Broken Chord

by Margaret Moore

  “What did they say?” Isabella asked softly.

  “They thought it was, you know, odd that I’m always at hand when a body is discovered.”

  “What rubbish.”

  “They asked if I did it to cover my tracks, you know, contaminating the crime scene evidence and so on.”

  “You’ll have to ask her for an alibi.”

  “Yes. I will, but only if I have to.”

  “So what’s the problem, Teo?”

  “She’s married.”

  “I think the police can be quite discreet when they want to be.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Teo, it’s over, right?”

  “Yes, of course it is.”

  “We have two lovely children.” A tear rolled down her cheek and fell on the large wooden piece she held in her hand.

  “I know. Don’t worry.”

  “Mummy, I need that piece.” Arabella’s voice put an end to the conversation.

  “So you do. Here you are.”

  “Now young lady, what do you think you’re doing being pale and interesting and frightening everybody. No, don’t answer. Stick your tongue out. Not pregnant are you?”

  “Good God, no!”

  “Well your BP’s fine now. I expect the heat and the shock combined did it. You have to eat and more importantly drink lots of water in this heat.”

  “Yes doctor.”

  “Go and lie down for a while and when you get up, do it slowly. Don’t leap out of bed, got it?”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  “Good girl.” He patted her head and grabbed his case. “Now I must rush. I’ve got a surgery full of patients unless they’ve all given up and gone home, though I suppose that’s too much to hope for.” And then he was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Maresciallo Spadaccia was in his element. This case was by far the most interesting he had been involved in for a long time. Now, with a second murder and the subsequent publicity that he knew it would provoke, he felt quite privileged. Working with Jacopo Dragonetti was another important factor. According to hearsay the man was brilliant. If the father had been a famous judge, the son was looking to become just as well-known. Spadaccia had impressed on his men the importance of this case and expected them to give of their best. At the moment he’d just finished interviewing the cook and had retrieved some very interesting information from her. Holding his notebook aloft like a banner he rushed towards the stairs.

  Dragonetti was conferring with the pathologist who judged the approximate time of death to be in the early hours of the morning.

  “I want this autopsy done ASAP.”

  “Everyone’s on holiday.”

  “It’s a shame that people don’t have more consideration. They should arrange to be murdered at some other time of year.”

  The man laughed. “You’re quite right. I’m up to my ears at the moment, perhaps you’ll manage to get another illustrious pathologist brought back from Sardinia or wherever.”

  “I’ll press for it.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Spadaccia waving a notebook. “Thanks. I think the Maresciallo needs to tell me something. He looks fit to burst.” He beckoned the man over.

  “Sir, the knife, the murder weapon, I think it might be from the kitchen here in the villa. I’ve just been talking to the cook. She says two knives are missing, one matches the description of the knife we found in Lapo’s body, so maybe the other one was used to kill the Signora.”

  “What kind of knives?”

  “There’s a long, thin, very sharp one she used for de-boning prosciutto and a larger, wide cook’s knife which, as I said, sounds like the one used for this murder.”

  “Good. I’ll speak to her myself later. Carry on.” Spadaccia saluted and went back to talk to Franca and Laura the cleaner.

  “The prosciutto knife could well have been the one used to kill the Signora,” said Bruno. “The pathologist said it was a knife of that sort.”

  “Which brings us back to the house and who knew it. If the murder weapons came from the kitchen here, then it’s even more improbable that someone from outside committed these crimes.”

  “Guido’s goose is cooked then?”

  “Maybe. It would be nice if there was a fingerprint on this knife.”

  “There must be something that connects him to this crime: a hair, a drop of blood on his clothes, something!” Bruno sounded desperate.

  “If we’re lucky, which we weren’t with Ursula’s murder.”

  “According to all the American crime programmes the murderer always leaves something at the scene of the crime, so why didn’t Guido?”

  “Perhaps he wore protective clothing from head to foot?”

  “He wouldn’t have had time to change. He can’t have been in the house very long and besides he wouldn’t have wanted to risk being in there any longer than necessary.”

  “So it wasn’t Guido?” Dragonetti smiled at him, teasing.

  “I hope it was.”

  “I know you do.”

  “How well do you think the Rossi boy knew the villa?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t been able to get anything from the builders yet so we don’t know if he worked at the villa. They’ve got a big job in the north, on the border with Austria but the boss is on holiday. Let’s push to get that information as soon as possible and I want to send Spadaccia off to interview the Rossi boy when he’s finished here. He’s to find out if the boy worked on the villa.”

  “Spadaccia seems very keen,” observed Bruno.

  “Yes, doesn’t he. That was good information about the missing knives. Which reminds me, Bruno, I want forensics on the knife that killed Lapo ASAP. Phone and make sure they understand that. When they’ve finished with it, perhaps the cook could identify it.”

