Broken Chord

by Margaret Moore

  “Yesterday afternoon. I was out, but Teo told me about it. She’d just come back from the Rossi’s, that’s the tenant farmers, they live over there.” She waved a plump hand towards the back of the house where the giant oleanders screened everything from view. “Anyway, Teo said they were screaming at each other like fish-wives. After that she stayed in her room with a migraine, but later she came down to dinner. No one mentioned it. It was really weird.”

  “Did she say she’d thrown him out?”

  “No, not a word, and no one dared to ask her.”

  “Were you in the house last night?”

  “Of course I was, in bed with my husband. Where else would I be? I’ve got two children, and the au pair’s off on holiday.”

  “Did you see or hear anything during the night?”

  “I heard Lapo come in at about four. I’d got up to go to the bathroom.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “No, but I heard him going upstairs and I heard his bedroom door close.”

  “Did you like your mother-in-law?”

  “I suppose it would be wiser to say that I did, but no, I didn’t and she didn’t like me. No one here likes me. They all think Teo made a big mistake marrying me.” He looked at her objectively. Her summer dress was too tight for her plump body. Her clothes were expensive but a little gaudy. Floral frills crossed over her ample bosom, revealing too much of it. Her hair was a very brassy blonde and she was wearing a lot of make-up, far too much.

  “What do you think?,” he asked kindly.

  “I expect he did. I’m not an aristocrat like them, and they let you know that, frequently,” she said bitterly. “They’re all such snobs.”

  He felt sorry for her then. He could just imagine the slights and snubs she had endured. “And they made you very aware of what they felt.”

  “Yes, very.”

  “Tell me about Guido. You called him a toy boy.”

  “Well, I said that because he’s so much younger than Ursula. I thought it was a bit obscene really.”

  “What does he do in life, apart from being a toy boy?”

  “Guido deals in antique furniture, well, antiques of every kind, I suppose. He says he comes from an aristocratic family that lost its money, you know, came down in the world. He helped Ursula do up this place. He’s very knowledgeable about furnishing and decorating, and he’s attractive, if you like that sort of thing, and Ursula fell for him big-time. Well, I suppose she must have done. They were going to get married next month. Can you believe it? I mean he’s at least fifteen years younger than her. Personally, I thought the whole thing was quite disgusting. I thought Ursula was a fool and that he was out for what he could get.”

  “Do you have any idea what they argued about?”

  “No. Nobody does. One minute they were all lovey-dovey and the next they were having a screaming match and then he was gone. Maybe it was nothing much, because a huge bouquet of red roses arrived this morning and they had to be from him.”

  “Why did you say he might have killed her?”

  “I suppose I thought that if it was a serious break up then he might have been so angry he killed her. I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that I can’t think of anyone else who would want to kill her.”

  “What about you?”

  She smiled wryly, “Oh yes, there have been moments when I’ve felt positively murderous, but no, I didn’t kill her.”

  “Alright, would you like to wait in the garden with the children?”

  “Can’t I be with my husband?”

  “Not for the moment.”

  “I see.” She got up slowly. “How is Teo?”

  “Upset.”

  “Well, of course he would be. That was a silly question. Sorry.”

  After she’d gone, Dragonetti ran through the initial notes the Maresciallo had given him and scribbled down a few more before going to the door. He was waiting for Marianna, who seemed to be taking an interminable time over her toilet. She must have heard Lapo shouting, or maybe not if she was under the shower, and what time of day was this to be getting up, anyway, he asked himself. If she didn’t come down soon he would go upstairs and get her. Meanwhile, he needed this Guido to be found. He cursed, he hadn’t asked Isabella the man’s surname. Perhaps the Maresciallo, who was local, might know.

  Downstairs the Maresciallo was just coming back with a notebook in one hand. They conferred briefly and Dragonetti was assured that Guido della Rocca would be found and brought to the villa as soon as possible. Meanwhile, the problem of the hairdresser had to be solved. Dragonetti had him brought up and he was briefly questioned. He’d arrived after the police so it looked as though he was out of it. After checking his ID card and taking down all relevant particulars he decided to let him go. Jean Pierre, whose real name was Giovanni Esposito, was suitably pleased.

  “I’m ever so sorry about Madam, but you see with all my appointments I really need to go.”

  “Off you go.” He knew it was useless asking the man to keep quiet. No doubt all his clients that day would be regaled with the story, not that he knew much. Apart from Marta and Tebaldo, no one knew about the desecration of Ursula’s body and that was the way he wanted it.

  “Sir…” called the officer he had left outside the door.

  “What’s going on?” He walked towards the door.

  The man indicated the stairs with his hand. He looked up and saw Marianna coming down the stairs. She wore a white linen dress and white sandals. Her freshly washed hair hung like a golden cape down to her waist. She was tall and slender, tanned and beautiful. It was an amazing vision of loveliness. She looked like a vestal virgin. Her eyes went calmly from the uniformed officer to himself.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “And what are you doing here?”

  “Are you Marianna von Bachmann?

