Tuscan Termination

by Margaret Moore

  Ruggero had phoned the hospital early, and had been told there was no change in Marco’s condition. Obviously Padre Pio hadn’t pulled it off as yet. He felt very frustrated, as he was certain that this boy was going to give him the information he needed. I need this miracle as much as the boy, in a different way, he thought.

  It was a day of waiting, an interim day. The air was heavy and humid, and increasingly so as the hours passed. Hilary felt slowed down, and was glad to have a lazy day with Amanda. They lolled in the shade replete with a too large lunch, too tired even to talk or read. No one phoned. The whole town seemed silent and during the afternoon thunder could be heard in the distance. It rumbled around for the whole afternoon, but came to nothing.

  “I shall have to water the plants before we go to the party.”

  “That’ll make it rain.”

  “I hope so”

  “What time is the party anyway?”

  “It says nine o’clock on the invitation, but I certainly don’t want to be the first there.”

  “No one will want to be, so I predict a mass entry at roughly nine-twenty.”

  “It should be a bit cooler by then.”

  “It’s funny how I think of this place as hot, but never have a correct perceptive memory of the entity of the heat.”

  “It’s the humidity that makes it seem hotter than it is.”

  “I know, but I still find it surprising, the heat, I mean.”

  “Do you? It will probably rain during the night. A good thunderstorm will clear the air. I’m going in to shower.”

  “Again!”

  “Again.”

  Miriam lay on her bed supported by several pillows, in a darkened room, a ventilator stirring the pudding-like air. She was unable to read, because she was too tired, but she wasn’t asleep. She was thinking about Salvatore’s face, or rather the expression on his face, the evening before. There was no doubt about it; he had had an air of guilt. She remembered his fingers painfully digging into the flesh of her upper arm. She remembered the noises she had heard, and puzzled over their provenance. What had he been doing?

  Salvatore and Assunta sat in the kitchen, a fan lazily purred from the ceiling.

  “I don’t think she believed me, I can’t tell you why, but there was something in her attitude.”

  “You’re crazy. She was just embarrassed for you having to mention your natural functions in front of her.”

  “I suppose so. What about tonight, do you think it’s safe?”

  “Of course. What could be safer? Besides you have to do it now, we’ve got others lined up for next week, and if we don’t do them now it will be too late.”

  “I’m getting really pissed off, there’s not much in this area. We’ve been here three years, and if you add it up….”

  “We’ll move on soon, I’ll invent an elderly relative who needs help, and we’ll get her to write us an excellent reference. Then off to new pastures. This place is dead.” She paused following her own train of thought. “You know that kid that got run over? Well I heard two women talking about him, it seems he was on drugs, and queer to boot!”

  “Well there’s nothing to do here, so it’s sex and drugs and so on….”

  “Poor kid, his mother’s gone down to Padre Pio.”

  “Well they’re saying in the bar it will take a miracle.”

  The fan churned on. Assunta shuffled the cards and they began to play.

  Miriam finally fell asleep, and Hilary walked naked from the shower to her bed. She too flicked on the fan as she passed. The shutters were closed and a dull golden light filtered through them and striped her bed. The thunder rumbled and the sky grew gradually darker. The air was stiller than ever, waiting. Everything was waiting.

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  At nine fifteen Hilary and Amanda joined Bruno, who had called for them. The thunder still rumbled and now there was a breeze. Occasionally the skyline was lit up by distant lightning. Vast areas were suddenly as bright as daylight. Both women had taken a shawl and Bruno was prudently carrying an umbrella.

  “Really Bruno, you’ll bring us bad luck carrying that damn thing,” said Amanda. “It will never rain with you all prepared like a boy scout. We really need it to rain.”

  “I don’t care if it doesn’t, but if it does, I’ve no intention of walking home in the rain without an umbrella.”

  Terry shouted, “Hi everybody,” and joined them. “I see we’ve all timed it perfectly. Tom and Anne are just behind us, and I think that’s Miriam’s car arriving. Goodness Bruno, an umbrella! It will never rain now.”

