Suddenly, that sneaking little voice inside him spoke up, the one that always took Carlina's side. “Because she knew what an awkward situation this would cause for you. It wasn't her choice to hide the body.”
He couldn't help it, he had to argue with that inner voice. “But it was her choice to hold her mouth and to go along.” He was way above the speed limit as he rushed around the corner onto the Piazza di Santa Croce.
“Wouldn't you have done the same?”
He preferred not to reply to this one. Damn it. He missed her already. She had seemed so defeated. Would they dare to accuse her again? He wanted to kill that mother of hers with his bare hands.
“You're a great Commissario,” the little voice taunted him. “So cool and composed. Face it - you're in a worse situation now that you know he was found half-naked in Carlina's apartment than before.”
Garini accelerated again with a roar. His boss would have a heyday. Damn it all. What on earth could he put into the report? Could he leave it out? For a day or two - maybe. But not indefinitely. In general, he kept his reports short and concise. He hated to waste time on bureaucracy. Maybe he should follow that old business rule he had once heard from a manager. If the figures you have to present are not as you want them to be, and if you can't fake them, smother them with tons of unnecessary details, so nobody will spot the ugly truth anymore. He might have to do that. If he added enough tedious diversions, went on about the alibis of everybody involved in unnecessary length, and only mentioned the position of Valentino's body in passing, in a half-sentence somewhere toward the end of the report, then Cervi might have fallen asleep before he came to the juicy bits.
He clenched his teeth. But not yet. For the time being, he would not mention this anywhere. He promised himself he would get to the bottom of this business . . . and if it meant that the whole family had to go to prison, so be it.
He swung around the corner, past a colorful newspaper booth. The owner, a black-haired man with a large mustache, was just hanging up a magazine with a lurid headline. “Princess wants divorce!” Garini looked away. He did not want to imagine what the headlines would be if his case became public. He raced through the narrow streets, the sound of his motor echoing back from the ancient houses. Finally, he turned into Via de' Tornabuoni and roared past Temptation. What utter cheek of Valentino to buy a pair of boxer shorts from Carlina and to try to seduce her with them. He should have known he wouldn't get anywhere.
Garini frowned and stopped himself on that thought. Did he really believe that?
He checked his feelings again. Yes, he did. He trusted Carlina more than he had ever trusted anybody else. If she said that she had not wanted Valentino and had tried to repel his advances, then he believed her without a trace of a doubt. It's because I want to believe it, he told himself. I'm a fool.
“You're wrong. It's because you know you can trust her.” The little voice inside him said with total conviction. “She's different.”
Chapter 7
I
“It's obvious this man isn't good enough for you.” Fabbiola crossed her arms in front of her chest as soon as Garini had left Benedetta's kitchen.
Her words hurt Carlina almost physically. She already felt perforated by all the emotions and stabbing words she had heard, and by now, she wanted to retreat into a shell and never come out again. If only Valentino hadn't been stabbed inside her apartment. The murderer had desecrated her hiding place, and now she felt like a mouse in a panic, with the entrance to her hole shut off.
“What a loser,” Annalisa shook her red hair. “He really should have known that you're much too straightforward to start an affair under his very nose.” Somehow, it sounded like an insult, as if Carlina was too simple to do something so very adventurous.
Carlina swallowed, but she didn't try to reply.
“I don't understand that, either.” Benedetta shook her head. “I mean, you seemed so happy, and then, he throws a fit, just because Valentino is found in your apartment. That's not your fault, now, is it? I think he has completely overreacted.”
Ernesto gave his mother an appalled look. “Mama, are you crazy? Any red-blooded male would go wild to hear that a half-naked guy was stabbed inside the apartment of his girlfriend.”
Rafaele nodded in his slow way. “Bound to. What I mean is . . . only natural.”
“And he didn't even know the bit about the champagne, did he?” Ernesto continued. “If he had heard that, he would not have believed for a minute that Valentino's mission was innocent.”