  “No, I’m Marianna Ghiberti.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t understand. Who are you and why is there a policeman in the house?” she sounded frightened. “Has something happened?”

  “I’m Dottor Jacopo Dragonetti from the Procura at Lucca.”

  “The Procura? I don’t understand,” she repeated.

  “Please come into the study and I’ll explain.”

  She followed him hesitantly and sat down at his request.

  “Are you going to tell me something terrible?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I am.”

  She took a deep breath. “Just tell me.”

  “It’s your mother.”

  “Mamma! What’s happened? She’s not…” She couldn’t say the word and her eyes seemed to implore him not to.

  “Yes, I’m sorry to have to tell you that your mother is dead.” He felt like a pompous oaf as he repeated the formulaic sentence, but there was no easy way to say it.

  “But she can’t be. I don’t understand. Why are you here? Was there an accident?”

  “Not exactly. Your mother was murdered.”

  “What!”

  They remained silent for a moment.

  “Who did it? Who killed her? Who would do that?” She sounded bewildered.

  “We don’t know. That’s what I’m here to find out.”

  “How did she die? Was it a mugger or something?”

  “No.”

  “Well then, what happened?” Her voice rose.

  “I can’t discuss that with you at the moment.”

  “You what! Why can’t you? I want to know everything. My mother’s dead. Someone killed her! I can’t believe it. Where is she?”

  “In her bedroom.”

  “That’s where she was killed, in her bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it was one of us.”

  “You think so?”

  “This place is like Fort Knox. Who could come in and kill her?”

  “Her balcony door was open.”

  “Never. It was always locked. She was terrified of burglars. There are a lot of very
valuable things in the house.”

  “I’ll be asking all the members of the family if anything is missing.”

  “Where are all the others?”

  “In the house. I’m keeping you all separate for the moment, until we’ve searched the house.”

  “What are you looking for, the murder weapon?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “So you do think it was one of us.”

  “Did you kill your mother?”

  “No, of course I didn’t.”

  “Please wait in the hall for now. I’ll have coffee sent up to you if you like.”

  “Thank you.”

  “One more thing. Were you very close to your mother?”

  “Not very.”

  “I thought not. You haven’t shed a tear.”

  She gave a bitter smile. “I stopped crying a long time ago.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  At one o’clock on the dot lunch was served. Marta might have been shocked, and shaken to the core, but she was going to make sure that some semblance of normality was preserved in the house. Mealtimes had always been meticulously observed and they would continue to be so.

  The family were allowed to be together with a police officer present to take notes. It had been explained to them that the only alternative was to take them all down to the Procura. No one discussed the murder. The children chattered and were the only ones to behave with any kind of normality. As they ate, most of them with little appetite, Guido was upstairs in the study with Dragonetti. He had been traced to the hotel and brought to the villa by police car, something which had totally freaked him out. All his questions had been answered with a stony silence. At the villa he saw several police vehicles and an ambulance but realising questions were useless, he had given up and asked nothing more. Ushered into the studio he was introduced to Dragonetti. Despite a feeling of nauseous apprehension, he couldn’t help admire the other man’s taste in clothes and just adored his longish black hair with the silver threads at the sides. He was a wearing a similar linen suit himself today, in tobacco brown with a pale beige shirt. His interest in other people’s clothes was so automatic that it superseded everything else. He ran a complacent hand down his jacket front as though to confirm the quality of the material. Dragonetti brought him back to earth with a thud.

  “Do you know why I’m here?”

  He longed to say something silly like, ‘I haven’t the foggiest idea’, but from the other man’s demeanour he understood it was something really serious. He replied, “I can only imagine something really bad has happened.”

  “But you don’t know what.”

  “Of course I don’t. I presume you are about to tell me. If it’s drugs then it has nothing to do with me. I don’t do drugs.”

  “No, it’s not drugs.”

  “Tell me. Get it over with. I don’t really understand why I’ve been brought here rather than to the Procura. What’s happened?”

  “It concerns Ursula von Bachmann.”

  Guido opened his mouth and then shut it again,

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you that she is dead.”

  “Dead! Ursula! But that’s impossible!”

  “Why?”

  “Because, because… I don’t want her to be dead.”

  To Dragonetti’s consternation the man burst into raucous sobbing.

  He waited until Guido had got himself under control before asking “Where were you last night?”

  Guido looked at him in astonishment. “Why do you want to know?” His brain seemed to grapple with the question for a few minutes before he burst out with, “Are you saying she was murdered?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my God!, my poor Ursula.” Tears began to flow again.

  “Where did you spend the night?” insisted Dragonetti.

  “In a bloody hotel, the same one that your fascist underlings took me from, in front of everyone, in broad daylight as though I was some kind of criminal.”

  “Which you may well be.”

  “You can’t possibly think I killed her. My dear man, I faint at the sight of blood. Anyone will tell you.”

  “I didn’t say there was blood.”

  “But you said she was murdered. How did she die?”

  “It was a violent death.”

  “Violent! Oh God!”

