Death in Tuscany (36 page)

The journey took quite a while, because of the heavy traffic which slowed them down along the few miles separating the Versilia exit from the Viareggio exit, and then again at the entrance to the town.

Their visit to Romano's, one of the best restaurants in Viareggio, turned out to be more productive. The owner and the waiters were very kind, and understood how worried Signor Benelli - from Florence this time - must be by the absence of his associate who should have been back at work last Monday. But they couldn't tell him anything other than that the couple - who they remembered very well because he was a handsome man and she was a gorgeous woman - had spent a wonderful evening. They had seemed calm and happy, like two people who seemed to have just-realised that they were madly in love. And the waiter who said this, who was gay, raised his eyes to heaven ecstatically.

If the Carabinieri had questioned them, too, they surely couldn't have gained the impression that the two 'accomplices' were hatching some deadly scheme that night!

But he knew that didn't matter. They were probably working on a different theory: that the two lovers had been surprised by the woman's husband, who had put up with a lot but couldn't get over the sight of them in bed together under his own roof - even though the roof wasn't really his, except in a figurative sense.

If that was the case, though, why was Ugo Palladiani found in the villa, at the foot of the stairs? Wouldn't he have been in the annex? Or had the Carabinieri found evidence that he had been dragged into the house? After all, the housekeeper had said that the house was absolutely tidy except for one bedroom. Was this the consistent evidence they were gathering?

No, it couldn't be. And the reason it couldn't be was that he knew perfectly well that Massimo had nothing to do with it, and if he hadn't, then neither had Simonetta
...
Or had she killed both of them?

He was distracted from these reflections by another waiter, the one who had made the reservation, explaining to Petra that Simonetta Palladiani was not known there, whereas her husband was a regular who came there to eat every time he went out in the boat.

'What boat?' Ferrara asked.

'His boat. His yacht.'

'Does he keep it here?'

'Yes.'

'What's it called? I'd like to see it. It may be up for sale.'

'I don't know, I've never seen it. But you can ask at the Port Authority, or the Yachting Centre, they're both in the Piazza Lorenzo Viani, down by the harbour.'

The Viareggio Yachting Centre was a steel and glass building, the steel painted blue, red and yellow. They pointed him in the direction of a 65-foot Princess 65 Fly moored at a nearby wharf.

The navigator was on board and the Ferraras approached him after pretending to admire the boat.

'She's beautiful!' Ferrara exclaimed.

The man, who was middle-aged and stocky, nodded.

'What kind of engine does she have?'

The navigator almost laughed. 'She has two. Two 1050-horsepower Man engines.'

'How many people can she take?'

'Four cabins, three bathrooms, plus mine. Why?'

'I'm looking for one just like this. Do you know if the owner would be willing to sell?'

'It belongs to a PR company in Florence, UP

Communications. The registered owner just died, though, so they may be willing to sell. You'll have to ask them.' 'Poor man . . . was he ill?'

'Not at all. In fact, we were supposed to be leaving last Saturday. Then I discovered a fault in the forward propeller, and he said he'd rather postpone. The stupid thing is, I'd already fixed the fault by Sunday, but he wasn't around any more . . . Just like that, from one day to the next.'

'Just like that? Suddenly?' Petra opened her eyes wide.
Ach du lieber Gott!
How cruel life can be. And he was going on holiday, you said
...
A cruise?'

'We were supposed to be going to Nice. I don't know if it was for pleasure or business, he never told me.'

It was already nearly eight in the evening when Francesco Rizzo called Ferrara at the hotel.

On hearing his theory of the Masonic connection, Ferrara decided it was time to tell him everything he hadn't said when he'd entrusted the case to him, in order to avoid problems with the Prosecutor's Department and the Commissioner.

'Inform Anna Giulietti, but don't let her know I told you to. Find some excuse, tell her you need authorisation to get hold of the lists of all the Masonic lodges, some nonsense like that. She won't give it to you of course, she'll just say these are the ravings of a crazy old man and a few witty remarks by a police officer who was fed up. But in the meantime, you'll have had a chance to tell her the whole story, and her interest will have been aroused because of the argument she already had with me.'

'Okay, I'll do that.'

'Do it straightaway. She works over the weekend. And there's something else you can do for me. Keep an eye on Professor d'Incisa. He's a Freemason - I know that for sure because I've seen the lists,
I
have them at home. And Stella ended up in his hospital! It may be a coincidence, but you know what I think. When you're investigating a crime, there's no such thing as coincidence.'

