L'Oro Verde (12 page)

“Could it be under the name Ferro?”
Lazaro asked.

She clicked away at her computer. “Yes.
A Giuliana Ferro was here but it was in 1995 for stomach ailment

“Are you sure you have all the records?”
the inspector asked. “I mean, is it possible that some of them were lost?”

“Sir, the records are certified to be
complete since 1975. Before that, we might have had a problem, but the audit
has been clean since then. There has never been a Bernardo Reni or a Giuseppe
or Valeria Reni in this hospital. At least not since 1975,” she said, her voice
getting louder.

DiMarco was impressed that she
remembered all the names from the call the day before.

The clerk’s boyfriend left, probably
thinking the policemen would be there for a while. That seemed to make her even
more upset. “Did you know you could check the insurance records under the name
Reni and the family’s address?” she continued. “That is, unless they have
private insurance. But they probably don’t because patients with private don’t
usually drop into a strange hospital to deliver.”

“Is it possible there were errors when
the records were loaded into a computer?”

“All manual records are in boxes in a
warehouse on Via Orazio. I can’t guarantee they’re filed in a convenient system.
If you have resources available to search through the paperwork, though, I can
probably get you access to the records.”

With that, the woman stood up and
excused herself. The two officers waited for five minutes before realizing she was
not going to return. They finally left.

As they walked to the car, Lazaro’s
stomach growled. They both heard it. It was nearly three, and they had not
eaten lunch.

“How about some nice pasta and wine, sir?
We should eat something before we go back.”

The inspector did not answer his
question. “I can’t believe we are returning empty handed. I felt sure we would get
some answers today. This looks bad, Tortini. How am I going to explain this to
the chief?” He pounded his fist on the roof of Lazaro’s Fiat. “Get in the car.
I’ll figure out something.”

The drive back from Roma was quiet.
Neither officer spoke. They could not believe they had no new information. Unable
to endure the silence, Lazaro turned on the radio. DiMarco, irritated by his
partner’s choice of music, finally removed the cd from his pocket and inserted
it. The soothing timbre of the notes from a
Tosca
aria always eased his
nerves. He tried hard to concentrate on the music, but the haunting notes sent
his mind back to the Ferros. What were they hiding?

*

Tortini was moody too. At first, he was
surprised by their failure, even though he knew it was a possibility. He looked
over at his superior. DiMarco’s eyes were closed. Maybe he should not interrupt
him just now. It could wait until later.

This was hard to take. They were both so
positive they would bring home the answers to the nagging inconsistencies regarding
Bernardo’s birth. Why was there no resolution? Everyone seemed to have a
different answer. And why no official birth certificate? How does one exist
without one? Did the hospital lose it? What was the family trying to hide?

Lazaro turned off the A1 at the exit to
Petraggio. DiMarco’s mouth hung open, his breathing shallow. The officer
reached over to eject the cd.

“Don’t touch that, Tortini. I’m not in
the mood.

Inspector DiMarco was in the office early.
It was not easy. Aware the pressure would be on, he had to force himself to get
up that morning. By now, the bishop had already spoken to the chief. He was not
sure how he would explain why there was no real evidence so far. Yes, the prime
suspect was still Father Domenic. No, there was nothing to support that except an
alleged assault charge made six years ago by a former altar boy and a
burlap-like robe, implicating most of Montriano.

“The church vowed it would no longer
help with the case,” DiMarco told his wife that night. “I called to ask the priest
a question, and Mrs. Torrisi told me Father Domenic wasn’t at the rectory.
After questioning the housekeeper further, she revealed he was at a retreat,
and she didn’t know when he would return. Something cooked up by the bishop, no
doubt. It will now take a trip to the courts to do any more searching of either
the rectory or the offices there.”

Trying to come up with the next move,
the inspector stayed up half the night. Sister Angela and Lazaro had both figured
the answer lay in Roma. Now he had to come up with another angle before
morning. He wanted to call the nun, but it was too late by the time he arrived
home. It would take too long to explain what had happened, and the call could wait
until morning anyway.

Expecting to be summoned across the hall
to the captain’s office any minute, he sat at his desk, sipping his coffee and
reading his email. Just as he envisioned it, there was a knock at his door.

“Good morning, inspector,” the young
woman said cheerfully.

She was the new clerk, Luisa, who sat
behind the counter and answered the phones. DiMarco did not know the new clerk
very well. She seemed fairly efficient and well-dressed.

Maybe her skirt was a bit short, but her
blouse was always buttoned to the top.

“Good morning, Luisa.”

“The chief wants to see you in his office.
He’ll be free in five minutes.”

“Thanks,” he sighed.

