temptation in florence 03 - bankers death

by boeker, beate

  “Well . . .” Orfeo twisted his hands and looked at them as if they could speak for him. Then the words poured out of him in a rush. “When I read the newspaper this morning, I realized that I had sold the dagger, but I didn't quite feel like going directly to the Commissario, so I decided to come to you first, because you know me, and it would be a bit easier to explain.”

  Carlina blinked. “Explain what?”

  “The . . . the situation.”

  I don't understand a word. “What situation? If you sold the dagger, that's great. You have to go to the police immediately. They'll be really grateful to learn who you sold it to.”

  “That's just it.” Orfeo folded his hands as if in prayer then turned them until his fingers looked all twisted.

  Carlina remembered that he always did that when he found it hard to express himself. Which was every time he opened his mouth, really. She wondered how he managed to serve his customers at the store. Still, she didn't have a clue what on earth he was trying to tell her. She gave him an encouraging smile. “Yes?”

  “It sounds like a bad movie.” Orfeo lifted his thin shoulders and dropped them again.

  Carlina was still groping in the dark. “A bad movie?”

  “Yes.” Orfeo nodded. “Because there was this man at my store, you see.”

  Carlina frowned. “Yes?”

  “He looked around the store, but I couldn't see his face well because he was wearing a cap, like a baseball cap, only without logo, in dark blue, and he had pulled it so low on his face that it was hard to make out anything at all, even without the mustache, but--”

  “Mustache?”

  “Yes, he had a big, hairy mustache that hung over his mouth. His hands were covered with fat rings, all gold.” Orfeo drew a deep breath and gave her a pleading gaze. “And he spoke with a Russian accent.”

  “Madonna.” Carlina blinked. “Now I know what you mean.”

  “Yes.” Orfeo sighed. “They'll chase me out of the door. They'll think I've seen too many bad movies and want to be in the limelight for once.” He lifted his troubled gaze to her. “Do you now understand why I don't want to go to the police?” He had beautiful eyes. They were his best feature. Large and black and fringed with thick lashes.

  If he looked at her like that, he reminded her of a five-year-old who had done something wrong and hoped not to be punished too hard. Carlina swallowed. She could imagine Garini's reaction if he had to listen to that story without warning. “When did you sell it?”

  “The day before the newspaperman was stabbed.” Orfeo lifted his bony shoulders. “Of course, it's possible that I'm mistaken, but the knife was pretty rare.”

  “How stupid of the murderer to buy a rare knife. He should have known that it would get traced back to him in no time at all.”

  Orfeo shrugged. “Maybe he counted on his luck. It's not easy to get knives this long and thin and sharp. Maybe the murderer had to hide the knife before he could use it. This one would have been easy to hide within a sleeve.”

  “I see your point.” Carlina nodded. “Are you one hundred percent sure that it was your knife?”

  “As sure as I can be, going by the picture.” Orfeo stared at the tips of his shoes. “I guess the police would ask me to identify it.”

  “Yes.”

  He shuddered. “That's gross.”

  “How did the Russian pay?”

  “In cash, with small notes and coins.”

  Carlina sighed. “Right.”

  “So.” Orfeo looked up. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “I suggest that you go to the police station immediately.”

  He flinched. “No.”

  “No?”

  Orfeo shook his head. “I was wondering if maybe you . . . you could . . . ?”

  “I could do what?”

  Again that little boy look. “If you could tell the Commissario my story and check out his reaction.”

  She didn't have to check it out. She could already see the sarcastic lifting of Garini's eyebrow, his cool eyes observing everything without letting on what he was thinking. “I don't think so.”

  Orfeo twisted his hands until his fingers turned blue. “But--”

  “Garini will kill me if I come to him with that story on my own.”

  “But . . . you're together, aren't you?” Orfeo seemed confused.

  “Sort of.” She didn't want to go into that. “But I've already meddled enough in his investigation. You go. It's important and your duty. Who knows. You might be instrumental in catching the murderer.”

  He made a face as if someone was pulling out a tooth. “I doubt it. It's all so ridiculous, and it was obviously a exaggerated disguise that won't get us anywhere. Maybe I shouldn't tell the police after all. It won't help them anyway.”

  Carlina reared back. If Orfeo didn't tell Garini, she would have to do so on her own, and that would make Garini really happy. “No way.” She bent forward and intensified her efforts when she noted the terrified expression in his eyes. “It's your duty as a citizen.” How pompous I sound. “I guess,” she added to lighten up things.

  Orfeo hunched over. “Oh, Madonna. Carlina, I--” he broke off and stared at her.

  Don't you dare to ask me to join you. Carlina met his gaze with a stare as hard as she could make it.

  “Will you come with me?”

  II

  He already saw them from a long way off. Carlina was leaning on the stone wall that bordered the Arno and looking at the muddy-brown waters foaming underneath the bridge to her left. Next to her, a thin man stood shivering, with his arms clasped around his body as if he was cold. He shouldn't be. The sharp wind had dropped, and an unexpected spring day was the result, with an almost translucent blue sky above them. The city emerged from winter a bit bedraggled, with a few terracotta pots broken and crooked shutters, their light green paint peeling, but already, you could feel how things stirred and moved again, full of hope, full of vigor. The plane trees had a touch of green about them, as if a fairy had touched them and transformed their silver-gray over night. The sparrows were chirping and hopping around, celebrating that the hard times were over, and freshly planted tulips and daffodils added touches of color to the window boxes on the houses behind Carlina.

  He felt a sudden urge to run to her and sweep her up in his arms, but he measured his pace. She had said she had something important to tell him, something he should know immediately. God knows what it would be this time. Who was the man next to her? He had never seen him before.

  As if she had felt his approach, she whipped around and looked at him. Her cat-like eyes met his with a bit of defiance.

