temptation in florence 03 - bankers death (11 page)

Ernesto's face became as red as it had been pale. “Because . . . because he--”

Fabbiola waved her hands through the air. “You are entitled to change your mind, Ernesto. Don't worry about speaking the truth.”

Ernesto stared at her, his eyes wide in alarm. “Valentino . . . he . . . he was charming, but--”

“Oh, yes, he was charming,” Fabbiola interrupted her nephew again. “We all thought so.”

“That is not correct,” Rafaele said in his calm way. “I didn't think he was charming.”

Ernesto looked at his friend in surprise. “You didn't think so?”

Rafaele shook his head. “No.”

“You never said so.”

His friend lifted his shoulders in a slow movement. “It wouldn't have made a difference to you.” He seemed to feel the need to elucidate his speech a bit, so he added. “Cousin. Can't talk bad about your family.”

“Of course not!” Fabbiola agreed with feverish enthusiasm. “That would have been the height of bad manners.”

Garini ignored her. “Ernesto.” He bent forward. “What are you trying to tell me? Would you like to talk to me without anybody else present?”

“Oh, no.” Ernesto got up. “I . . . I'm fine. I just wanted to say that you should go on finding the murderer.”

“Of course he will find the murderer,” Fabbiola's voice trilled so high, she sounded like a blackbird on drugs. “That's his job.”

“Exactly.” Rafaele nodded.

“Good!” Ernesto went to the door, overturning a chair in his haste. “I'm sorry. I . . . good luck, Commissario.”

“One moment, Ernesto.” Garini felt as if he had strayed into an odd theater show. “Could you tell me what you did yesterday afternoon?”

“Between five and eight,” Fabbiola added.

Garini wanted to strangle her.

Ernesto gave his friend a quick glance, then looked away again. “At around five, I went to see Carlina.”

“Carlina?” Fabbiola's voice rose. “Why did you go to see Carlina?”

“I . . . I wanted to consult with her on something.” Ernesto squared his shoulders. “But that has nothing to do with Valentino's murder.”

“Did you see her at Temptation?” Garini asked.

Ernesto blushed until his face matched the color of his hair. His gaze flitted to Rafaele, then away again. “Em. Yes.”

Suddenly, Garini understood the insecure look Ernesto had given his friend.
Of course.
The boy is embarrassed of having been seen inside a lingerie store.
He hurried to ask another question before Fabbiola could make the situation even more uncomfortable. “When did you leave?”

Ernesto shrugged. “I don't recall. Ten minutes later or so.”

Carlina said that she had last seen Valentino alive at five.
“Did you see your cousin Valentino at Temptation?”

Ernesto shook his head. “No, but I didn't pay much attention.”

“Was it really at five or could it have been later or earlier?”

Ernesto shrugged. “It may have been later. A quarter past, or half past five. I really can't recall. I'm sorry.”

Garini nodded. “What did you do then?”

“I went to Rafi's house, but he wasn't in, and nobody knew where he was, not even his sisters, so I cruised around town on my own.” He gave Garini a crooked grin. “Mama had allowed me to take her car. I've just gotten my driving license and need to practice.”

“I see.” Garini remembered the day he had been given his driving license. How proud he had been. How did this kid remain sane with so many crazy women in the same house? No wonder he went to talk to Carlina when he needed help.
Good choice.
She was the only one around who was intelligent
and
kind. “What did you do then?”

“I finally went to our Internet Cafe. Rafi was there.”

“When was that?”

“At seven, wasn't it, Rafi?”

His friend frowned. “Wasn't it earlier?”

“No.” Ernesto shook his head. “I remember I was surprised how long I had taken to drive up to Fiesole and back.” He shrugged. “All the Easter tourists, you know.”

“When did you last see your cousin alive?”

Ernesto swallowed. “The evening before. I took him to the Internet Cafe, but he said it was too tame for him.”

“At what time was that?”

“Around ten.”

“And did you then go somewhere else?”

“Valentino did. I stayed because Rafi challenged me to a game.”

Garini looked at Rafaele. “Why did you do that?” Did Rafaele not like the good relationship between Valentino and Ernesto? Was he maybe jealous of the older man's attention to his best friend?