“His mission wasn't innocent,” Carlina cut in. Her voice sounded rough. “But I was. It was not my mistake that he took a sudden fancy to me, and I tried everything I could to get rid of him. I even charged him three times more than usual for those stupid boxer shorts. I had no idea that he was waiting for me.”
Emma clapped her hands. “Good for you.”
Maria stared at Carlina. “You mean you . . . you didn't . . . .?”
Carlina hugged herself. “Yes, I mean just that! And you may believe it or not, but that doesn't matter, because the only thing that matters is that Garini does not seem to believe it, and how I can convince him of the opposite is more than I know!” Sudden tears spurted out of her eyes.
“We will all help you,” Fabbiola said. “Though I don't think he deserves you if he doesn't even trust in you.”
“The facts were speaking a pretty clear language.” Carlina's voice was bitter.
Rafaele nodded again. “No wonder he misunderstood. Logical.”
“I'm so sorry, Carlina.” Uncle Teo bowed his head. “It's my fault.”
“Yes, it is,” Fabbiola said, “but that doesn't matter because now Valentino is dead, and that's a good start. We can sort out the rest.”
A shudder went through Carlina. “How do you want to sort out the rest, Mama?”
Fabbiola drew herself up. “I will prepare a trap. A trap for the murderer. I've been impatient with him all along because he put you into that stupid fix. For some reason, the murderer wants you to split up from the Commissario, but that is not getting us anywhere at the moment. Now he will have to deal with me.” She stabbed her thumb against her chest. “You'll see. I'll deliver the murderer on a silver plate to your Commissario, and then, we can see what he has to say!”
II
“This is Abdallah Mahmoud El Arcantiff speaking.” The cultivated voice sounded polite and distant. “You asked me to call you back, Commissario?”
“Yes, thank you.” Garini pulled his chair closer to his desk and grabbed a pencil. “I need to ask you a few things about your employee, Valentino Canderini.”
“Our former employee.” Mr. El Arcantiff interrupted him with a stern note underneath the British accent.
“Your . . . former employee? I thought he was still working for you.”
“Oh, no, Commissario.” The polite voice sounded patient. “We do not employ scoundrels at the Golden Crown Middle-East Banking Corporation.”
Garini lifted his eyebrows. “What happened?”
“Mr. Canderini has a lot of charm, and we had high hopes that he would bring our business forward, but unfortunately, he preferred to work for his own profit.”
“What did he do exactly?”
“He embezzled funds from our bank.” The polite voice was dry.
“When did you find this out?”
“Approximately six months after we had employed him.”
“And how long ago was that?”
“It was last Thursday.”
Last Thursday! Today was Tuesday, and he had met Valentino at Ernesto's birthday party on Sunday. “He must have left almost immediately.”
“That's not surprising. When we terminated our cooperation, we asked him politely to leave the country within three days.”
“You asked him to leave the country?” Garini frowned. How can they do that?
“Indeed, we did. I understand that things may be different in Europe, but we are a closely knit com
munity here, and we have a reputation to uphold. It was only natural that his visa would have been terminated immediately after the end of our relationship.” Mr. El Arcantiff made a mild throat-clearing sound. “You see, the brother of our managing director happens to work in an important function in the ministry.”
Neat. Garini was glad he didn't have to investigate that family. Not that it would be that different from investigating the Mantonis. An acid feeling rose up in his stomach. With an effort, he concentrated on the phone call again. “Did you get your money back?”
“Yes.” Again, the small throat-clearing sound came down the line. “After a few transfers, everything was all right.”
He wished he knew more about the world of finance. “What do you mean, after a few transfers?”
“I'm sorry, Commissario, but I can hardly talk about this on the phone. Maybe you could tell me first what happened that made you call me?”
“Valentino Canderini was stabbed.”
“Really?” Mr. El Arcantiff sounded relaxed. “How very . . . apt. It doesn't surprise me.”
