The machine was stopped with a click, which sounded loudly in the room. After a moment’s silence, Di Girolamo said, “You will note the careful way this man explains his intention to halt, but not kill Ettore. I may tell you that we believe this to be the case. He is a small time house burglar, and not a killer. I have now let you hear two separate witnesses, both of whom indicate you as the aggressor of Ettore Fagiolo. I am willing to hear your version of the facts. Are you able to shed any further light on what happened?”
Nigel groaned, he put his hands to his face and covered it, then removed them abruptly as though he had washed it, and took a deep breath.
“It would be pointless to deny I was there. I was there and I went into the house, for the documents, and that damn dago was in there. He came downstairs, zipping up his trousers, and looking as though he owned the place. Well I saw red, I yelled at him, told him what I thought of him, and picked up the pot to threaten him with. That frightened him. He changed the look on his face then and rushed out through the French windows into the garden, I followed. I looked bloody silly with a flowerpot in my hands, and it was heavy, so I jettisoned it, and I caught him at the pool. I went for him. He is a lot younger than me, was, I mean, so he threw me off and I fell back into the shed. I grabbed a shovel from the shed and swiped at him with it, but I missed and fell over. That bastard kicked me in the face. I mean its not on, to kick a man when he’s down. That started a nosebleed, so I went back to the house for an ice pack, and I told him I’d go to the police. I hadn’t got the time then to do anything else then, except make it clear that he wouldn’t get away with it. I couldn’t risk missing the plane, so I said that I’d do it when I came back. I went to the fridge got an ice pack, bunged some cotton wool up my nose, grabbed my documents and left. That’s all. I did, categorically, NOT, go back and throw the blighter into the pool. I didn’t see the burglar who made that statement, or any of what he says went on. I was in the house at that point trying to stop my nosebleed. I had blood down my jacket so I sponged it with cold water. I was seething. I felt like throttling Ettore, I admit it, but I didn’t kill him.”
“I see, but if you didn’t, then who did?”
“I’ve told you who; that little boy, his pet dog, the one who is trying to lay it on me.”
“Why did you pay Marco when he tried to blackmail you?”
“I’ve already told you that too. I didn’t want you to know I’d been back to the villa.”
“You have lied all along, there is no reason why I should believe you now. I do not believe you and I am going to arrest you for the murder of Ettore Fagiolo.”
The correct formula was pronounced and Nigel was formally arrested. He was sent down to the main prison in Lucca later that morning.
CHAPTER FORTY
Robin sat in bed alone. Nigel had gone to the police station ages ago, and she sat immobile, clutching the sheet around her for comfort, waiting for a phone call or for his return home.
“Why had they come for him? What could have happened? Had they got new evidence?” she asked herself, feeling an increasing wave of panic.
Finally she decided to get dressed and pop in to see Hilary, for tea and sympathy. She had to talk to someone or she would go mad. She left a note on the door for Nigel, and tripped up the road. When Hilary opened the door, still in her dressing gown, she found Robin wearing a smart dress and full make-up at nine o’clock on a ‘festa’ morning.
“Good heavens! What’s happened Robin? What’s wrong?”
Robin burst into tears, “Everything. That fascist policeman has arrested Nigel, I think.”
“Oh, I am sorry. Come in. I’ll make some tea, or do you prefer coffee?”
“Tea would be lovely.” She blew her nose and followed Hilary into the kitchen. Hilary put the kettle on, turning her back on Robin who was still sniffing, so that she could get a hold on herself. Robin obviously had no idea that she had been sleeping with the enemy. She busied herself with cups and teabags. She set everything on the table and sat down facing Robin.
“It won’t take a minute. Now, what happened exactly?”
“At the crack of dawn those fascist bastards nearly knocked the door down, and took Nigel away, and I haven’t heard anything since. I’m so worried. They can’t arrest him. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. They can’t possibly think he’s killed Ettore. Should I get in touch with the Consul or the Ambassador or a lawyer or… Oh Hilary, what shall I do?” she wailed.
Hilary let her rant on, and said “Have a good cry Robin and then we’ll talk.” She stood up, made the tea and brought it to the table. She poured a cup for Robin and said firmly, “Blow your nose and drink your tea.”
Robin gulped at her tea and still looked weepy, then she gave a small smile and said, ”Good thing my make-up’s water- proof. What must I look like, all red eyed and probably with a red nose to boot.”
“You look splendid, as always. Now you’ve calmed down, tell me exactly what happened. He was taken to the police station early this morning, is that right?”
“Yes, That’s all I know. They accompanied him to the bedroom to get some clothes, watched him dress, and ignored me, even though I kept asking what was going on. He said, “Don’t worry Robin, I’ll be back soon,” and off they went. Hilary, they put handcuffs on him.” She burst into loud sobs again and buried her face in her handkerchief.