Rafaele lifted his shoulders and dropped them again. He did it so slowly that it looked like two separate movements. “Because it was fun.” He spoke in his usual slow and deliberate way.

Suddenly, with a desire so strong that it went through him like a shot of pain, he heard Carlina's voice again, whispering to him at the family party, her scent so alluring, her lips a mere inch from his ear.“He's so quiet, he'll turn into a rock when he's older.” Would she ever whisper confidences to him again or had they already reached the end of their friendship?

He watched Ernesto go and managed to get rid of Fabbiola by asking her to fetch Simonetta and to leave them alone afterward. For once, Fabbiola obeyed, though he didn't doubt that she was listening at the door.

Simonetta started to talk before she had even taken a seat. “I didn't know Valentino very well at all,” Simonetta lifted both hands and spread her fingers in a gesture that made clear how far she wanted to differentiate herself from the Mantoni family and anybody that may have appeared. “He seemed charming, but quite full of himself.”

Garini watched her for a moment without asking his first question.
She's an opera singer, so she's used to acting a role.
Was this a role or was she serious? Simonetta was wearing a tight red t-shirt that showed her cleavage to advantage. Her dark hair was swept up into a chignon, but most of the strands had escaped, which gave her a look as if she had just burrowed through a haystack. She now perched on one of the modern chairs in Fabbiola's kitchen, making the chair look insubstantial and fragile below her.

Piedro looked at her in alarm. “Should I start to record her statement now?” Simonetta's quick start had flustered him.

“May we record your statement, Simonetta?”

Simonetta eyed the tape recorder in Piedro's hands. “If you must.”

“Thank you.” Garini leaned back. “Now please tell me a bit more about your background. Why are you in Florence and what is your connection to the Mantoni family?”

“I'm a friend of Adriana. She was my roommate in Milan.” Simonetta wiped one of the loose strands from her face. “Do you know Adriana?”

“I don't.”

“She's one of Carlina's cousins - twice-removed or so, if I remember correctly. I got to know Carlina two years ago, when she came to a trade show in Milan and stayed at our apartment. When I was offered the chance to train for several months with Maestro Valedictory in Florence, I--”

“Maestro Valedictory?”

“You don't know Maestro Valedictory?” Simonetta sounded scandalized. “He was one of the most important opera singers of his time. He's retired now, but he still teaches people occasionally, so when I learned that he would accept me, I jumped at the chance. Adriana asked the family if they could arrange some sort of accommodation for me, and Fabbiola very kindly offered her apartment.”

One thing was clear - Simonetta had no trouble talking for an hour without ever drawing a breath. If he wanted to edge in a question sideways, he would have to interrupt her in the middle of a sentence.

“I really like it here, everybody is so friendly and open-minded, and--”

“Do you know if anybody had a reason to wish Valentino dead?”

Simonetta stopped in the middle of her speech as if she was a horse in full gallop, sticking all four feet into the mud. She gulped, looked at Garini with wide open eyes, and closed her mouth with a snap.

“Well?”

“I . . . no.” She shook her head and repeated. “No.”

“Can you tell me how you found the body?”

Simonetta nodded. “I came home and--”

“Where did you come from?”

Simonetta opened her eyes wide. “What?”

“Where had you been before you returned home?”

The question seemed to throw her off her stride. “Oh . . . I was . . . I was walking. Yes. I was walking around the city. Walking is good for singers because they need some fresh air for the lungs. Not too much, of course, because the cold air can be treacherous, so it's advisable to always wear a soft scarf if you--”

“Did you already see the body lying from a long way off?”

“I . . . what?” Simonetta looked alarmed. “No. I . . . I wasn't paying attention, you see. I was training an awkward interval with a difficult emphasis on part of a word. It's not easy because I have to drop an interval of a seventh and the low note is at the bottom of my range. I find it hard to hit the note strongly and with the right accent, that's why I have to repeat it all the time. It goes like this, you see . . . “ She started to sing some notes. Her strong voice filled the kitchen without effort.

Piedro's eyes widened.

Garini suppressed a smile. “So you're saying you were walking around the city, then came back, didn't see the body at all and . . . ?”

The trailing notes stopped coming out of Simonetta's throat. “Em. I . . . I saw him at the last minute, but I didn't touch him.” She shivered. “It was totally unexpected. I screamed and screamed.”