'I agree . . . but I don't see the connection. The cufflink was found before Stella was admitted to hospital, not after

It was like a flash of lightning.

He suddenly remembered the head nurse's words:
he got quite angry when he saw the girl. . .

'What's to say he didn't already know her?'

'Who, d'Incisa? A highly-placed consultant and a young illegal immigrant?' Rizzo was incredulous.

'Why not? He could have been screwing her . . . But you're right, I may be getting ahead of myself. In fact, I'm sure I am. We don't even know if it's a Masonic symbol or not. Keep an eye on him anyway, trust me on this. In the meantime I'll have a look at the photo of the cufflink. I haven't had time yet. I'll also send it to the deputy prosecutor in Bologna who gave me the list. He knows all there is to know about the Freemasons and if he doesn't recognise it, you can be sure there's no connection.'

When the call had finished, he switched on his laptop, connected to the network, checked Rizzo's message, and opened the attachment.

For a long time he studied the photo of the cufflink.

A thought crossed his mind briefly, but he dismissed it, or rather filed it away in a recess of his brain: Ugo Palladiani was a Mason, too, and the photo showed the letter P, surrounded by the kind of classical columns associated with Palladio.

He was indeed getting ahead of himself. The case in Marina di Pietrasanta was already complicated enough, given the possible involvement of the Mafia. Putting the Freemasons into the mix seemed a bit too much, even to him.

He phoned the deputy prosecutor in Bologna, briefly explained what it was about, got him to give him his email address, and sent him the photo.

Once again, all he could do was wait.

Maybe Rizzo was on the right track after all. He certainly hoped so, however flimsy the lead was. His own flash of intuition during the phone conversation with Rizzo a little earlier might not mean anything: Profesor d'Incisa's anger at seeing the girl could well have been due to tiredness and the bother of having to intervene in a case which looked hopeless. Anyway, Rizzo was making progress, and he was pleased about that. Whereas Ferrara himself was either letting his imagination run away with him or getting nowhere fast.

Superintendent Lojelo had not been in touch, which meant there had been no new developments in the Claudia Pizzi investigation. But it hadn't been long since the body had been discovered, so they just had to wait.

Meanwhile, another day had passed, and there was still no news of Massimo. If the Carabinieri wanted him so badly, what were they doing to find him?

21

It was Ferrara who provided the solution to Rizzo's problem, and Rizzo who answered Ferrara's question.

Rizzo was the one who phoned Ferrara. Having temporarily taken Ferrara's place, he had also adopted his habits and had gone in to the office on Sunday morning. His wife and children were still in Sicily and he was bored at home.

As there was not much to be done, he had decided to spend the time examining the land registry results and the maps of the area where Stella had been found, which Venturi had left with him the day before. He wasn't expecting to find out anything useful - the cufflink was a much more promising lead -but it was best to leave no stone unturned.

The memo he had found waiting for him in the office had swept away all his good intentions, and made him regret he hadn't stayed in bed.

'I have something to tell you, chief,' he began.

'So have I, and it isn't good,' Ferrara said, not noticing the darker than usual tone in his deputy's voice: he had always been laconic.

'What is it?' Rizzo asked. He didn't mind gaining time. 'You go first.'

'You re right, everything else can wait . . . There's some bad news

Ferrara immediately assumed it was something to do with Massimo and, imagining the worst, he felt his strength failing.

He said nothing, waiting for Rizzo to continue.

'Your friend Massimo Verga is now officially wanted, along with Simonetta Palladiani
...
A copy of a memo from the Carabineri in Lucca has arrived, signed by Captain Fulvi and sent to all police forces, especially those at ports, airports, railway stations and border posts. An order to detain on sight, issued by Deputy Prosecutor Lupo
...
It's already been put in the data bank at the Ministry of the Interior, chief

Ferrara did not feel up to asking for the name of the crime, but he could imagine what it was: accessory to murder. This was practically an arrest warrant! Which must mean they had evidence. If they found Massimo now, it wouldn't be easy to get him out of trouble. If he fell into the hands of the Carabinieri, and with a Prosecutor's Department so determined to charge him that Lupo hadn't even had the courtesy to inform Ferrara despite their previous connection - or probably
because
of it - Massimo's chances of getting away scot-free were slim indeed.