  “You had an argument with Ursula yesterday.”

  “A lover’s tiff.”

  “Enough to warrant you sleeping in a hotel.”

  “It was nothing. I sent her roses this morning.”

  “Yes, I saw them.”

  “You haven’t said where Ursula was killed. I presume it was here in the house or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Yes, that’s correct. Would you care to join the family for lunch?”

  “What! Do you mean to say that Ursula’s dead in her bed and they’re eating!”

  “I didn’t say she was in her bed.”

  “Where then?”

  “I prefer not to say at the moment. I’ll have you escorted to join the family in the dining room. You certainly don’t have to eat if you don’t want to, it’s up to you but like the rest of them you might feel it’s as well to keep your strength up.”

  Guido didn’t seem to feel this warranted a reply. He pushed back his chair, scraping it hard on the floor and stood up, seemed to totter slightly for a moment, gave Dragonetti a glance as though to say ‘you don’t know how crass you are’, and then made a dignified exit. Quite a performance! Drago thought Guido was what used to be called a fop. The mocking words of an unfinished Mozart opera, Lo Sposo Deluso, suddenly popped into his mind:

  Che sposino, che visino!

  Che bel taglio di marito!

  È il modello degli amanti,

  È l’Adoni di quest’età!

  Yes, the perfect husband, so good-looking and such an Adonis! He suppressed a smile. Perhaps he was also a good actor and a murderer to boot.

  *

  In the dining room the family sat awkwardly, talking very little and then mainly to the two children who, unaware of their grandmother’s death, were chattering happily. When Guido appeared in the doorway there was a unanimous intake of breath, in horrified surprise that the man that most of them suspected of murdering Ursula should be present at a family meal. Guido was no longer part of the family in any case, not now. Ursula’s death had put him outside the circle. Piero, who had been forced to sit and eat with the family, and was quite unaccustomed to eating with them, rose awkwardly and said, “Please take my place. I don’t have much of an appetite today.”

  “No thank you. I’m not hungry either. I’ll just sit quietly here.” He plopped down on a chair set against the wall and ostentatiously blew his nose. Conversation, which had been limited before, now ground to a halt. Piero, who had remained standing, asked the policeman, “Would it be alright if I went down to make coffee for everyone? I can take the dirty dishes with me for the women to see to.”

  “Yes, just you.”

  A gelid silence greeted this announcement and Piero began collecting the plates and putting them on a large tray. He left the room and as one person had been allowed to go, Isabella remarked, “I think the children might like to leave the room too. They usually have a nap after lunch.”

  “I’m sorry, the bedrooms are out of bounds at the moment. As soon as they give the word you can go up, not before.”

  Everyone became aware of noises in the hall. Teo blanched again as he realised that Ursula was leaving the house for the last time. He gave an anguished look at Lapo, who grimaced.

  Marianna said, “I think you’ll probably be able to go up quite soon Isabella, just be patient. We haven’t had coffee yet anyway.” She put her hands on the table, played with a knife, and then seeing they were visibly trembling, put them out of sight on her lap again.

  The presence of the children, and the policeman, were both in their way extremely effective at limiting the conversation, but even the children finally became aware th
at something was quite wrong.

  “Mummy, I want to go to bed, now.” whined Camilla.

  “Soon darling. We just need to wait a little longer.”

  “Why? I’m tired.”

  “Because we haven’t had our coffee yet,” answered Teo. “Look, there’s your books over there, sit quietly and read for a while.”

  “We don’t know how to read,” said Arabella.

  “I know, but you can look at the pictures and pretend. Make up a story for your sister.”

  They waited until Piero came back with the coffee and they all seemed grateful for the excuse of actually speaking, passing the sugar and making a pretence that this was a normal day and a normal after lunch coffee. The noises in the hall had finally terminated and after a short while, a policeman came in and whispered to Officer Tardelli. He looked over to Isabella and said, “If you would like to take the children up now, you may, but just you, please.”

  “Of course.” Isabella rose hurriedly, and was out of the room in an instant, holding her children’s hands as though their lives depended on it.

  As soon as they had gone, the others began speaking all at once. Teo managed to calm them down and with a glance at the policeman, who kept his gaze firmly fixed on them, said, “Alright. This is the situation. Mother’s dead. She’s been brutally murdered here, in the house, in her own bed. What does that mean? Was it a burglar or had someone got it in for her?”

  “We haven’t been allowed to see if anything is missing.”

  Marianne said, “The police say we must all go through the house later and make a list of anything that’s missing.”

  “Alright, if it was a burglar, how did he get in? Did anyone hear anything?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “What time did you come in, Lapo?”

  “About four.”

  “And you, Marianna?”

  “I didn’t go out.”

  “Sorry, I thought you must have done since you got up so late.”

  “Where would I go? Roberto’s at death’s door in the hospital, if you remember.”

  “Ah, Roberto, of course,” he said the name with distaste, “but you do have other friends.”

  “Well, I didn’t go out with them last night.”

  “Did either of you hear anything?”