“Was nobody else on the street?”

Simonetta blushed. “No. I don't think so. I didn't pay attention to anything at this moment; I was too horrified.”

“Still, it seems a bit odd that you screamed and screamed, as you said, and nobody ever looked out of the window. I remember the juggling performance you did on Sunday, and within one minute, half the street was hanging out of the window, watching your every move.”

She shrugged. “That was Sunday. On Sunday, people are at home, and they're bored. In the middle of the week, it's different.”

He lost his patience. “Listen, Signorina Andretta, I have to tell you something that won't surprise you.”

“Yes?” Her brown eyes opened wide.

“We know for sure that Valentino Canderini was not killed on the doorstep of this house. Moreover, I doubt that you found him there. I believe you found him somewhere else and transported him there, probably with the help of the enterprising Mantoni family.”

Simonetta's face turned a deep red. “You're saying I'm lying?”

“Yes.”

She drew herself up. “This is a serious accusation!”

He didn't blink. “Yes.”

Her eyes darted around the room as if she could find the answer written into the dust on the table. “If you don't believe me, I have no further statement to make.”

“If you insist on telling me lies, I have no further need to talk to you.”

“Good.” She jumped up. “Who do you want to talk to now?”

“One moment, please.” He made sure his feelings didn't show. “Can you please tell me where you were on the night of the murder between five and eight?”

She opened her mouth, took a short breath . . . and closed it again. “I . . . I told you. I was walking around the city.”

“For three hours? It wasn't a warm day, and I thought your throat needs to be protected?”

“I . . .” Simonetta gulped. “I . . . I won't comment. I did walk around. I didn't pay attention to the time.”

“I'm telling you to your face that the body was found inside this house.”

Simonetta turned to the door with a quick pivot on her heels. “I have to go.”

So much for that.
“Please ask Benedetta to join me here.”

Two minutes later, Benedetta came into the kitchen, looked around, and sniffed with disdain. “This kitchen is a disgrace.” The corners of her bright red mouth turned down. “Look at all the dust everywhere.”

“It isn't dust. It's flour.”

There was a knock on the door and the Frenchman Leopold Morin looked in. He was almost bald, with his skin stretched tight across his scalp, showing the delicate bone structure underneath, but he looked much better than last Christmas, when he had gotten to know the Mantoni family in the middle of a private crisis. “Can I join you, Commissario?”

Garini lifted his eyebrows. He remembered Leopold Morin standing next to Benedetta during the show-down last Sunday, talking to her, following her out of the room. Could it be that he was witnessing the beginning of a romance? “I usually try to talk to everybody on their own.”

“Oh, please, let him stay.” Benedetta smiled at Leopold. “I feel much better when he's by my side.”

“If you promise not to influence her, you can stay,” Garini said. “If I understand correctly, you weren't present when the body was discovered?”

“Oh, no.” Leopold shook his head. “I was out, walking, you see.”

“Oh.” Garini gave him a hard look. “Did you meet Simonetta?”

Leopold frowned. “Simonetta? No. Was she walking, too?”

“Yes. For three solid hours.” Garini made sure his voice didn't betray any emotion. “It seems that walking around was a favorite occupation that night. How long did you walk around, Signor Morin?”

“Half an hour at most.” Leopold said. “The wind was biting. I quickly returned home, to continue my studies, but by then, you had already arrived and were examining the body.”

Garini narrowed his eyes. “I see. So you left the house, walked around half an hour, and when you came back, I was already there?”

“Yes, I . . .”

Benedetta stamped onto Leopold's foot.

A spasm of pain crossed his face. He stared straight ahead. “I mean, no. I remember now. I had left the house much earlier.”

Garini sighed. “Et tu, Brute.” He knew Morin spoke sufficient Latin to understand the reference to Caesar's treacherous friend.

Leopold Morin flushed a rosy red.

“You wanted to talk to me, Stefano.” Benedetta gave the Commissario a fake smile and sank onto one of the modern chairs, pulling Leopold down with her, so he came to sit next to her. “I'm ready.” She squared her shoulders and looked at him as if she was ready to be grilled.

Garini wasn't taken in by her limpid gaze. With the whole family in cahoots, he very much doubted that the interviews would lead him anywhere. On the other hand, he had to try.