  The car drew to a halt beside them and Salvatore jumped out to open the door for Miriam. She emerged from the car swathed in a shimmering golden kaftan. Little golden slippers peeped from beneath the hem.

  “Oh my dears, isn’t this fun. As you can see I’m wearing my party frock, and I’m going to enjoy myself.” Salvatore heaved her to her feet. “ Thank you Salvatore, come back for me at half past midnight. I think I can safely say I’ll last that long. I had a good snooze this afternoon and I feel fit as a fiddle. Bruno, you can take my arm and escort me in, Hilary won’t mind, even if you do.” She attached herself to Bruno and began to slowly waddle up the drive with him, the others following. She spoke to them over her shoulder. “Darlings, I saw Sue Browne and that divine Ruggero di Girolamo talking together in the street. He really is devastatingly attractive. Do you think he’s been invited as well?”

  “Hardly,” said Bruno.

  “You sound a bit acid this evening, Bruno. Am I impeding your progress.”?

  “Not at all,” said Bruno stiffly, helping her negotiate the two steps that led into the house. Robin was greeting guests at the door and was more heavily made up than ever.

  “Come in everybody, go on through, Nigel’s serving drinks on the terrace. I’m so glad you’ve all come. Thank you, thank you.”

  Amanda nudged her mother, “I think she’s been tanking up on the party spirit already!” she whispered, “and she’s actually wearing false eyelashes!”

  “Be quiet!”

  Two obviously homosexual men came in after them, and were greeted with cries of joy, “Nigel, Nigel, come and see who’s come to see us.”

  Nigel came out to greet them. “John, Sebastian! Jolly good, so you found us. Wasn’t too difficult was it? Great to see you, come on through, drinks are over there.”

  The room and the terrace soon filled up. The ‘status quo’ party was in full swing, and any doubts that Nigel had had about it soon vanished. He grabbed Robin in the kitchen and hugged her.

  “You clever girl! You’re wonderful. This was a brilliant idea. It’s really working.”

  “I’ll admit I wasn’t sure they’d all come, but they have and I’m so happy. It will all be alright.”

  Di Girolamo walked through the old town. He had bumped into Sue Browne and taken the opportunity of thanking her for her statement and she had told him about the party. If he had been surprised he hadn’t shown it. If the Englishman was innocent, then the party would clear the air and bring their lives back to its former level. If he was guilty, then it would look as though he were innocent, and could be considered a good tactical move. Ruggero was more or less certain, in his mind, that Nigel had done it, and wondered if his companion was an accomplice. It would have been easier for two people to drag the body to the pool, and the evidence showed that it had been dragged there. However, it seemed unlikely especially as Marco Rossi had specifically blackmailed Nigel, or so he had understood from his interview with the Proctors. Of course he had no proof. Not a shred of evidence. Strangely, Nigel did not have that elusive air of guilt that he usually detected in cases like this, and he had to admit lack of motive, but often the heat of the moment was motive enough. Not that Nigel looked like a man prone to violent rages, but perhaps his foreignness was what he could not come to terms with. Ruggero knew his Italian murderers because he knew his countrymen. He couldn’t know Nigel, because he was an unknown el
ement. Until now he had thought certain characteristics international. For him there had been no frontiers for guilt, and murder. He had actually believed in the invisible mark of the murderer. He had found he could apply it even to the Moroccan and Senegalese criminals he had encountered, and he had been right. Perhaps it was a question of latitude. He laughed to himself. Thank God he’d never made his ideas public.

  He stopped at the bar in the centre of town for a coffee, but he didn’t linger. Nobody loves a policeman, and his presence would dampen other peoples’ enjoyment. He sometimes felt he could hear a sigh of relief when he left a bar. It was depressing when everyone was unnaturally polite and well behaved. Perhaps he’d have done better to go back to Lucca. He still had work to do there, and the Prato thing was dragging on, but he kept making excuses to stay here without really knowing why. He told himself he was waiting for Marco Rossi to regain consciousness, but that wasn’t sufficient motive to remain here. Depending on what the boy said, he would either leave or conclude the case with an arrest.