“Oh, and there was a message on the
radio nearly an hour ago. An Officer Camurri from Petraggio is bringing someone
in to see you,” Luisa said, reaching for the door to close it.

“Wait. You mean Antonio Camurri? What
does he want?”

“It’s something about Sister Angela’s
request to find a girl—um, a Gisella. Does that ring a bell?”

For the first time, a smile began to
creep across his face. “Is Tortini here yet?” he asked.

“He should be in soon. He’s usually here
on the hour.”

DiMarco started to press the buttons on
his phone. “Tell him I want to see him as soon as he gets here.” He stopped in
mid-dial. “Oh. And please explain to the chief I’ll have to postpone our
meeting until this afternoon. Tell him I have another murder witness coming
in.”

She walked out and closed the door
behind her.

“Hello, Sister Angela, can you come in
right away?”

*

The young woman from Petraggio was quite
a sight. Officer Camurri led her in and lifted the counter for her. The station
went quiet as he led her across the busy room, stopping at the open door to
DiMarco’s office.

“Inspector DiMarco, this is Gisella
Lupoi,” he said.

Still out of breath from running up the
hill, Sister Angela turned around. Lazaro stood in the corner. All stared, their
mouths agape.

Gisella peeked inside the door. Sister
Angela must have noticed the hair. Short red spikes shot up like fireworks. And
then there was the earring—or earrings to be more exact. There were several in
each lobe and one especially shiny ring in her left nostril.

“Hello, Sir. Did you want to talk to
me?”

DiMarco looked up surprised by the timid
voice. He noticed the outfit first. The tank top was sheer, and her young
breasts were very firm and forward underneath it. The skirt was short. He did
not know where to look.

“Do you want me to set up the room?”
Lazaro offered. “I’ll just to get the machine ready.” Most likely picturing one
of his daughters in the witness’s place, Tortini must have wanted to get out of
there. Of course, his eldest was only twelve but a bit rebellious already. He
did not need help imagining what lay ahead.

“Yes, child,” Sister Angela said,
getting up from her chair and placing her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “We
can all talk better in the room back here. Can I get you anything to drink? A
coat maybe? Are you cold?”

“Cola, thanks.”

“Do you need me?” Camurri asked.

“No, Antonio. Thank you. We’ll get her
back to Petraggio,” DiMarco said.

The room was set up within twenty
minutes, and DiMarco finally walked in with some papers.

He held the microphone to his lips. “Interview
with Miss Gisella Lupoi on Thursday the twenty-seventh of July. Present are
Officer Tortini, Sister Angela, and myself. Please state your whole name.”

“You said it. Why do I have to do it
again?”

“Into the microphone in front of you,
please.”

“Gisella Anuncia Gianluca Lupoi.”

“Age?”

“Eighteen.”

“And where do you work?”

“Garibaldi’s Olive Oil.”

“And you knew the victim, Bernardo
Reni?”

“Yes. He worked with me at Garibaldi’s.”

“What department are you in?” the nun
asked, interrupting the inspector. “Did you work in bottling with him?”

“No Sister. I’m a receptionist in the
marketing department.”

“Then how did you know Bernardo?” Sister
Angela asked.

“He often came over to my department.”

“Why would someone in the bottling
department visit marketing?”

“He carried reports between the
department managers,” Gisella said. “I thought that was his job, being a messenger.”

“Did you go out with him?” the inspector
asked.

“We went for a glass of wine at a
nightclub once,” she said, tugging at her short skirt and then pulling a thin
strap back up onto her shoulder. “After that, we met a couple of times to
talk.”

“And where was that?”

“Around. There are hangouts in the
neighborhoods,” she said, turning to Sister Angela. “One of them is the
cemetery adjacent to Santa Maria’s. Young people need privacy when they talk so
most of us go to the cemetery. At night, adults are too scared to come round.”

“So you only met him three times?”

“Just a few, yes. He wasn’t really my
type, you know, being kind of uninterested in things outside of the valley, but
he had lots of feelings. He made me feel better when I was mad about
something.”

“Did you give him drugs?”

“Now why would I admit to that? Do you
think I’m stupid? I would never tell the police I was selling drugs. It’s none
of your damn business!”

The inspector knew he was not getting
anywhere. He was not prepared for this witness and decided he would change the
direction of his questioning. “Miss Lupoi, what did Bernardo usually talk
about?”

“He often described the stars. He knew
all of them, you know.”

“In the movies?”

“No, all the constellations. When the
weather was clear, he pointed them out in the sky. That’s why the cemetery was nice.
There weren’t many lights.”

“Did he talk about other people?”

