“Ah.” Piedro looked like a bored cow now. Clearly, the discussion had gone beyond his intellectual powers.
Garini gave up and pressed the bell. “We'll start with the patriarch of the family.”
“Who?”
“Teodoro Alfredo Mantoni.”
“I remember him. His twin was poisoned last autumn.”
“Correct.”
The door opened, and Uncle Teo appeared in the door. His rheumy eyes looked a bit confused, then he pulled the door wide open. “Commissario Garini. Do come in.”
I have to stop thinking of him as Uncle Teo. This is Signor Mantoni. Garini accepted the invitation, Piedro close on his heels. It smelled a bit musty inside the apartment. They sat down in the old-fashioned living room, and after the usual preliminaries, Garini went straight to the core of the matter. “When did you last see Valentino Canderini alive?”
“At around six.” Uncle Teo sat on the edge of his hideous green sofa, his hands folded around his knees. “He came in, said he had been shopping, and had a date later. He changed his clothes and went out again.”
The bit about having been shopping wasn't a lie. He bought underwear from Carlina. Stefano shook off the nasty feeling the image conjured up. “Did you notice anything unusual?”
Uncle Teo frowned. “He was in a good mood.”
“Was that so unusual?”
Uncle Teo gave a start. “No.”
Something's afoot here. Garini opened his mouth, but Uncle Teo beat him to it.
“Actually, yes, something was strange. He took a large leather briefcase with him, the kind you use when you go to work. It seemed to be heavy. I saw it almost slipping from his grasp.”
“Do you know if anybody else saw him going out?”
“I think he met Benedetta at the front door.” Uncle Teo said. “I heard their voices.”
Good. The more the merrier. “And the next time you saw him, he was dead?”
“Yes.” Uncle Teo closed his mouth with a snap.
“Where did you see him?”
Uncle Teo straightened his back. “I heard Simonetta scream and rushed out of the apartment. He was lying on his back.”
Garini narrowed his eyes. “I asked where you saw him, not how.”
Uncle Teo didn't meet his gaze but plucked at his pleated trousers. “He was . . . on the street. You saw him there.”
“I don't believe that.”
Their gazes locked.
Piedro looked from one to the other as if he was watching a football match. His eyes were wide in alarm.
“Why shouldn't you believe me?” Uncle Teo asked with dignity.
“Because I know you.” Garini didn't take his gaze one second off the elderly man. “You're uncomfortable telling lies.”
“I will stick to my statement.” Uncle Teo pressed his lips together.
Garini decided to try a different track. “What else can you tell me about Valentino? Anything in general, nothing to do with this case.” It usually worked if you got them to talk, then they let things slip subconsciously.
“Valentino was an investor. He first worked for the Banca di Italia and went to Dubai for them, but then he changed his job and started with the Golden Crown Middle-East Banking Corporation, the GCBC.”
“What exactly was his job?”
Uncle Teo swallowed. “He found capital from private people or from companies to invest in new schemes.”
“I see.” Garini gave him a long look.
Uncle Teo was shifting in his seat, his gaze fixed on his knees.
On a hunch, Stefano asked. “Have you ever given him money to invest, Signor Mantoni?”
Uncle Teo shrugged in a nonchalant way. “Yes, I have. It didn't triple, as he had promised, but it didn't matter.”
“Did you know if Valentino was in any way involved in shady deals?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Do you know if anybody wanted to have Valentino out of the way?” The last time he had asked Uncle Teo a similar question in the case of his brother's murder, the answer had been a list that lasted fifteen minutes and had kept Garini busy for days on end.
“No.” Uncle Teo didn't sound interested.
“So you're willing to swear that you can't contribute anything to find the murderer of your nephew?”
“I swear.”
IV
Fabbiola's kitchen looked like a showcase for design straight from the future. Polished steel alternated with silvery chrome and glossy surfaces. A set of plastic chairs that looked as if they could fly to the moon stood around a table made of pressed wood in an astonishing pink color.
