temptation in florence 03 - bankers death (23 page)

Orfeo Lino stared at the tips of his scuffed boots and shuffled them in the dust. “That's fine,” he said so low that his voice was almost drowned by the sound of the gushing Arno behind him. “She can tell it better than I can.”

“But I'd prefer to hear it from you.” Garini gave Carlina a warning glance.

She shut her mouth with a snap and turned to her friend. “Go on, Orfeo. He won't eat you. He just looks like it.”

Garini narrowed his eyes. “Do you wish to talk to me on your own, Signor Lino?”

The small man gave a start. “Oh, no.”

Do I really look so intimidating?
Garini frowned.
Heck, even if I do, he wouldn't know it. He hasn't even once looked up since the conversation started.
He leaned against the stone wall and dug his hands into his pockets to convey a more casual impression. “Please tell me what you know, Signor Lino. It might help us catch a murderer.”

Carlina gave her old school chum a friendly nudge and an encouraging smile.

Garini suppressed a sigh. She had taken him under her wings. Great.

Orfeo Lino looked up. Scared eyes, large and black, met his for a fraction of a second, then he lowered his gaze again. “I think I sold that knife the day before the newspaperman was killed.” His chin trembled. “Unfortunately, the description won't help. It was a man with a dark blue baseball cap and a huge mustache. He spoke with a Russian accent.” He winced as he said it and rushed on with as much speed as the tumbling water behind him. “I know it sounds corny, but that's the truth. I swear it. He paid in small coins. That's all I can say. I didn't notice anything else. I'm sorry.”

“That's fine.” Garini knew he would get more out of Orfeo Lino if he put him at his ease. The obvious discomfort of the man made his tale believable. Either that, or he was a consummate actor. “The truth is sometimes more lurid than any invented tale.”

A grateful look rewarded him. “Really?”

“Yes. Now let's go through this again. You say you recognized the knife from the picture in the newspaper?”

“I did.” Orfeo nodded. “It's got an ornate handle that shows little flowers and curlicues. The blade is made of steel, and there's a tiny stamp on it, but I can't recall exactly what it said. It's about this long in total.” He held his hands out in front of him.

Garini nodded. The facts fitted, and Orfeo could not have guessed the real size from the picture in the newspaper. They had not given any more details. “Now about the Russian. You say you didn't see his face at all?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Can you tell if he was young or old?”

Orfeo hesitated.

Carlina watched him with wide eyes, but she didn't try to influence his answer or interrupt him.

That's something at least.
Garini concentrated on Orfeo again. “Sometimes the hands give that away. Did you see his hands?”

“They were covered with heavy rings, all gold. I didn't notice if the fingers were young or old. I was distracted by the rings.”

“That's why they were put on.” Garini frowned. “How about the gait, the way he walked? Did he shuffle? Bend over? Or move with ease?”

Orfeo squeezed his eyes shut in the effort of remembering. “He . . . he wasn't very old, I would say. It was difficult to see how he moved because he was wearing a long coat that somehow seemed to be too large for him. A good coat it was, black and thick. I remember that it looked expensive.”

“Was the man tall or short?”

Orfeo frowned. “Short. He was very slim, too.” He shrugged. “I'm sorry, I really can't recall anything else. That didn't help much, did it?”

“You never know.” Garini detached himself from the wall.

“But you believe me?” He lifted his large, black eyes to Garini like a little dog.

Garini returned his gaze. “I do.”

Relief flooded his face. “And do I have to identify the knife?”

“I'm afraid so. Can you do it right away? It has been cleaned.”

The small man winced. He folded his fingers and turned them into a knot. “Can Carlina come too?”

Garini glanced at Carlina. “Sure,” he said, torn between irritation that she could not be shaken off from his investigation and a warm glow that he would not yet have to part from her. “The more, the merrier.”

An hour later, Orfeo had identified the knife, signed a statement, and had returned with obvious relief to his bric-a-brac store.

Garini decided to walk Carlina home. He still hadn't found a connection between the two murders, and the Russian didn't help at all. If anything, he confused the case. Roberto the pathologist had told him the knife had come from someone tall and strong. That didn't fit to the Russian, unless he was an accomplice, which didn't make it easier, either.