  Piero wrestled with his conscience. Lapo was dead so what difference did it make if he told the police what he had seen? Marta was out of it for now so he couldn’t ask her advice but she would probably tell him to say nothing for the sake of the family’s good name. Good name? Did they have a good name to protect? He was increasingly uncertain when he reviewed what he knew of them. All these years he’d protected them, covered up their wrong doings, adjusted things for them and now he had to ask himself if he’d done the right thing. Undying devotion was all very well in books but in real life where did it get you? This lot didn’t care about him and Marta. Lapo had been a prime example of that. Marta had given him unstinting love and because she loved him, Piero had been coerced into righting his wrongs when the truth of the matter was, that those wrongs couldn’t be righted. He wavered and then looking at the sleeping form, knew he would keep silent. Old habits die hard.

  Guido was hysterical. He gabbled to his lawyer, “They’re trying to fit me up for this and I didn’t do it and now something else has happened and they think I did it, whatever it is, too.”

  “Calm down. Just keep your mouth shut. Admit nothing.”

  “I’ve got nothing to admit. I haven’t done anything.”

  “But you’ve just told me that they have a witness who saw you leaving the villa at a quarter to two in the morning when Signora von Bachmann was murdered.”

  “Yes, well, yes I did go back there. I wanted to see Ursula, but I didn’t kill her.”

  “Did you go into the house?”

  “No.”

  “Why not, if you’d driven all the way there?”

  “Because, because… when I got there I realised it would be a mistake to go in at that time of night.”

  “But you said she phoned you.”

  “Yes, she did, but there was no light in her bedroom and then I saw someone come out of the house and I funked it.”

  “So, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just keep quiet about it. If you admit you were there, they’ll think you went in.” And they’ll probably be right, thought the lawyer.

  Franca had nothing of interest to say to Maresciallo Spadaccia and he didn’t expect Laura the cleane
r to have anything useful to say either, and she didn’t, until he asked for her full name and address. At that point he gave a triumphant smile and said, “Please stay here for now. We’ll let you know when you can go home.” Clutching his notebook he went back up to Dragonetti and told him what he’d discovered.

  “Ah, so they had the enemy within the walls and didn’t know it. How amusing.”

  “Did you ask if she has a key?” asked Bruno.

  “Yes, she does, to the back entrance.”

  “Perfect. Excellent. Well done.” Dragonetti gave him a big smile and Spadaccia felt a warm glow in his chest.

  Marianna let herself drift off into the dreamlike state where she felt safe. There were no disturbing thoughts of horrific murders in that place, only a feeling of peace and almost happiness. There were no fears that someone was killing off her family and she might be the next victim. She could lie like this for hours sometimes, with her mind totally empty, sometimes with visions of a rosy future with Roberto and their children. Her hand clutched convulsively at her abdomen. She’d once had life within her and they’d killed it. She’d let them kill it. She’d had no say in it. Events had taken over. It had all happened so quickly. The drama, the horror and the violence surrounding it were something that she had to live with. She banished the memories, relegating them to the far reaches of her mind where all the painful things were kept, as though in a locked cupboard.

  Teo knocked on the door. He hadn’t been told to keep away from his sister and he knew she was in her room. She’d been escorted there by two policemen, who’d taken the clothing she’d been wearing the previous day.

  He entered calling softly, “Marianna.”

  “Teo! What do you want?”

  “Ssh! I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. I just wanted to know how you are.”

  “I’m fine, as you can see.” She clutched the sheet around her and edged away from him. “I think you should leave.”

  “Marianna, what’s wrong? You’re not frightened of me, surely?”

  “I’m frightened of everyone.”

  “But why? I’m your brother.”

  “Lapo was my brother too and he’s dead. I didn’t kill him, so who did?”

  “It wasn’t me. I swear it. He was my brother too and you’re my sister. I care about you. When I saw you lying on the floor, for one moment I thought something had happened to you.”

  “Something! You thought I was dead too.”

  “Sort of.”

  “With the house over-run by police?”

  “I know. It’s just that everything’s such a nightmare I don’t know what’s going to happen anymore. I mean, will we be all be murdered in our beds?”

  “I don’t expect we’ll know much about it if it happens.”

  “Marianna, I’ve got two children. Quite frankly, I’m terrified.”

  “Why would anyone kill the children?”

  “Why would anyone kill any of us? I’m going to ask the police to leave a guard here tonight.”

  “And every night?”

  “We’ll hire a night watchman.”

  “Teo, was he… was Lapo mutilated?”

  “No. He had a knife in his chest.”

  “Do you think it was the same person?”

  “Well, I don’t think there are two murderers.”

  “You know, I thought Lapo killed Mamma, but it suppose it can’t have been him if he’s been killed too.”

  “Marianna! How could you? You must know it wasn’t one of us.”

  “I suppose not. Do you think someone’s out to get all of us? You know, maybe someone’s got it in for the family?”

  “I don’t know what to think. Isabella’s being marvellous. She’s trying to protect the children from knowing what’s going on but she’s worried about their safety.”