However, everything was covered by a thin film of dust, and in the corner by the window, two large sacks made of coarse material looked as if they had been dropped there by mistake, two hundred years later than where they belonged. One was closed at the top, the other half-empty.
Piedro looked around the kitchen with awe. “Wow.” He cleared his throat. “It's so . . . modern.”
“Yes, isn't it?” Fabbiola picked up a cushion from one of the moon-chairs and gave it a friendly punch, then stuffed it underneath her arm as if it was a fashion accessory. “I admit I'm a bit proud of my kitchen, but you haven't seen the best yet.”
She went to the side where a tall contraption that looked like a miniature space shuttle sat on the marble surface. With a flick of her wrist, she switched it on.
Piedro dropped the tape recorder and covered his ears with both hands.
Garini took one step back.
The machine made a roaring noise that echoed back from the walls. From an oval opening in the lower area, a cloud of dust billowed out. Fabbiola switched the monster off before the dust had filled more than half of the room. “It's the latest state-of-the-art indoor-mill for the modern and healthy home.” She sounded as if she was citing a sales brochure. “With a very special kind of grinding mechanism that keeps the essentials of the grain intact, so no nutrients will be destroyed.”
Garini picked up the recorder as Piedro seemed too shocked to move and switched it on to test it. “I'm glad it still works.” He looked at Carlina's mother. “May I record your statement, Mrs. Mantoni-Ashley?”
“Of course.” Fabbiola wiped the chairs clean and pushed them forward. “Sit down and ask me anything you like, Commissario.” She winked at him. “I quite count you as one of the family, you know.”
Please don't. He kept a straight face. “When did you last see Valentino Canderini alive?”
Fabbiola pushed a strand of henna-colored hair from her face and looked at the cushion underneath her arm as if it could provide the answer.
Carlina had told him that her mother took the cushion everywhere, no matter whether she went shopping or to church or on a trip abroad. She had described it as a “little idiosyncrasy” and had even said that it was very considerate of her mother because she used the cushion to sleep whenever she happened to become bored. Other mothers broke up parties and asked to be taken home instead. However, she had also said that her mother usually didn't take the cushion with her when she was moving about inside the family house unless dire circumstances made her feel threatened, so this was a sure sign that Fabbiola wasn't as relaxed as she made out to be. He eyed her. “Mrs. Mantoni-Ashley? When did you last see Valentino? Can you tell me that?”
Fabbiola plucked at a corner of the cushion. “Oh, yes, I can. It was . . . around ten in the morning. I was leaving to do some shopping, and he left the house together with me.”
“Did he seem in any way upset or was anything else unusual?”
“Nothing at all.” Fabbiola shook her head. “He was his usual, charming self.”
“You think he was charming?”
“Yes.” Fabbiola nodded. “If he wanted to be, that is.”
“Were you present when Simonetta found the body?”
“Oh, no.” Carlina's mother shook her head. “I only came a bit later, together with Benedetta.”
“But you said
that Simonetta's scream was very loud and strong - though you never heard it? Or was she screaming until you came along?”
Fabbiola drew herself up. “I did not hear her scream, but Emma said so, besides, it stands to reason, because she's an opera singer, and you can't believe the noise they can make.”
“Oh, so Emma was there, too?”
“Yes.” Fabbiola looked as if she regretted having said that.
“Who else was there?”
“Well, as far as I know, first Simonetta found him, then Carlina and Emma came at the same time, then Uncle Teo, and then I arrived with Benedetta. Maria came last.”
“Where did Simonetta find the body?” He watched her closely, knowing she would come up with a lie.
“Where you found him.” Her reply was instantaneous. “In front of our house.” She pressed her lips together and frowned. “I really don't think it's fair to kill someone on our doorstep. I think they'll want to incriminate us, but we had absolutely nothing to do with Valentino's murder.”
“Why do you say 'they'?”
Fabbiola shrugged. “I don't know. It may have been a man or a woman, or several - I don't know.”
“Who profits from his death?”