Signor Atta, the Pulo's neighbor, had also mentioned someone small and slim close to the burgled apartment, though it might have been that boy from upstairs. How did that fit to the kind of thrust Roberto had described?

If only he could find a tangible connection between the two cases, something more definite than the way of stabbing. He knew in his guts that the two cases were related, even though he couldn't put a finger on why he felt so sure about that. Had he noticed something subconsciously? If only he could pinpoint it. Once he had the link, he would have solved the case; he was sure of that.

“What are you thinking about? You're looking grim.” Carlina smiled at him.

“I'm wondering how the two cases are linked, the murdered newspaperman and your dead cousin.”

“Of course they are related.” Carlina sounded surprised.

He stared at her. “Why? Why do you think so?”

She hesitated. “I . . . I don't know. Maybe because they both happened so close to each other. And they were both stabbed. And . . .”

“And three women from the Mantoni household were on the spot when the newspaperman was found.”

She swallowed. “Yes. But you can't imagine that Simonetta or Maria had something to do with it, do you? Besides, Orfeo said it was a man.”

“You can easily disguise as a man.”

“Sure, but you can't disguise a large size. Nobody would ever describe Simonetta as slim.”

“That leaves Maria, then.” He gave her an ironic smile. “Even though you are not as tall as Simonetta, you wouldn't be able to pass as tiny, either.”

She nodded. “I'm more average.”

“I didn't say that.” He smiled into her eyes. “I never would.”

Carlina blushed. “I can't imagine that Maria would kill two grown men. What possible motive can she have? She winces every time she has to kill a beetle.”

He sighed. “I know but still . . . Promise me you'll be careful, all right?” He was uncomfortable about leaving Carlina at that house with her increasingly crazy family. The blind date set up by her mother had spoken volumes. He shuddered to think what she might come up with next. They were lucky if it turned out to be as harmless as her previous actions.

A horn behind them tooted.

He swiveled around, taking Carlina's arm by instinct, pulling her close to him.

She looked up at him with a small smile.

He colored.

The car pulled up at the curb, and the window went down. Ernesto's red head appeared. He slapped the steering wheel of his mother's car and beamed at them. “Hi there! Did you see how I turned around the corner? That was neat, wasn't it?”

“I'm afraid I didn't see it,” Carlina replied. “But if it was done on two wheels, it's better that I didn't.”

Ernesto grinned. “We're taking a trip around. The weather is perfect for a little spin.”

Garini looked in. Next to Ernesto, he could see Rafaele who raised a languid hand in greeting. Behind them, two girls giggled in the backseat. One was Maria, and the other looked very similar. Petite and pretty, with long, glossy hair. No wonder Ernesto felt on top of the world.

“Don't kill yourselves,” Carlina said and waved them on. “Have fun.”

They watched the car pulling away with squealing tires.

“Who was the other girl?” Garini asked.

“That's Sofia, Rafaele's sister.”

Garini frowned. “I think Benedetta mentioned her.”

“Possibly. Benedetta is a good friend of Rafaele's mother. His father died early on, and the whole Altori family is closely knit.”

“How unusual.” He gave her a provocative look.

She acknowledged it with a smile but didn't take the bait. “I'm glad she was giggling. She has had a hard time. Some guy or other got her pregnant when she was still in school. She never let on who it was, no matter how often she was asked. Still, she managed to finish school in spite of everything and had her baby shortly afterward. However, it died when it was two months old.”

“I see. Poor girl.” He walked a few more paces, enjoying her presence next to him, the occasional whiff of her perfume in the mild air. “Do you think there's a romance brewing?”

Carlina threw him a surprised look. “Between Sofia and Ernesto?” Her voice became thoughtful. “If you ask me, I'd say the boot was on the other foot.”

“You mean he's in love with Maria?”

Carlina shrugged. “Possibly. He has been surrounded by forceful women all his life, so maybe he enjoys the difference now.”

“Do you like her?”

Carlina hesitated. “Yes, I do, though . . .” Her voice petered out.

“Though what?”