“Do you know of anybody who would have liked to kill Mr. Canderini?”
“From my brief acquaintance with him, I can imagine that any number of people would have liked to kill Mr. Canderini.” He sounded precise and unemotional. “But I doubt that they followed him to Italy.”
“Can you give me any names?”
“I'm sorry; I can't do that.”
Garini hesitated. He knew he had little chance of getting more information on the phone, but he had to try. “It would not do them any harm if they're innocent. I only wish to check up if any acquaintance from Dubai entered the country in time for the murder.”
“I am aware that this is your intention, Commissario, but my answer remains the same.”
“Don't you wish to find out who killed Mr. Canderini?” Garini kept his voice even.
“Not at all, Commissario. I consider it a good job.” For the first time, the voice sounded as if it was smiling. “If you should find the murderer, please pass on my sincere congratulations.”
Garini had barely hung up, still shaking his head, when the door opened and Roberto skipped in. Garini eyed the pathologist with mistrust. He wasn't feeling up to Roberto's eternal good mood at the moment.
“I knew I would find you here!” Roberto shook his bald head in mock exasperation. “It's time to go for lunch, my friend. In fact, it's later than usual, that's why everybody else is already gone, but I was just done with your little job, and I thought I might try to lure you outside and tell you the news over a nice bowl of pasta.”
Garini sighed. “Why on earth did you choose to become a pathologist, Roberto? You love to talk and joke. Neither of these is required in your profession.”
Roberto grinned. “You mean I should have trained to become a clown?” He waved his hand through the air. “Not for me, my friend. I also have another, more important passion. I like to take things apart.”
Garini got up and retrieved his leather jacket. Maybe lunch wasn't a bad idea. At least it would stop him from thinking about Carlina. “I see your point. So, what do you have to tell me?”
Roberto followed him out of the office, not even once taking a breath of air. “Nothing spectacular, in fact, I was quite upset with you. I had counted on something a bit more . . . unusual, like that poisoned grandfather you sent me some months ago. With this case here, everything's so ordinary, so aboveboard and plain to see that it's downright boring.”
They left the police station together and crossed the Piazza. Garini felt the warm rays of sunshine on his face and took a deep breath. Brisk and cool, the air smelled of spring and mimosa flowers from a flowering terracotta tub they passed. Soon, he would be able to pack his leather jacket into the wardrobe. Thank God. He had been looking forward to spring, had planned to take Carlina to the coast one day, just the two of them on his bike. He tried to push the thought from his mind.
“So, here are the sordid details,” Roberto had not noticed that Garini's attention had wandered. “The knife was held at an angle that came from slightly above, and it was thrust with great force.”
“That sounds as if it was done by someone who was taller than the victim.”
“Which is not hard since the victim was on the short side.”
Garini nodded. “It's funny, but he didn't seem to be that short when I met him.”
“I'm sure Napoleon seemed much shorter when he was dead than when he was alive. It's quite fascinating to see that the true size of people has little to do with how they are perceived.” Roberto pulled himself up so he reached Garini's shoulders. “Everybody knows that small men are powerful, and so this impression remains rather than the bare facts.” Roberto continued to walk with his chest puffed out. “The knife hit the sternum with so much impact that it chopped off a bit, got deflected and entered straight into the heart.”
“Do you think anatomical knowledge was necessary to have guided the knife to that exact spot?”
“Not really.” Roberto flung his legs forward as if he was imagining himself to be Napoleon on a parade. “Every child knows the rough location of the heart. The rest is easy, if you're close enough. Death was almost instantaneous.”
“Still, it was just one stab. That was lucky, don't you think so?”
Roberto shrugged. “Maybe. On the other hand, maybe the object wasn't to kill. Maybe the victim was just a bit unlucky because the murderer hit the perfect spot.”
“If you stick a knife into someone's heart, you shouldn't be surprised if that person drops dead. I don't call that unlucky. I call that logical.”