Fabbiola's face exploded into color.
Bingo. Garini pretended he had not noted anything.
“His mother?” She made it sound like a question.
“Does she already know about his death?”
Fabbiola shrugged. “I don't know. I think Teo tried to call Alberta, but she's on a cruise, you see, and it's difficult to get to her.”
“Why do you say his mother profits from his death?”
She frowned. “Don't the parents get the money when a child dies?”
“He's not a child. He may have made a will, too.”
Fabbiola looked at her cushion for help and paused. “I don't know then.”
“I will find out.” He didn't take his gaze off her, and sure enough, he saw her wince and used the moment. “Valentino wasn't killed at your doorstep. He was killed somewhere else, and when he was stabbed, he wasn't wearing the clothes he had on when we found him.”
Fabbiola stared at him. “How do you know that?”
“Evidence.” He didn't want to explain. Better let it remain a mystery, so she'd be more rattled, believing in his investigating powers. He decided to try a shot into the blue. “Is it true that he was found inside the family house?”
Fabbiola jumped. “He . . . no! We found him at the doorstep. I told you so. Who has been spreading lies?”
“Nobody.” He waited a beat, then added. “Do you have an alibi for the time from six to eight?”
She drew herself up to her full height. “I really have to say . . . I'm Carlina's mother.”
“I know.” Unfortunately. He had trouble to keep his voice free of emotions.
“Considering that you're almost a member of the family, I would have expected a bit more . . .”
“More?” He lifted his eyebrows.
“More consideration for my feelings.”
“During this investigation, I'm a policeman, nothing else.”
Fabbiola opened her eyes wide. “What do you mean? Are you saying you're not going out with Carlina anymore?”
He closed his eyes for a brief moment. “I'm saying that my going out with Carlina has no consequences whatsoever on the way I do the investigation.” He gave her a hard look. “Do you understand what I'm saying?”
She flopped back into her seat and stuffed the cushion behind her back. “I hear what you're saying, but even you have to admit that you're human, Commissario.”
I wonder if this conversation is enough to convince Cervi that someone else has to take this case. I have to play it to him. Garini clenched his teeth to prevent a rude answer from getting out. “What were you doing yesterday night between five and eight?”
“A minute ago, you asked about six to eight.”
So she had been listening. “You can tell me about your whole day yesterday.” He bent forward.
She rolled her eyes. “I went to the hairdresser at ten, as I told you. I came back at twelve, had lunch, and stayed here, testing a new recipe with lentils. It wasn't a success, I'm afraid. At around five, I went to meet a friend.”
“Can you give me the name of this friend?”
“Of course.” Fabbiola said. “It's Rafaele's mother. Her name is Sarita. It's an unusual name, but she says her mother found it in a book.” She sniffed. “I wonder what kind of book that was.”
He had to stop her before she started to discuss baby names in more detail. “What happened then?”
Fabbiola inclined her head like royalty. “We chatted a bit and ate cake. That is, Sarita did. I had brought her a loaf of bread, but she didn't try any. That was a bit odd.”
That was pure self-preservation, Garini corrected in his mind, but he took care not to voice his thought.
“I came home . . . around eight.”
He noticed her slight hesitation. She's not a much better liar than her daughter.
The door to the kitchen opened and Ernesto pushed his head through the door, then slid in. He pulled his friend Rafaele with him and turned to face the Commissario. “I have a statement to make.”
He was so pale that Stefano feared for a moment he would faint.
Rafaele looked at his best friend in alarm.
“Sit down,” Garini said. “Do I have your permission to record your statement?”
Ernesto gulped. “Yes.”
“Maybe we should first get Benedetta,” Fabbiola jumped up and hurried to the door. “After all, she has a right to be present when her son is interviewed by the police.”
“No, she hasn't.” Ernesto grabbed her arm to stop her. “I'm eighteen now; I'm an adult.”
“Go on.” Stefano said. “What is your statement?”
“I just wanted to say that . . . that Valentino may not have been a good sort, but . . . but he didn't deserve to die.”
