her throat. “I think you'll find them more cooperative this time.”
And full of lies.

He frowned. “You think so? Why?”

She shrugged. “Because they know you.” She heard herself lie, and without warning, something inside her broke.
I can't do this. I don't want to lie to him.
She swallowed hard.
Great
, her inner voice mocked.
So go ahead and tell him you found Valentino half-naked in your apartment. Tell him to put it into his report, for his boss and all the world to see. I bet you'll have fun.
She hugged herself
. I can't do that.

“Carlina?” His gaze was on her. “What's the matter?”

I can't tell you.
Abruptly, she changed the topic. “Will you question everyone again today?”

He frowned and paused a moment before he replied. “Yes, I have to do that.”

“Right.” She clenched her teeth. “Will you start with me?”

“Why not? Right now?”

“Sure.” She shivered and hugged herself, trying to pull comfort from her black cashmere sweater, but the feeling of something painful about to happen remained, much as if she was sitting in a dentist's chair.

He gave her one of his rare smiles. “You're not afraid of me, are you?”

“Only from time to time.”

Stefano shook his head with a smile and took out a small notebook. “I'll take notes because the tape recorder still needs to be repaired. I've asked my assistant Piedro to organize that and to join us later.”

“Don't you think it would be better if we waited until he's here? Then you'd have a witness to having questioned me.”

Garini made a grimace. “Piedro wouldn't even notice a birth in progress, much less the finer points in an interrogation, and I think his father knows that.”

“His father?”

“My assistant just happens to be the son of my boss.”

Carlina opened her eyes wide. “Oh, really? Have you told me before? I didn't know. How uncomfortable.”

He met her gaze full on. “My current situation is uncomfortable in more than one respect, and Piedro is the least of my worries at the moment. Shall we start?”

“Yup.” She tried to sound light and relaxed even though she felt coiled like a spring.

“When did you last see your cousin alive?”

I'll stick to the truth as much as I can
. “In the afternoon.” Carlina took a deep breath. “He came into the store.” She cleared her throat. “He was trying to flirt with me and bought a pair of boxer shorts. He had them on when he was--” she cut herself off and could feel herself flushing scarlet.

Garini gave her an odd look. “He had them on . . . when?”

Her breath stopped.
What to say now? Go on! You have to go on! Say something! Anything!
“He had them on when he was killed.” She felt as if she was throwing herself head first into a fiery oven. “I saw the label peeking out from his trousers when he was lying on the ground. They . . . they were low-cut jeans.”
So much for not lying to him.
She swallowed.

“I see.” His clear gaze took in every move she made. “Can you tell me at what time he left the store?”

“Around five, I think.” She took a cautious breath.

Stefano made a short note and looked up. “Do you know of anybody who had it in for Valentino?”

Carlina tried to swallow again, but her throat was too tight.
All of us.

“Carlina?”

“I guess you should rather ask if there was anyone who didn't want to get rid of him.”
Well done. Say the truth, but say it in a funny way, so it'll sound less dramatic.
She tried a weak smile.

Stefano watched her like an eagle, no emotion visible on his face.

I won't be able to stand this much longer.
She had thought about it in advance, had made a careful plan what to say and what to avoid saying, but with him looking at her like that, she wanted to squeak like a scared mouse and scuttle into a corner.

He closed his notebook and leaned his shoulders against a shelf. “What is it, Carlina?”

She didn't dare to meet his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“Have I never told you that you're the world's worst liar?”

Carlina swallowed. “Really?”

“Really.”

Was there a note of amusement in his voice? She dared to peep at him. No. He looked thoughtful, not amused.

His gaze never left her face. “I think we can stop prevaricating now. Here's what I believe: Your family was involved in the murder in some way or other. It is obvious that your cousin was not stabbed in front of your house. You may or may not know something about it. You are torn in two between your family loyalty and your loyalty toward me. Right?”

She gulped. “Yes. That's it in a nutshell.”

“So what do you want me to write down as your statement?” His lean face didn't betray any emotion.

Carlina bit her lips. “I have no idea.”

“Do you want to tell me anything at all?”

She felt desperation rising inside her. “Actually, I . . . I don't know. If I tell you what I know and refuse to answer in the areas where I can't give you an honest answer, that would already be a clear clue for you.”

“True.”

“And . . . and if I lie, you'll notice that anyway because you know me too well, besides, I don't want to lie to you and--”

“What about trusting me and telling me the truth?”

She stared at him.
They will all laugh at him.
“Stefano, is there really no way, no way at all that you can get out of this case?”

He shook his head. “None.”

“What if you were a suspect, too?”
Careful, Carlina. You're going too far.

“Me?” He lifted his eyebrows.

“Yes.” She bunched her hands into fists until she could feel her fingernails searing her palms. “Wouldn't that be a reason to pull you off?”

He gave her a grim smile. “It would probably be the only argument that Cervi would accept.”

A light was appearing at the end of the tunnel. “So . . . so you might go back to him and tell him you've found out you're a suspect?”

He blinked. “Me? Why?”

“Because . . .” she gave an artificial shrug.
Careful, Carlina, careful.
“Let's say. . .” She cast around as if she was looking for ideas. “Let's say you were jealous of him. He made up to me and . . . and you felt he overstepped the limits, so--”

“So I pulled out a knife and killed him?” His voice was ironic.

“Well. Yes.” She gave him an insecure smile. “Wouldn't that work?”

He gave her a long look. “What on earth are you telling me, Carlina?”