  He was feeling lonely tonight. Silvia’s death had left him so totally alone. He worked and did little else, apart from the occasional concert or cinema, alone of course. Even his work, which he loved, left him feeling isolated.

  He was well liked though he didn’t realise it, and he had managed to keep his sense of humour, which helped his social contacts at work. It was living his own life he found difficult. He didn’t really have his own life, only Silvia’s death.

  There had been no children, as Silvia was working, and struggling with her career as a hospital doctor. “I’ll have children when I’m forty,” she had said. “I won’t have time until then.” But there hadn’t been time. What would he have done with a child, alone, anyway? He felt neither glad nor sad about the lack of a child. He was apathetic about most things; only his work, the solving of riddles, gave him any pleasure. He walked slowly on towards the other end of town.

  “Where’s Joe? He was supposed to be here at ten,” asked Assunta.

  “Don’t panic. He’ll be here, I’ve left the gate open.” They were both wearing gloves, and standing by the kitchen door. On the floor beside them was a heap of stuff, a computer, C.D player, two televisions, and some boxes. A light shone from the garden, it beamed towards them twice.

  “Here he is. Hurry up. Let’s get loaded up.” They began to move towards the light carrying boxes. Just outside the garden gate was a small black van.

  “Joe, the stuff’s ready, move it.”

  They made a few hasty journeys to the van within a few minutes.

  “Quick Assunta, back you go.”

  He sat her down on the kitchen floor and tied and gagged her. He took her gloves and put them in his pocket. He lay two chairs on the floor and moved the table a bit.

  “Good girl. See you later.”

  He went out of the back entrance, leaving the kitchen door with its damaged lock, wide open. He sprinted towards the main bar in the new part of town. He had been away exactly eleven minutes. Assunta had done everything except carry down the television. She had trashed the house and broken the lock from the outside, wearing gloves. Any fingerprints of theirs would have been normal anyway, but Salvatore was taking no chances. He had been in the bar from nine twenty five till three minutes to ten. At the back of the bar was an area of tables and chairs where on Saturday nights there was usually a dance. Other nights, people sat there as it was cool, but it remained in semi -darkness. He had moved there at about 9.45 with his beer, taking good care to sit in a very dark spot and was sure that he had it left unnoticed. If someone had seen him go they would have thought he’d gone for a pee, as his direction had been that of the lavatory. By the time he unobtrusively regained his seat, he had been absent for a total of 16 minutes. He would remain there until it was time to fetch Miriam and they would enter the house together. Poor Assunta would have to sit there for two and a half hours, but that was all to the good, as she would have quite deep rope marks on her by then, and everything would look authentic. They’d had to do it early, as he didn’t trust Miriam. It had given him a shock the night before, when she had turned up early, just as he was about to start. He’d had to annul it, leaving the no go sign for Joe. So this time they’d decided to leave Assunta tied up, certain proof of his non-involvement. Normally he would have just left the door open for Joe and the stuff ready, but the whole MO had been changed tonight.

  Di Girolamo had reached the other end of town and going through the Medici Gate was ambling along the road towards Lucca and was about to turn back, having decided that bed and a book was the best way to pass what was left of the evening, when he was almost knocked over by a dark van that shot out from the lane at the back of Miriam Greene’s house. He cursed and looked after the van, which he now realised had been without lights. He began to walk quietly on towards the house when he saw a man emerge cautiously from the lane. He froze and merged into the hedge at the side of the road. The man then ran at top speed down the hill towards town. Despite the dark, Di Girolamo instantly recognised the plump short figure as that of Salvatore, the chauffeur/gardener. What’s he been up to? He wondered. He reached the house and looked up through the main gates at the windows. The house was in darkness. He turned to the left and took the small lane that led to the back of the property, where he found the garden gate and saw that there was a light at the back of the house. Taking care he walked quietly up the garden path to the kitchen door, which was wide open. He cautiously stepped to one side of it and peered in. Chairs were lying on the floor and the table was skew-whiff. He could see a pair of legs bound with rope. Silently he stepped into the room and saw that Assunta was lying on the floor, gagged, her arms bound behind her back and her legs bound together. As soon as she saw him, strange noises began to issue from her throat, and she wriggled her body, her eyes blazing. He ignored her and tiptoed past her to the stairs. It took him a very short time to realise that the house was empty, apart from a small, white dog that gave a half-hearted bark from under the bed in Miriam’s room.

