Broken Chord

by Margaret Moore

  Maresciallo Spadaccia, in charge of the local police station, looked at the first letter, read it, read it again and then picked up the second one and slowly read that too. Piero shifted in his chair. He was beginning to wonder if the man could actually read. He coughed as a reminder that he was there. The policeman put the second letter down, arranged it carefully next to the first one, stared at them both for a moment and then said. “I think the same person wrote the two letters.”

  Piero was flabbergasted. “Of course! It never occurred to me that it could be two people. I mean, in the second letter he mentions the first.”

  “Yes. Quite. Has the Signora ever received any verbal threats, phone calls and so on?”

  “No, no. I told you she doesn’t know about the letters. I thought it best to see you first without upsetting her for nothing.”

  “Well, I see your point, but it’s not nothing, is it. It’s an obvious threat.”

  “I thought that maybe there was someone known to you who has done this sort of thing before.”

  “No. No. I’m afraid not. We’ve never had anything like this before.”

  “So you have no idea who could be sending them?”

  “No, do you? What about some ex-employee with a grudge trying to frighten her?”

  “Please. I really don’t think that’s the case. I can’t think of anyone.”

  “Well, leave it with me. I don’t know what I can do about it, but we’ll open a file, just to cover ourselves in case anything happens.”

  “What do you mean, anything?”

  “Well, it sounds threatening. I think you should warn the Signora to be very careful.”

  “So you think I should tell her?”

  “Yes, at this point I do. After all in the normal course of events she would have opened these letters herself.”

  “Yes, of course. Alright, I’ll tell her, but I don’t know that it’s a good idea.”

  “Why, is she a very nervy sort of person?”

  Piero thought of all the trouble at home and muttered, “Well, not normally, but you know she’s getting married next month and it’s all a bit hectic.”

  “Give her my congratulations, and ask her to come down. I’ll need to take down all her particulars.”

  “Oh dear. Will that be necessary?”

  “I’m afraid so. As soon as possible, please.”

  Piero stood up and they shook hands. Outside, he stood blinking in the sunlight thinking furiously. Ursula was going to be very upset. He half wished he hadn’t reported the letters but if there really was a madman around, then he’d done the right thing. Life was complicated. Especially at the moment. As soon as one problem was solved, another presented itself. His thoughts turned to Marianna. She might be distraught now, but that had been sorted. Even if the boy lived, he would be in hospital for months and might even be crippled for life. She would get over him. A month away from home would do the trick.

  Then there was Tebaldo, or rather, his awful wife, so trying for the family. And of course there was the Rossi family. He was aware that Ursula wanted to go and see them herself, despite his advice to the contrary. He knew exactly what sort they were. They were the type of people who dressed in rags and hid a fortune under the mattress. That repulsive grandson of theirs drove a motorbike that had cost a bomb. He wondered where the money for that had come from and how he managed to support himself, since it seemed he rarely had a job.

  Piero opened the car door, got in and drove off fast, anxious to get back to the house. He had a feeling of impending doom.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Now that Vanessa had returned, Drago’s spirit had lifted. The boredom of this job and the cold of his office didn’t weigh on him today. Besides, Bruno would be back soon. The company of his colleague and friend would very welcome. He doodled a mandala on a piece of paper and looked out at the sky. Good weather was only appreciated when interrupted at intervals by some change, which in the summer usually meant a storm, but there wasn’t going to be one today. He vaguely wondered if all the criminals in Lucca were on holiday, apart from the muggers and even they were less industrious than usual, probably affected like himself by the heat. It was strange that he was willing something to happen, but he was. Here he was, actively desiring that a serious crime take place, well, maybe not a murder, but something big, no, what he meant was something complicated. He needed a puzzle to solve. In the meantime he began to read his guide book to Lucca again and wondered if he would have the stamina to climb the 225 stairs of the Guinigi Tower to reach the roof where there was, quite surprisingly, a small garden with seven oak trees and an amazing view of the amphitheatre and the whole of Lucca as well as the surrounding mountain range.

  Ursula felt a huge upsurge of anger as she contemplated the ugliness of the immediate surroundings. There were two rusted and decaying old cars, numerous sheds and outhouses with corrugated iron roofs, and dilapidated compounds which housed appallingly smelly goats, chickens, pigs and rabbits. In the heat, the stench was so overwhelming she was overcome by a wave of nausea and put a handkerchief to her nose as she approached the house. It was as ramshackle and disgusting as the pig pens. Shutters hung askew from the patched up windows. The pock-marked main door looked as though it had some kind of skin disease. It was opened by a toothless slattern of indeterminate age, wearing what appeared to be rags. A waft of cooking cabbage floated out and seemed to compound the wretchedness of it all. That was when the rage boiled in Ursula’s breast. She felt it as a tangible tide of hot wrath surging inside her and it erupted as she snapped at the woman. “Tell your husband to come out here.” She was horrified at herself. This was not what she’d intended by coming here. She’d wanted to be charming and win them over. No chance of that now.

  The crone grinned at her, revealing blackened stubs of teeth and said, “Would Madam care to come in and have something to drink?” as she opened the door wider in invitation.