She tried to laugh but it came out as a hysterical squeak. “I'm just trying to get you out of this case.”

He pressed his lips together. “Okay. Let's get into this, just for the sake of the argument. I know virtually nothing so far, but from your and Simonetta's statement, which I'll accept as the truth for the moment, we know that Valentino was last seen alive around five o'clock as he left Temptation and was found at eight o'clock at night, stabbed to death.”

It was seven-thirty, in fact.
“Yes.”

“Well, I have an alibi for the whole time.”

Her jaw dropped. “You do?”

“Yes.” He gave her a hard look. “I had been working with Piedro on a report from four o'clock onwards. When we were done around six, I called you. You said you didn't have time.”

“I remember.”

“Well, I was just about to leave together with Piedro when Sergio came in and asked my opinion about a case he's currently working on. As Sergio claimed to be too hungry to think, we went to a bar, had a snack, and talked. Sergio kept eating and re-ordering stuff, so when you called a few minutes past eight, I was just saying good-bye to Sergio and was mounting my bike.”

The light at the end of the tunnel disappeared as if someone had turned a switch. “Oh.”

He frowned. “Why is it so bad that I'm not a suspect?”

“But I've told you that already!” She suppressed a crazy and unexpected urge to bite her fingernails. “Because if you're a suspect, they have to take you off the case, and we wouldn't have a loyalty-problem anymore.”

“And then you'd tell me the truth?”

She swallowed. “I . . . I don't know.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Your family is even deeper in it than I thought.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Maybe. I don't know.”

His gaze pierced her. “Do you know who killed Valentino?”

“No.”
Thank God
. At least something she could say without prevaricating.

Relief washed over his face. “Good.” He stowed the notebook inside his jacket. “One last question.”

“Yes?”

“Do you know anything else that can bring light into this matter?”

Her heart started to gallop.
Plenty. But I can't tell you.

He read the answer from her face, as always. “I see.” His mouth became one thin line. “I thought we had more going for us.”

The blood drained from her face. “But we do.”

“When it comes to choosing between me and your family in matters of loyalty, your family always wins hands down.”

“That's not true!” She felt as if she was choking. “I . . . I can't tell you more, but it's for your own good!”

He narrowed his eyes. “Let me be the judge of that.”

“No!” She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

The sound of street traffic wafted into the shop. High-heels clattered past Temptation, voices chattered. Comforting, everyday sounds, but inside the store, the atmosphere had shifted. They were on different sides of the fence again, enemies once more. Carlina's throat hurt.

“Right.” He sounded disillusioned. “I'm off to your family home.” He bent forward and gave her a hard kiss. “Be careful. It's dangerous to mess around with murder.”

III

Garini decided to start with Teodoro Mantoni, who was one of the more sensible members of the Mantoni clan. When he arrived in Via delle Pinzochere, his assistant Piedro was already waiting for him next to the front door. His gelled-up hair reminded Garini of Ernesto's hairdo on the day of his birthday. How long ago that seemed, and yet, it had only been three days ago. Carlina's decision to keep secrets from him hurt him more than he wanted to admit. She didn't trust him, didn't trust his integrity. The feeling of failure burned deep inside him, made him impatient and irritated. He would get to the bottom of this business, even if they all clammed up like oysters.

“Piedro.” Garini gave his subordinate a nod, locked his bike and stowed the helmet away. “Do you have the recorder?”

“Yes.” Piedro patted his pocket.

“Good.” Garini held him back before he could press the bell button to demand admittance into the house. “I need to fill you in before we start. Here are the facts, the few we know so far. Valentino Canderini, a member of the Mantoni clan, was stabbed in the chest yesterday night, probably between five and eight in the evening. He was found in front of this house, right where you are standing.”

Piedro's eyes widened, and he jumped to the side. “Golly. But I don't see blood?”

“That's because he wasn't stabbed here. Someone placed him here.”

Piedro's eyes grew round. “Why?”

Garini curbed his impatience. “What do you think?”

“Because the place where he was killed would have pointed to the murderer?”

“That's one possibility. Another reason?”

“Because . . .” Piedro frowned and looked at his shoes in helpless appeal. They didn't seem to offer advice, so he finally looked up with a shrug. “I don't know.”

“Because he might have been found earlier in the place where he was killed, and that would have been inconvenient.”

Piedro frowned. “But this is not a dead-end-road or anything. I mean, it's not a large street, but with the neighbors looking and all . . .”

“True. Which might indicate that he was killed in a much more public place, like the Piazza in front of Santa Croce, which is teeming with tourists . . . compared to which this street is quiet.”

The wheels in Piedro's head were turning visibly. “I see.”

“However, you have to know that the victim was not dressed when he was stabbed, though he was wearing everything one should when he was found.”

“What?” Piedro gulped. “How do we know that?”

“From the stains on the material and the way his shirt was buttoned around the knife.” Garini suppressed a sigh when he saw Piedro's confused face. “So what does this tell you?”

“I . . .” Piedro blinked. “I dunno.”

“It tells you that the theory of a much more public place is less likely than the first one.”

“Em. Really?”

Stefano wanted to shake him. “Yes. Because you don't manage to stab a stark-naked man in the middle of a public piazza, or if you do, you're luckier than you deserve.”

“Ah.” Piedro looked like a bored cow now. Clearly, the discussion had gone beyond his intellectual powers.

Garini gave up and pressed the bell. “We'll start with the patriarch of the family.”