“Whatever.” Roberto shrugged. “Did you find fingerprints on the knife?”
“No. Someone had wiped it clean.” They had even wiped his shoes after they had put them on. The Mantoni family didn't leave anything to chance.
“Pity.” Robert jerked his elbows backwards and forwards as if on a military parade. “I already told you that death occurred roughly an hour before we got to him, didn't I?”
“Yes, you did.” Which only made it about half an hour before he was found by the Mantonis. The murderer had run a high risk, with the house full of people.
“Did you find out in the meantime where he was found?”
Garini hesitated, then decided to lie. “No.”
“He was standing when he was stabbed. I could tell that from the marks on the back of his head. He might have stumbled backwards and then fallen to the ground.”
“Anything else I should know?”
Roberto shook his head. “Nope. I wish you good luck with this. It seems the victim won't be much missed, right?”
Garini turned to him and frowned. “How do you know?”
Roberto grinned. “Sergio told me. Bit awkward, investigating the family of your girlfriend, isn't it?”
“Hmm.” Garini was in no mood to discuss this. He was still hunting for a change of topic when his phone rang. “Excuse me, Roberto.” Relieved, he fished the phone from his pocket and checked the caller ID. Maybe it was Carlina? No. He suppressed a sigh. His assistant Piedro. Finally. “Tell me!”
“Is that you, Commissario?”
“Yes.” Who else does Piedro expect when he calls this number?
“I've just come back from the lawyer, as you told me.”
“Yes?”
“As far as the lawyer knows, Valentino Canderini did not make a will.”
“But you talked to the right lawyer, the one who's doing all the family affairs?”
“Yes. I asked him, and he said that he did everything that had to do with the Canderini family, but he had not seen Valentino since he left for Dubai about a year ago.”
“So who's the heir?”
“His mother. His father died a long time ago.”
“And his mother is still somewhere unreachable aboard a ship. Perfect.”
Garini frowned when he hung up. Another dead end. He couldn't imagine that Alberta Canderini had killed her on
ly son. She had a sharp tongue and wasn't too popular with the rest of the family, but even if she had managed to overcome the problem of being on a cruise thousands of miles away, she could not have profited much from Valentino's death. Nowhere near as much as the Mantonis who lived in the family home and had been in danger of being evicted.
“You look dangerous when you frown like that.” Roberto said. “Bad news?”
“No.” Garini didn't feel like explaining.
“But . . .”
Garini's phone rang again. “Sorry, Roberto.” Again, he checked the display. His heartbeat accelerated. “Carlina?”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded flat. “Something new has come up. Can you come to my apartment right away?”
Chapter 8
“Thanks for coming.” Carlina opened the door to her apartment wide and let Garini in. How forbidding he looks. She suppressed the feeling of loss when he didn't touch her, didn't smile.
“What happened?” His light eyes scanned the room as if he expected someone with a gun to jump from a hidden corner.
“I came home for lunch at Benedetta's apartment and managed to spill tomato sauce on my blouse. So I went upstairs to change, but when I dropped my handbag onto the side table,” she gestured toward a low table in front of the sofa, “my purse fell out, and the coins rolled underneath the armchair, the one with the leopard-print rug.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Yes?”
“So I went to my knees and started to collect them, but behind the armchair, half-way pushed underneath, I found something.” Her throat hurt. Everything hurt when she had to talk to him as if he was a stranger. “I didn't touch it.”
With two big steps, he was behind the armchair and bent down. “The missing leather briefcase.”
“I've never seen it before,” Carlina said. “So I guess it's the one Uncle Teo and Benedetta talked about, the one Valentino was carrying when they last saw him. It might have been pushed back there without anybody noticing it when they moved . . .,” she hesitated, then plowed on, “. . . the body. However, they said the briefcase was heavy, and now it looks kind of empty, as if it's deflated.”
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