  Ursula repressed a shudder. “No. Just ask him to come out here, now.” She hastily remembered her first intent and added, “Please.”

  “Of course. He’ll be delighted, I’m sure.”

  Ursula turned her back on the house and went a few paces away to observe the pathetic flowers potted in rusting tuna fish tins, the large tins that shops bought to sell the fish by weight. There was not a single saving grace in this house. The family, composed of out-of-work layabouts and rotting old folk, disgusted her so much she would willingly have had them all put down like the cats. She wanted them to vanish from the face of the earth. A complicated legal system protected tenants, especially those who had lived and worked in a place forever without paying any cash rent for the house, merely living in it as a reward for their services. No written contract had ever existed between her aunt and the Rossi family. Her lawyer had advised buying them off but they were indifferent to her offers, or had been up till now. The offer she was going to make to them today was too good to be true. She was going to literally buy her house back from them. The sum she would give them would buy them a new house. She’d decided to come in person to make the offer, an offer they couldn’t refuse. If they did, which was unthinkable, they still have to go in the end, without a penny, but it would probably take years, years she didn’t want to have to live through. She brushed insistent flies away and roasted in the heat. Sweat was beginning to dampen her armpits. She felt as though the terrible smell of the animals was settling on her skin. She was going to have another shower, as soon as she got home, to wash it off.

  “You wanted to speak to me.”

  She whipped round and found the old crone’s husband standing far too close to her, close enough for her to smell that he had the same odour as his goats. He, too, was dressed in revolting garments that she thought hardly merited being called clothes. She managed to smile and bravely hold out a hand. “Hello, Mr Rossi, I wonder if I could have a little talk with you.” He grasped her hand in his own roughened and very dirty hand. The black-rimmed fingernails horrified her
.

  “Why don’t you come into the house?”

  “No, thanks. I just wanted a quick word. I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye about things, but perhaps we could sort things out between us now.” She knew she was violating all the unwritten laws of business transactions by stubbornly remaining in the courtyard, but she couldn’t bring herself to go into the house. Who knew what further horrors lay in wait for her there?

  “Fire away then.” He gave her hand a vicious squeeze before abruptly letting it drop.

  “Look, as you know, I would like to have the house back. My lawyer has approached you several times about this, but I thought we could sort this all out in a friendly way, just the two of us.” She smiled hopefully at him. “I really do understand that you don’t want to go, so, after much thought and after consulting with my lawyer, I’ve decided to make you a very generous offer if you’ll move out.” She was gabbling as though she wanted to get the whole thing over and done with as soon as possible.

  “How much?”, he asked abruptly.

  She named the sum, “With that you can buy a house which would be yours, a much more comfortable house that nobody could ever throw you out of.”

  He stood in silence and screwed his eyes up as though calculating. Then he said, “No. I’m not leaving here. Got it? You can try all you want but I’m staying.”

  “In that case I think you’ll be very sorry. You’ll be thrown out on the street and you won’t get a penny from me.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be thrown out in your lifetime, or mine come to that.” He hoicked and spat phlegm on the ground near her feet.

  She could have wept with frustration. Throwing caution to the wind, she hissed, “I’ll get you out of here, make no mistake. You’re going to be very sorry you refused my offer.”

  “Get off my property,” he shouted, reaching for a rusting pitchfork and aiming it at her. He yelled, “I like living here and I’m not going to move out just to please some rich, murderous, German cow, now get out and don’t come back or I’ll ram this right through you.”

  Ursula caught a glimpse of Mrs Rossi standing in the doorway and grinning approval at her husband’s actions. She almost expected her to applaud. At the same moment a large motorbike shot into the farmyard and drew to a halt. A young man got off, whipped off his helmet and let his long dark locks fall around his face.

  “What’s going on, Grandad?”

  “Nothing. I’m just seeing Madam Cat-killer off.”

  “Well, put the pitchfork down. You might hurt someone.”

  “I’ll hurt her if she don’t leave us in peace.”

  The boy moved forward, disarmed his grandfather and said to Ursula, “You’d better go, and take my advice, don’t come back. I know why you’ve come but he doesn’t want to leave this house and neither do the rest of us, so just let it be. I mean it.”

  Despite the fact that he’d stopped the old man from running her through, there was a distinct air of menace in the way he spoke. Dressed in black leather, with a ring through his eyebrow and another through his lower lip, he looked quite frightening.

  She summoned up some courage and said tartly, “You’ll have to go in the end and you won’t get a penny from me.”

  He moved towards her and hissed in her ear, “Listen, Mrs Rich Lady. You can’t have everything the way you want it. Get real. You don’t know nothing. You think you’ve got everything just perfect, apart from us being here, but you’re quite wrong.”

  Ursula waited with a kind of horror. She had a presentiment that whatever this boy was going to say would be devastating.