“Oh my dear, how awful. I’m so sorry. Well, I think you should wait a while and then find out if he has actually been arrested, or if they are just interrogating him. Then you can decide what to do.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. I mean they can’t just arrest people on suspicion, can they? They have to have proof, witnesses, something. He didn’t do it so there can’t be anything. Of course someone could be lying to protect himself. That’s a possibility.”
“They have to investigate all testimonies, Robin, and then if they are proved false, they’re ignored. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Go home and wait there. Phone me if you’ve heard nothing by lunchtime. O.K?”
“Thank you Hilary. You’re so sensible. I’m sorry I burst in on you like that, but I was panic-stricken. I feel better now. I’ll phone you later then.”
She left and Hilary washed up the cups thoughtfully. Ruggero had seemed so sure that he was going to arrest the right person. He had obviously got new evidence. He had seemed certain. She puzzled over it. Robin had been so distraught, so sure that Nigel was innocent. Who was right? Maybe they hadn’t arrested Nigel. Maybe they needed him to nail someone else. She decided that she had found the answer to the puzzle and put it on one side. She had other things to think about. Her emotions were in a turmoil. Last night! She felt a thrill inside. Last night had seemed so inevitable, so right and so good. It had been really good. Poor old Bruno. What had Miriam said, about that adjective, ah yes, one foot outside the door. Well Bruno had been moving away for some time, or she had, either way they had moved apart. She had been glad, initially, when he came back from his holiday. She had missed him but, when he was there all the time, she hadn’t felt anything much. No passion at all, and restful wasn’t enough.
Di Girolamo was sunk in thought. His elbows rested on his desk and his chin was cupped in his hands. Why did he still feel uncertain about that Englishman? He had two concurring independent witnesses, which was more than enough. Something kept niggling at him; he was missing something. It had slipped through his fingers. He picked up the phone and called the hospital,
“Di Girolamo here, investigating magistrate for the province of Lucca. I’m enquiring about Marco Rossi. Yes, that’s the one. How is he this morning? I see. Could I come do you think? I would be careful. Yes, I see. Well, after lunch then. I’ll call in on you of course. Thank you doctor.”
Maresciallo Biagioni was at home today. It was the town’s patron saint’s day and he wanted to be home with his family. Besides, he understood the case was more or less closed, and the burglaries had been wrapped up too, so he felt quite content. Di
Girolamo phoned him at ten o’clock.
“I’ve arrested him. He didn’t have a leg to stand on, but he denied doing the actual murder.”
“Well, they all do that don’t they?”
“I suppose so.”
“Aren’t you sure about him?”
“Yes, I am, but I keep feeling I’ve missed something.”
“Ah well, we’re never a hundred percent happy are we. Have you told Robin Pierce that he’s been arrested?”
“No. I’ll do that now.”
“By the way ‘Fritzy’ is back. I forgot to tell you. He signed in yesterday afternoon.”
“I’ll see to him tomorrow. Enjoy your day off.”
He dialled again, “Di Girolamo here, I am calling to inform you that Nigel Proctor was arrested and will be taken to the prison in Lucca shortly. The charge was murder.”
He heard a sharp intake of breath, then, “Can I see him?”
“Not here I’m afraid. You can in Lucca; also you will want to sort out a legal representative. Anyway, I advise you to contact the prison authorities, as this case is now out of my hands,”
“I see. Thank you for phoning.”
He put the phone down, and put all thoughts of the case on one side. He thought of Hilary and what had happened. He picked up the phone and dialled again.
“Hilary, it’s me, Ruggero.”
“Hello Ruggero. Come to lunch. I’m alone.”
“It will compromise you.”
“That’s fine. I don’t mind at all, in fact I think I shall quite like being compromised. I’ll see you later.”
Robin rushed out of the house, holding an overnight bag. She had prepared this for Nigel, but was uncertain what would be allowed. She had phoned a top lawyer, someone had recommended to her should she ever needed one, and was meeting him in Lucca at 12.0 a.m. She bumped into Alda, Marco’s mother, on her way to the parking area where she had left the small car. She didn’t want to use the Mercedes, as it was too cumbersome for parking.
“Hallo, where are you off to?”
“Oh, I’m going to Pisa to see Marco. I have a train at ten forty five, so I must rush or I’ll miss the bus that goes to the station.”
Robin heard herself say, “I’m going as far as Lucca. Do you want a lift, then you can get a bus to Pisa from there?”
“Oh how kind. Yes that would be lovely.”