“No—Yes, sometimes we spoke about people
at work. He would imitate some of the bottlers. He was funny,” she said, wiping
something from the corner of her eye. “I usually talked about people I work
with because I was angry with them. He comforted me. When I got really mad, he
said he would speak with them for me.”

“Did he ever seem frightened or talk
about anyone who might have threatened him?”

“Never. He was always up. He trusted
everyone. I’m the one who doubted.”

“Sister Angela or Officer Tortini, do
you have any questions?”

“Just a few from me, Inspector,” Sister
Angela said, pausing to take a sip of water. “I didn’t see you at Bernardo’s funeral,
Gisella. Did you go?”

“Yes. It was crowded, don’t you think? I
didn’t really see you either.”

“Where were you sitting?”

Gisella’s face turned red. “A group of
us from the plant came. We were in the center of the church on the right side.”

“Ah. I remember an accident on that side
of the church. Was the person who fainted in your group?”

“It was me. I got a bit dizzy from the
heat.”

A murmur erupted from the others in the
room.

“So dizzy that your friends had to carry
you out?” DiMarco asked.

“I guess so. I don’t really remember.
That’s what they told me. I recall the church and the music, and then I
remember my friend’s house on Via Scuola.”

“Did you return?” Sister Angela asked
gently.

“No. I wasn’t feeling well. Someone
drove me home.”

“Things like that happen, Gisella. I
have another question if you don’t mind. I was wondering what perfume you
wear.”

DiMarco, obviously surprised by this
question, waved his hand in Lazaro’s direction, trying to get him to turn off the
machine. That is all the chief needed to hear—ladies bantering about their
beauty products. Why would Sister Angela ask such a question?

“I don’t wear any. My father’s allergic.
He gets very sick. Nobody in my family wears any.”

“I can see this interview is over,” DiMarco
finally said.

“Oh no, Alessandro. I have one more.
Please bear with me.”

“I’m late for work,” Gisella said,
beginning to stir.

“Just one more, dear,” Sister Angela
said, turning to face Bernardo’s possible lover. “Did you know Bernardo before
you worked for Garibaldi’s? Did you recommend him for the job?”

“No,” she said simply. “I told you I met
him at work, which is where I should be now. Please drop me off there. I think
I can explain to them what happened so they don’t fire me,” she said, standing
and unsuccessfully tugging at her skirt.

“Officer Tortini, please ask Officer
Conti to drive her to Garibaldi’s.”

“I don’t think Liana has a car.”

“Give her yours, Tortini.” He turned to
the young girl. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home first and get ready for
work?”

Gisella looked at him innocently, her
head tilted, her aqua blue eyes open wide. Gisella’s narrow crescent brows tugged
at her lids, framing the large pools. DiMarco would have melted had he been
able to take his eyes off the nose ring.

*

“I think I got the name of that perfume
you wanted,” Sister Daniela said as soon as she could find Sister Angela.

They each took a desk in Sister Angela’s
classroom, and the novice plopped down in the seat.

Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m not certain, but I think
it smelled like the shirt. Let me see. I wrote it down on a piece of paper I put
here in my bag. I decided not to buy some because even though it was on sale
and only toilet water, I couldn’t afford that and a bus ticket back here. Oh,
here it is!”

“What’s the name?”

“It’s
Sea Breeze
by Carrero. Does
that sound familiar to you? I had never heard of it before even though lower
prices usually catch my eye.”

“You did a good job, Sister. I’ll have
to see what I can do with this.”

“I would ask if there’s anything else
for me to do, but there’s a problem,” Sister Daniela said. “It seems the mother
vicaress heard of my success as a detective. She called me in last night.”

“Oh my. I suppose she doesn’t see the
necessity of tracking down criminals in our midst.”

“I argued our side—that our work for the
community is important—but she just shook her head. Mother explained that even
though Mother Margherita doesn’t pull you in from exploits beyond those of your
calling,
she
does. Besides, I’m just a novice. Once I take my vows, I
won’t have to do the bidding of my mother vicaress any longer. After that, I
can argue directly with Mother Margherita.”

“Do you think she’ll still let you teach
for me? I would like you to substitute for my classes again tomorrow.”

“I don’t see where she would disagree
with that. After all, my vocation is supposed to be teaching. In fact, perhaps
I can do some investigating too—as long as it’s on the weekend or I can
describe it in terms of my vocation.”

“We’ll have to discuss that when we come
to it. I’ll leave the class times that I need help on the board in the office,
if that’s okay with you.”

“I’ll check it first thing in the
morning.”

*

The chief caught him after lunch.
DiMarco brought his notes into the new office across the hall.

“Nice job,” DiMarco said, looking around
the cavernous room. He had seen the mop and bucket in the corner and a row of
boxes at the other end but pretended not to notice.