“Though I never really get close to her. Maybe it's her heritage. That father of hers is convinced he belongs to the most superior family of Florence. He can trace his lineage back to Adam and Eve or the snake, possibly. I guess sooner or later, it has to rub off somehow.”

“Still, she cleans your house. That doesn't speak of arrogance.”

Carlina smiled. “True. Probably I just haven't had enough time yet. Some people take longer to trust than others.”

He looked at her. She was so open and welcoming that natural reticence was an alien concept for her. Sometimes he wondered why she had ever fallen in love with him.

Carlina stopped dead and grabbed his arm. “I don't believe this. Look over there!”

Chapter 12

I

She pointed with her chin toward a couple that stood underneath the awning of a tiny flower shop. They were surrounded by a tumble of colorful spring flowers, tulips, daffodils, crocuses. Sharply outlined against a huge bucket with green willow boughs, they could see the man bending over the woman, caressing her cheek. Then he took her head into his hands, careful, as if she was fragile, and kissed her.

Carlina turned to Garini, her eyes huge. “Aunt Benedetta,” she breathed. “And Leo. I never . . .”

He smiled at her. “Didn't you see it coming?”

“Yes, I . . . No. I mean, I don't know. I thought there might be something, but then, with Valentino's death, I forgot all about it.”

She gave them another quick look, then turned away. “It's nice, though, isn't it?”

“I think they suit.” He looked at Carlina's shining eyes with a sharp stab of pain. Would they be able to return to that phase where things felt right and good between them?

She looked up at him. “Yes.”

He wasn't sure what she had answered, but it didn't matter. He took her hand and led her away.

Two hours later, he was ushered by a most superior secretary into the inner sanctum of Sergio Elevato's office at the Banca di Firenze. Sergio Elevato was the director at Uncle Teo's bank, the one who had signed that strange mortgage paper, insuring Valentino's death way too high. Garini had asked for an interview right after Valentino's death, but the director had been ill with pneumonia and his substitute was away on some business trip or other. Nobody else felt able to answer the questions of the police, so Garini had been forced to wait.

The room smelled of coffee and leather from the comfortable looking leather seats that were grouped around a stainless steel table. Gleaming and massive, it reminded Garini of the tables at the butcher's where animals were taken apart. A single file, closed, lay on the large table and looked as if it had been forgotten there.

He concentrated on the director. A large man, broad, confident, with a suit that spoke of money, just like the heavy gold watch and the elaborate cuff links. Bushy eyebrows hung over the shadowed eyes.

“Take a seat, Commissario.” The director gave him a jovial smile that revealed a gold tooth at the side and motioned toward the leather chair. “What can I do for you?”

Garini could feel how the innocuous words masked a condescending attitude. This man behaved like a benevolent father, a man who knew to be superior but chose to be kind to someone he deemed to be far lower than he was. It wasn't the words, it was the extra soothing smile, the pretended interest, the way he leaned back and looked at Garini as if he wished nothing better than to tell him his innermost secrets. An unusual reaction to an interview with the police.

“Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Garini placed the little recorder onto the table. “Before we start, I need a written statement that I can record our conversation.” He had decided to be extra formal with the director.

“But of course, my dear friend.” A hearty laugh. “We have nothing to hide.”

Garini made sure his face remained immobile. He passed the prepared statement to Signor Elevato, waited until he had signed, then pressed the appropriate buttons and recorded the preliminaries. Without further ado, he jumped right in. “About a year ago, you mortgaged Teodoro Alfredo Mantoni's house in Via delle Pinzochere for a total of 1.7 million Euros.”

The director opened the file and leafed through the pages. “Yes, that's correct.”

“Do you still believe today that the value of the house was estimated correctly?” Garini had researched the value of houses in the center of Florence, and he was aware that the value fit. It didn't look so from the outside, but it was a large house with seven apartments in a perfect part of the old town – a quiet side street, but right at the hub of things.

“Certainly.” The director nodded. “In fact, I'm quite certain that the value has gone up.”

“Were you aware what Mr. Mantoni wanted to do with the money he had raised?”

“He told us so.” The banker nodded.