  “Do you think the person who did this is mad or do they have a reason for doing it?”

  “Marianna, even if someone had a reason to kill Mother and Lapo, the fact that they’ve done it, puts them into the category of psychopaths who kill. Normal people don’t kill. They might feel murderous, we all feel like that at times, but to actually do it!”

  “Yes, but he must have a reason.”

  “Well if he does, I don’t know what it is.”

  “The only person I can think of is Guido, but why did he kill Lapo?”

  “I wish I knew. Listen, until they catch whoever did this we must be very careful. No going out alone.”

  “But Teo, he kills in the house.”

  “Yes, that’s why we need a guard. Whoever it is has a key and knows the house or he’d never have found mother’s room.”

  “Should we have the locks changed?”

  “Good idea. I’ll see to that. Marianna, are you coming down to dinner, only you really should eat.”

  “Yes, we must all make an effort, for the children. They don’t know anything, do they?”

  “No, nothing. Of course they notice when people aren’t around, but at their age it’s easy to fob them off.”

  “How’s Marta?”

  “She’s sedated now. She went crazy.”

  “She loved him so much.”

  “I can’t think why.”

  “Nor can I. He wasn’t very loveable, was he?”

  “No. Marianna, I wanted to talk to you about Roberto… I know he’s ill and you want to be with him but when all this is over, I want you to take some time out, go to New Zealand with aunt Felicity as we planned and give yourself some space. What I suppose I’m saying is, don’t rush into things.”

  “No way. You really don’t understand, do you? I love him and I’m going to marry him. You won’t be able to stop me.”

  “I know, but marriage isn’t always easy. You need to be sure.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.”

  “Think about it. If you do love him, as you say you do, then a short time away from him won’t affect how you feel. You’re not eighteen yet and you know I’m your guardian until you are, so I really would like you to go. The tickets have been bought, everything’s arranged so as soon as the police give you the all clear, I want you to get away from all this and think things through.”

  “You’re my guardian?”

  “Yes. Mother told me about it ages ago.”

  “So you’re going to make me go?”

  “For your own good.”

  “For my own good.” She repeated tonelessly. Then she pulled the sheet over her head and shouted “What do you know about what’s good for me? You don’t know anything about me and you don’t care either. Go away!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  By evening Lapo’s pathetic little body had been removed, the garage sealed and the police had gone, with the exception of one guard at the gate and another who had been designated to watch the house. Inside the house Paola was putting together a meal. Her hands trembled as she worked. The thought that her very own kitchen knives had been put to such a foul purpose was so upsetting that as she selected another knife from the block and prepared to chop the onions she could hardly bear to hold it.

  Marta slept on and Piero left her alone in the darkened bedroom and went off to the kitchen to offer his help to the cook. Franca and Laura had gone home. He found Paola alone chopping onions with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Paola, are you alright?”

  “It’s just the onions making me cry.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “Yes. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “What were you thinking of doing?”

  “A simple tomato sauce for the pasta, which will be alright for the children. We’ve got some lovely cherry tomatoes and I was going to make a quiche but I haven’t got the energy.”

  “Why don’t we have melon and prosciutto?”

  “Yes, good idea, that’s easy.”

  “I’ll cut the prosciutto for you.”

  “We haven’t got the knife anymore.” She burst into tears.

  “What do
you mean?”

  “He used it to kill Madam.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t know if I was supposed to tell you, only there’s two knives gone missing.”

  “Oh my God!”

  She looked at him in desperation. “And we don’t even know if it’s over yet.”

  “They’ve left us a guard.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “I’ll see you home, shall I?”

  “They told me not to come back tomorrow so you’ll have to manage alone.”

  “We’ll manage.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know how with Marta ill.”

  “I’ll tell Signor Tebaldo. Perhaps his wife or Marianna could help.”

  “Marianna fainted.”

  “That was the shock. She’ll rally.”

  “Well it wasn’t my brother and I haven’t rallied yet.”

  “Yes you have. Come on, finish making the sauce and while you’re at it, make enough for tomorrow.”

  Paola dried her eyes and set to work.

  Back at the Procura, Dragonetti and Bruno found Guido snoozing on a bench. “Signor della Rocca!,” said Dragonetti in a loud voice, watching in amusement as Guido started up and nearly fell off his seat. “I’m ready for you now.”

  Guido shook himself awake. “I don’t have my lawyer. He couldn’t wait.”

  “Oh dear, well, shall we manage without him for now, otherwise you might have to stay overnight.”

  “What! Are you arresting me?”

  “If you can answer a few questions to my satisfaction, then maybe not, yet. Come.”

  Guido reluctantly followed them into the room, “I’m not sure about this. I don’t know if I should answer your questions.”

  “Try this one: Signor della Rocca, did you kill Ursula von Bachmann?”

  “No!”

  “Then if you answer all my questions truthfully, you’ve got nothing to fear.”

  “I’d like to believe you.”