  He grinned at her, “Did you know…” he leant closer to her and whispered a few more words in her ear. He saw her face freeze with shock. “Didn’t know that, did you? A word of advice, you mind your business and I’ll mind mine.” Ursula stood stock still for a moment, her mind reeling. She suddenly turned and walked away, clenching her fists to stop her hands from shaking. But it wasn’t fear that made her shake, it was rage. As she strode through the farmyard a cloud of pigeons rose in the air and flew over her. She felt a drop of pigeon shit land squarely in the middle of her head, and tears sprang to her eyes.

  Marianna lay on her bed listening to music. Her face was blotched and swollen from crying, her hair uncombed and tangled. She was wearing a large white T-shirt and boxers and her bare legs looked thin. Suddenly she ripped the earphones from her head and buried her face in the pillow. Her shoulders heaved as she cried silently.

  She gave no sign that she’d heard the door open, but remained face down and motionless.

  “Don’t you think it’s time to stop the theatricals?” asked Lapo. “It’s getting awfully boring.”

  She raised her head from the pillow and remarked, “Go and fuck yourself, Lapo.”

  “Tut, tut. Why don’t you give it a rest? Lover boy’s gone and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  She shot into sitting position, “What! Are you saying Roberto’s dead?”

  “Not yet, my dear, but as far as you’re concerned he might as well be. You won’t see him again.”

  “How can you be like this? You haven’t got a compassionate bone in your body, have you? Haven’t you ever been in love?”

  “No, thank the Lord, and I don’t think you have either.”

  “Of course I have. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Why do you think I’m in this state?”

  “Probably because you’ve been thwarted. You do like to get your own way, don’t you?”

  “That’s not true. I’m in love with Roberto and he’s lying at death’s door and I can’t see him and I’ve got to go abroad with aunt Felicity and it’s all too awful.”

  “Well, I admit the prospect of aunt Felicity is pretty grim, but if you were to be more reasonable none of that would be necessary.”

  “Reasonable! You’re not even trying to understand.”

  “Neither are you. Wake up sweetheart. Roberto is a loser. It was never on. It was going nowhere. He’s a nothing, a nobody, and even worse he was bringing you coke. Teo’s furious.”

  “He knows?”

  “Of course he does. Mamma’s told him all about it.”

  “That’s another thing, how did she find out? It was you, wasn’t it?”

  “No. Look, why don’t you take a shower, comb your hair, get dressed and behave like a normal person for once. You’ve been shut up in here for days and what good’s it doing you?”

  “What do you care?”

  “I care. The house is in turmoil. Isabella and Teo are near breaking point, the two children are underfoot all the time, driving Marta crazy, Mamma’s going mad about the tenants, and you’re up here being a drama queen. As for Guido, he sails along as though nothing’s wrong. All he can think about is being lord of the manor and putting Piero in his place, and Teo’s furious about Mamma getting married and so am I and I expect you are too, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not. I don’t give a damn. I hate her and she deserves him. I hope she’ll be very unhappy.”

  “I’m sure she will be, but it would still be much better if she didn’t marry him.”

  Marianna smiled and said, “You can call him Papa, won’t that be amusing?”

  “Ah, she smiled! Good girl. Come on, get dressed and come and join the fun. Isabella’s really more ghastly than ever and Guido is positively preening. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “You’re very convincing.”

  “Good. Make yourself look like a human being and I expect you to join us for afternoon tea at four fifteen on the dot. It’ll be fun. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Standing at the entrance of the Guinigi Tower Drago had an abrupt change of mind. It did look so tall and there were such a lot of stairs to climb and it was so hot. He turned away and let a group of Japanese tourists pass him. The street was narrow and he followed it and turned into the Via Filungo, the main street that crossed the city. It was
always crowded with tourists who were window shopping or buying souvenirs. The old artisans shops had been replaced by well-known designer outlets, the ones that could be found in any town centre. He walked through to the amphitheatre. The circular piazza was full of shops and bars but still pleasant, so he sat down on one of the few seats available at a table under a large sun umbrella. The tables were all full and he could hear many different languages being spoken. He looked like any other tourist, his guide book in his hand, and he liked that. It made him feel anonymous. He ordered a focaccia and a bottle of mineral water from the waiter who had arrived promptly as soon as he had settled. He finished his quick lunch with a caffe ristretto, black and strong, and smoked a cigarette as he sipped it. On the table was a leaflet about an opera festival, which he read with interest and then stuffed in his pocket. It was a good walk back to the Procura so he set off walking briskly through the winding medieval streets towards the nearest city gate.

  As Ursula reached the house, Piero was drawing up in the car. She was walking fast, red in the face and shaking with anger. He walked towards her but she quickened her pace, “Not now Piero, later. I need a shower.”

  He grasped her arm, “It’s important.”

  She looked at him in disbelief and shook his hand off. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

  He snatched his hand back as though it had been burnt. Ursula marched into the house and ran up the stairs fast. Piero went down to the kitchen where Marta was looking after the children. She had given them some pastry to roll out and they were shrieking with delight. She looked up as he came in.

  “Where have you been? I’ve had to deal with these two all day. They only slept for an hour. Teo’s not back, nor her. No one came for lunch except Madam and Lapo.”

  “I had an appointment. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  “Well, anyway, you’re here now. I need to get the tea. It’s nearly four.”