Death in Tuscany (26 page)

All right. What did you do when you got over that first shock?'

'I cried for help . . . but no one came. I was scared.'

'No one heard you? A neighbour, a passer-by?'

'You don't know the place! The villa's so large
..."

'I understand,' Ferrara said. At that hour and with all the traffic, he thought, it would have been difficult for cries from inside the villa to filter beyond the garden and the perimeter wall. But if Simonetta and Massimo had been in the guest flat, they should have heard her. He did not say that. 'And then?'

That was when she had phoned her husband, who was retired and was at home at the time, and told him to call the Carabinieri and then come over to the villa immediately. By the time he arrived, the Carabinieri were already there.

'Did they check the guest apartment?' he asked.

'Yes, of course,' the husband replied.

And Signora Simonetta and Massimo Verga weren't there?'

'No, they weren't anywhere,' she said, disconsolately.

'You told me you've been working for the signora for five years, is that right?'

'Yes, ever since she moved to Marina di Pietrasanta . . .

That was in 1996. I remember that because it was the year our daughter graduated.' 'So you know her well.'

'I don't want to boast, but she really trusts me. She treats me like one of the family. But I suppose what you're trying to ask is if I think she's capable of killing someone?'

Ferrara had to admire her again. The woman was intelligent.

'Grazia,' her husband said, 'the superintendent has to do his job.'

'Of course . . . everyone's doing their job. But I can assure you, Superintendent, Signora Simonetta wouldn't hurt a fly. She's too good!'

'How do you account for the fact she's missing?'

'I don't know what to say. I'm sure she didn't kill Signor Ugo and then run away. That's what the Carabinieri think. They questioned me about that for hours and hours.'

'Does Signora Simonetta have any business interests in the area?' He looked at both of them as he asked the question, as if to make it clear that he was expecting an answer from both.

It was the husband who replied.

Ferrara already knew part of the answer. Simonetta Palladiani was interested in art and owned a gallery in Forte dei Marmi, where she often, especially in summer, organised exhibitions of paintings and sculptures by a mixture of local artists and those from further afield. Grazia's husband also told him that Simonetta's parents, who had died some years earlier, had held the lease on a number of marble quarries and that the lease had passed to her, but she had never been directly involved with the business.

'What do you mean?'

'Well, they were practically abandoned. I don't think they produced anything.'

*

It was almost two by the time he got back to the hotel.

He found Petra in a little room next to the foyer, in front of the TV, and he felt a pang in his heart. Petra hated television, and now here she was, spending hours watching shows that did not interest her in the least, as if she was trying to send herself into a state of oblivion, or as if she was expecting some news which would free her from the nightmare into which they had both been plunged.

‘I’m sorry, darling,' he said, and from his tone of voice she knew that there was nothing new to report.

The local TV news was just coming on, and Ferrara sat down next to Petra to watch it.

The summary began with the local political news. But then the next item was a report on a brilliant operation by the Florence
Squadra Mobile,
which described in great detail the various phases of the capture of two Albanians and an Italian, who had been found in possession of ten kilos of heroin, hidden inside the spare tyre of the car belonging to the Italian, one Emilio Zancarotti.

'The operation,' the newsreader said, over images of Ciuffi holding up the ten bags they had seized, 'was carried out by the Narcotics Division under the command of the head of the
Squadra Mobile,
Michele Ferrara, and is believed to be among the largest seizures of heroin recorded in Tuscany in the past few years. Florence Police Commissioner Riccardo Lepri has been congratulated by the Minister of the Interior and the Head of the State Police and has himself congratulated Superintendent Francesco Rizzo, deputising for Michele Ferrara who is currently on holiday'

Ferrara smiled bitterly. Obviously Lepri wasn't going to congratulate him personally. But he hoped that at least the Commissioner would ask the minister to award a commendation to Luigi Ciuffi, and perhaps to Rizzo, too. He probably would - that way he could clear the way for Rizzo becoming Ferrara's successor!

Deep down, he wouldn't mind. Rizzo deserved it, and besides, perhaps the time had come for Ferrara to take early retirement and enjoy life with Petra. There were so many places around the world he'd always dreamed of visiting . . .

Not before finding Massimo, though.

They were about to get up and go to the hotel restaurant for lunch, even though neither of them was hungry, when the head receptionist came up to them.

'Telephone, Chief Superintendent. They're asking for you.'

'Do you know who?'

'Brizzi, Pizzi
...
I didn't quite catch it.'

At last!
he thought.

'Hello?'

'Is that Chief Superintendent Ferrara?'

But it wasn't the young, self-confident voice he knew.

It was a man's voice.

15

Claudia's father, Amilcare Pizzi, had tried to reach her several times by phone. Worried, he had finally made up his mind to go and see her in the small apartment in Carrara where she lived alone. He had a set of keys in case of emergency. He had rung the bell several times, but receiving no reply, had gone in. Everything in the place was neat and tidy, but Claudia wasn't there. He had walked around for a while without knowing what to do until he had noticed a red light flashing on the ancient answering machine. There must be some recorded messages.

He wasn't sure at first if he should listen to them. He had no wish to spy on his daughter's private life. But then he had convinced himself that this was an emergency. There were several messages: from her boyfriend, from a girl friend, from colleagues at the paper, from her editor who was waiting for her, and one which had particularly struck him and increased his anxiety - from Chief Superintendent Ferrara.

That was why he was calling him now.

'Do you know where she is, Chief Superintendent?'

'No, I'm looking for her, too.'

'Is she in any trouble?'

'Not as far as I know. We were supposed to meet last night in Marina di Pietrasanta to discuss an article she told me she'd written.'

'And she didn't show up?'

'No . . .'

And she didn't even let you know?' 'No, that's why I called her.' There was a pause.

'It's not like her. Just as it's not like her to vanish without telling me
...
I'm afraid
..."

Ferrara was starting to be afraid, too. 'Try not to worry . . . Listen, are you still at your daughter's apartment?'

'Yes, I'm calling on her phone.'

'Can you wait for me?'

'If you like.'

'Just stay calm, and I'll be there as soon as possible. Give me the address.'

He hung up, threw his wife a kiss, and left the hotel. Petra went back to the television room.

He pushed the Mercedes to the limit on the autostrada between the coast and Carrara. The car responded as efficiently as ever, but to him each mile seemed endless and he hooted his horn loudly trying to get into the fast lane. Big cranes sped past on his right, moving the huge square blocks of marble to the depots. In the distance he could see the mountains, the quarries excavated over the centuries looking like layers of fake snow laid over the wounds in the exposed stone.

From time to time, he tried Claudia's mobile again, but there was still no reply. He imagined her father was doing the same thing.

At the Carrara exit, he hesitated for a moment, then decided to turn left and climb towards the town. He found the address the man had told him, in the Via Verdi, left the Mercedes double parked, unlocked and with the keys inside, hurried to the apartment building and ran up the stairs.

Amilcare Pizzi was waiting for him in the doorway of the apartment. He was a tall, bald man, who looked as if he was at the end of his tether. 'You were quick,' he managed to say.

'I've been trying to call her on her mobile.'

'So have I.'

'Mind if I have a look around?' 'Please, go ahead.'

The apartment was small, airy and very tidy. There was little furniture, but what there was was of good quality. There were many books, magazines and newspapers, and a modern computer. Ferrara looked closely at the large white desk, which had one long drawer.