Rafaele gave him a doubting look from the side.
“Of course he didn't deserve to die!” Fabbiola gave an artificial laugh and dropped back into her seat. “Nobody does. He was just at the wrong place at the wrong moment.”
Rafaele frowned. “No, that doesn't work,” he said in his calm way. “If he's at the wrong place at the wrong moment, that's twice a negative, and that makes it positive again.”
Fabbiola looked at him as if he had started to speak in Chinese.
“Oh, Rafi,” Ernesto shook his head with a weak grin. “You're killing me.”
“I'm just trying to be correct,” his best friend said. “It's a rule in algebra, and . . .”
Before the discussion could drift too far away, Garini interrupted him. “Why do you say that Valentino may not have been a good sort?” he asked. “If I remember correctly, you very much looked up to him when he arrived at your birthday party on Sunday.”
Ernesto's face became as red as it had been pale. “Because . . . because he--”
Fabbiola waved her hands through the air. “You are entitled to change your mind, Ernesto. Don't worry about speaking the truth.”
Ernesto stared at her, his eyes wide in alarm. “Valentino . . . he . . . he was charming, but--”
“Oh, yes, he was charming,” Fabbiola interrupted her nephew again. “We all thought so.”
“That is not correct,” Rafaele said in his calm way. “I didn't think he was charming.”
Ernesto looked at his friend in surprise. “You didn't think so?”
Rafaele shook his head. “No.”
“You never said so.”
His friend lifted his shoulders in a slow movement. “It wouldn't have made a difference to you.” He seemed to feel the need to elucidate his speech a bit, so he added. “Cousin. Can't talk bad about your family.”
“Of course not!” Fabbiola agreed with feverish enthusiasm. “That would have been the height of bad manners.”
Garini ignored her. “Ernesto.” He b
ent forward. “What are you trying to tell me? Would you like to talk to me without anybody else present?”
“Oh, no.” Ernesto got up. “I . . . I'm fine. I just wanted to say that you should go on finding the murderer.”
“Of course he will find the murderer,” Fabbiola's voice trilled so high, she sounded like a blackbird on drugs. “That's his job.”
“Exactly.” Rafaele nodded.
“Good!” Ernesto went to the door, overturning a chair in his haste. “I'm sorry. I . . . good luck, Commissario.”
“One moment, Ernesto.” Garini felt as if he had strayed into an odd theater show. “Could you tell me what you did yesterday afternoon?”
“Between five and eight,” Fabbiola added.
Garini wanted to strangle her.
Ernesto gave his friend a quick glance, then looked away again. “At around five, I went to see Carlina.”
“Carlina?” Fabbiola's voice rose. “Why did you go to see Carlina?”
“I . . . I wanted to consult with her on something.” Ernesto squared his shoulders. “But that has nothing to do with Valentino's murder.”
“Did you see her at Temptation?” Garini asked.
Ernesto blushed until his face matched the color of his hair. His gaze flitted to Rafaele, then away again. “Em. Yes.”
Suddenly, Garini understood the insecure look Ernesto had given his friend. Of course. The boy is embarrassed of having been seen inside a lingerie store. He hurried to ask another question before Fabbiola could make the situation even more uncomfortable. “When did you leave?”
Ernesto shrugged. “I don't recall. Ten minutes later or so.”
Carlina said that she had last seen Valentino alive at five. “Did you see your cousin Valentino at Temptation?”
Ernesto shook his head. “No, but I didn't pay much attention.”
“Was it really at five or could it have been later or earlier?”
Ernesto shrugged. “It may have been later. A quarter past, or half past five. I really can't recall. I'm sorry.”
Garini nodded. “What did you do then?”
“I went to Rafi's house, but he wasn't in, and nobody knew where he was, not even his sisters, so I cruised around town on my own.” He gave Garini a crooked grin. “Mama had allowed me to take her car. I've just gotten my driving license and need to practice.”
temptation in florence 03 - bankers death Page 8