  For a moment he had wondered if the old lady had been in there, but he realised pretty quickly what this was. A scene had been set, and very efficiently too, and had it not been for his aimless wandering it would have been successful. He returned to the kitchen where Assunta still lay, making more noises, hoping he would untie her.

  He grinned at her and said, “All in good time my dear. I rather like you as you are at the moment.”

  Her eyes glowered enraged at him, and he burst out laughing. There was a phone in the hall, which he used before going out through the main door to wait. Five minutes later the lights of the police car blinked at him and he opened the main gates with the internal command.

  Maresciallo Biagioni joined him and said, “We’ll have to wait for the finger-print man to arrive. I put through a call immediately so he’ll be here in about twenty-five minutes. Where’s Signora Greene?”

  “Oh, she’s not here. There’s nobody here, only the thief’s accomplice and he very kindly tied her up for me.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Where he left her, and as he left her, tied up on the kitchen floor.”

  Maresciallo Biagioni laughed. “I’d better go and untie her or they’ll have me up for police brutality.”

  “Be careful. She looks dangerous, that’s why I left her. I couldn’t possibly handle her on my own. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, I’ll need a witness or she’ll accuse me of trying to rape her or something. Michele,” he bellowed. “Come down to the kitchen.”

  “Let’s keep her sweet till we get her down to the police station; I don’t want her to have an inkling until then that we know she’s in on it. I’ll tell the lads. We can get him after you’ve dealt with her. He was sprinting down to town, so I expect he’s in the main bar. Again, I do not want to arrest him until we’ve got him in the police station.”

  They went down to the kitchen followed by Michele, a young policem
an.

  “Assunta! Oh dear, what’s all this about? ” said the Maresciallo not unkindly as he began to loosen her bonds. He pulled off the gag and she immediately began to shout. “There was a burglar. Look what he did to me! Why didn’t you set me free immediately?” She stood up rubbing her chafed wrists. “Look at me, and that other man just ignored me. I was so frightened,” she almost sobbed.

  “Police rules my dear. You can’t touch people when you’re alone. You have to wait for reinforcements.”

  “Rubbish, I was suffocating. I could have died and I’m an important witness,”

  “Well, I think we’d better get you down to the station to make a statement as soon as possible. Where’s the Signora? She’ll have to be informed.”

  “She went to a party at the house of that English couple, you know where the murder took place. She’ll be so upset, povera Signora, all her things gone. There were two of them, look what they did to me. They could have killed me, like that poor Ettore. I just thank God the Signora was out; she would have died of fright. Like me. I feel ill. That man left me there and laughed at me. He must be crazy.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Di Girolamo from the doorway. “I’ll go to the party and explain what’s happened to the Signora.

  Assunta gave him a withering look. “You should have freed me immediately. It’s unbelievable. What are you a racist or something? If it had been anyone else you would have rushed to free them. It’s because I am a Sicilian. You just stood there and laughed at me while I was suffocating to death.”

  “Police regulations,” he said tersely.

  “No, it was discrimination. You Northeners always treat us Sicilians like shit, as if we were gypsies or something. I’m not trash like some Albanian. You haven’t heard the last of this. It’s a disgrace.”

  “I’ll go and meet the others, they should be arriving soon.” Di Girolamo turned and left the room. Afterwards he would walk to Nigel’s house and tell Miriam what had happened. It would probably be quite a blow. To be defrauded by people you trust is a form of betrayal. Assunta was still raging. He could hear her voice rising and falling as he walked down the drive. Quite a performance, he thought. She hadn’t realised that they were on to her. As he reached the main gates another police car, with two men in it turned towards the drive. He stopped it and gave them their instructions.