She prattled on gaily for the whole journey, and Robin was sick to death of her and Padre Pio and that little shit of a son of hers. “Fuck you, Padre Pio,” she cursed inwardly. She hoped that blackmailing little shit, Marco, would keep his mouth shut. His mother obviously knew nothing, so maybe he was just waiting his chance to start blackmailing Nigel again. She let Alda out at Lucca bus-station and sent her best wishes to Marco. That would surprise him! It was a damn shame he hadn’t died in the accident. He must have been hit a terrific blow, but the resilience of the young was something quite incredible and, against all the odds, he had survived. He was free to blackmail them again, free to invent whatever he liked and try and pass it off as the truth.
She parked the car and walked into the medieval town centre to meet the legal representative. She knew Nigel was innocent; it was just a question of convincing others.
The case file was open on his desk. He flicked through the pages putting it into order, checking there were sufficient copies. He checked the German’s statement. He read the letters from Augusta again. A copy of the second letter would have to go into the file for the inquiry into her husband’s death, so he made a note. He pulled out the photograph that had accompanied it, tapped his finger on it a few times and then carefully put it back in its envelope and numbered it. The other photograph, he was undecided about. He remembered his promise to the Maresciallo, but was loath to destroy it yet. He replaced it in the file but did not number it. Today was a ‘festa’ so he would finish all the paper work the next day. He felt deflated. All the adrenaline had gone. The end of a case should be triumphant, not flat like this. He locked his office and walked out into the sunshine. Several people said “Buon giorno” as he walked through town. He felt he was becoming part of this town, but now he would have to leave it, and go back to his lonely flat in Lucca. Perhaps that was what was making him feel so edgy.
He arrived at Hilary’s and was watched by at least two neighbours, as she let him in. These small towns certainly limited your freedom of action, he thought. Hilary opened the door and smiled at him.
“I’m sorry, but your reputation will be damaged by this.”
“Don’t worry. You are a policeman, and it is lunchtime, so I think I’ll be fairly safe.”
“Well I won’t stay too long.“
“Stay as long as you like. If anyone asks, I’ll say the police department is commissioning the translation of the testimonies, so there’ll need to be frequent consultations.”
“Perhaps it could be true.”
“I’ve worked for them before, so who knows.”
“I should have brought a briefcase with me.”
“Never mind; bring one next time.”
“And the next, and the next.”
They smiled at each other. Then they kissed. He pressed her body to him for a brief moment. She gently released herself.
“Come on, we’re lunching under the pergola, it’s cool there and hidden from the public view.”
“I have to leave fairly early as I’m going to Pisa this afternoon to take down a signed statement from Marco Rossi, if he’s up to it.”
“Robin was here this morning, in a terrible state about Nigel. She said she thought he was being arrested. I haven’t heard from her since. Has he been arrested?”
“Yes. She has been informed. In fact, I expect she’s on her way to Lucca now. It’s out of my hands.”
“You mean the case is closed.”
“Yes. I’ll be leaving myself before long, and then I expect I’ll have a few days off before I’m assigned a new case.”
“Oh.”
“Hilary will you come away with me. We could go to the mountains; I have a small chalet. It would be very primitive. There’s no electricity, and only a freezing mountain stream for water.”
“Yes.”
“Just yes.”
“Yes.”
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Marco was feeling better. He had been taken out of intensive care and was now in a private room. His parents were going to stay in a hotel at Pisa and spend the whole day with him. They had bought him tapes and magazines and new pyjamas and they washed him and fed him like a baby. They looked older to him, than before, and seemed more tired than he remembered, but despite that, they were happier now, and their kindness overwhelmed him. Their joy at having him alive seemed boundless. Probably because he was so aware of this, he kept finding himself weeping, and felt ashamed. He had several fractures and would have to remain immobile for some time. The only pain he had was caused by the fractured rib, which had punctured a lung. He looked up as Di Girolamo came in with a young policeman.
“Marco, I hear you feel up to making a proper statement today.”
“Yes, I slept quite well. Talking doesn’t seem so tiring.”
“O.K, now I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I am going to tape this interview, then Roberto here will pop into the doctor’s office and type it up for you to sign. After that we can leave you in peace.” He looked kindly on the boy. His long hair had been cut off, his head shaved for the operation. He was pale and thinner even than before. He was very small boned and delicate looking, and his green eyes looked huge in his little white face. A waif. He reminded Di Girolamo of the photos he had seen of refugees.
“My parents don’t have to know what I’m saying do they?”
“No, this is between us. It will probably have to come out in court, but your parents do know what the situation is, you know. You mustn’t let that interfere with what you say.”
“Fine”
“Shall we start?” He read aloud the date, time
and place, and named those present.
The Tuscan Mystery Trilogy Page 21