  He braced himself. “Carlina.”

  “Ciao, Stefano.” She pulled the man next to her forward as if he was a limp puppet. “This is my old school friend, Orfeo Lino. We haven't been much in touch lately because he also owns a store. Today, he came to our house because he saw the newspaper ad about the knife, and--”

  “Why don't you let him speak for himself?” Garini looked at the small man next to Carlina. Was this another member of the wide-spread Mantoni family? Someone who needed to be protected by Carlina? He felt his temper rising.

  Orfeo Lino stared at the tips of his scuffed boots and shuffled them in the dust. “That's fine,” he said so low that his voice was almost drowned by the sound of the gushing Arno behind him. “She can tell it better than I can.”

  “But I'd prefer to hear it from you.” Garini gave Carlina a warning glance.

  She shut her mouth with a snap and turned to her friend. “Go on, Orfeo. He won't eat you. He just looks like it.”

  Garini narrowed his eyes. “Do you wish to talk to me on your own, Signor Lino?”

  The small man gave a start. “Oh, no.”

  Do I really look so intimidating? Garini frowned. Heck, even if I do, he wouldn't know it. He hasn't even once looked up since the conversation started. He leaned against the stone wall and dug his hands into his pockets to convey a more casual i
mpression. “Please tell me what you know, Signor Lino. It might help us catch a murderer.”

  Carlina gave her old school chum a friendly nudge and an encouraging smile.

  Garini suppressed a sigh. She had taken him under her wings. Great.

  Orfeo Lino looked up. Scared eyes, large and black, met his for a fraction of a second, then he lowered his gaze again. “I think I sold that knife the day before the newspaperman was killed.” His chin trembled. “Unfortunately, the description won't help. It was a man with a dark blue baseball cap and a huge mustache. He spoke with a Russian accent.” He winced as he said it and rushed on with as much speed as the tumbling water behind him. “I know it sounds corny, but that's the truth. I swear it. He paid in small coins. That's all I can say. I didn't notice anything else. I'm sorry.”

  “That's fine.” Garini knew he would get more out of Orfeo Lino if he put him at his ease. The obvious discomfort of the man made his tale believable. Either that, or he was a consummate actor. “The truth is sometimes more lurid than any invented tale.”

  A grateful look rewarded him. “Really?”

  “Yes. Now let's go through this again. You say you recognized the knife from the picture in the newspaper?”

  “I did.” Orfeo nodded. “It's got an ornate handle that shows little flowers and curlicues. The blade is made of steel, and there's a tiny stamp on it, but I can't recall exactly what it said. It's about this long in total.” He held his hands out in front of him.

  Garini nodded. The facts fitted, and Orfeo could not have guessed the real size from the picture in the newspaper. They had not given any more details. “Now about the Russian. You say you didn't see his face at all?”

  “I'm afraid not.”

  “Can you tell if he was young or old?”

  Orfeo hesitated.

  Carlina watched him with wide eyes, but she didn't try to influence his answer or interrupt him.

  That's something at least. Garini concentrated on Orfeo again. “Sometimes the hands give that away. Did you see his hands?”

  “They were covered with heavy rings, all gold. I didn't notice if the fingers were young or old. I was distracted by the rings.”

  “That's why they were put on.” Garini frowned. “How about the gait, the way he walked? Did he shuffle? Bend over? Or move with ease?”

  Orfeo squeezed his eyes shut in the effort of remembering. “He . . . he wasn't very old, I would say. It was difficult to see how he moved because he was wearing a long coat that somehow seemed to be too large for him. A good coat it was, black and thick. I remember that it looked expensive.”

  “Was the man tall or short?”

  Orfeo frowned. “Short. He was very slim, too.” He shrugged. “I'm sorry, I really can't recall anything else. That didn't help much, did it?”

  “You never know.” Garini detached himself from the wall.

  “But you believe me?” He lifted his large, black eyes to Garini like a little dog.

  Garini returned his gaze. “I do.”

  Relief flooded his face. “And do I have to identify the knife?”

  “I'm afraid so. Can you do it right away? It has been cleaned.”

  The small man winced. He folded his fingers and turned them into a knot. “Can Carlina come too?”

  Garini glanced at Carlina. “Sure,” he said, torn between irritation that she could not be shaken off from his investigation and a warm glow that he would not yet have to part from her. “The more, the merrier.”

  An hour later, Orfeo had identified the knife, signed a statement, and had returned with obvious relief to his bric-a-brac store.

  Garini decided to walk Carlina home. He still hadn't found a connection between the two murders, and the Russian didn't help at all. If anything, he confused the case. Roberto the pathologist had told him the knife had come from someone tall and strong. That didn't fit to the Russian, unless he was an accomplice, which didn't make it easier, either.

  Signor Atta, the Pulo's neighbor, had also mentioned someone small and slim close to the burgled apartment, though it might have been that boy from upstairs. How did that fit to the kind of thrust Roberto had described?

  If only he could find a tangible connection between the two cases, something more definite than the way of stabbing. He knew in his guts that the two cases were related, even though he couldn't put a finger on why he felt so sure about that. Had he noticed something subconsciously? If only he could pinpoint it. Once he had the link, he would have solved the case; he was sure of that.

  “What are you thinking about? You're looking grim.” Carlina smiled at him.

  “I'm wondering how the two cases are linked, the murdered newspaperman and your dead cousin.”

  “Of course they are related.” Carlina sounded surprised.

  He stared at her. “Why? Why do you think so?”

  She hesitated. “I . . . I don't know. Maybe because they both happened so close to each other. And they were both stabbed. And . . .”

  “And three women from the Mantoni household were on the spot when the newspaperman was found.”

  She swallowed. “Yes. But you can't imagine that Simonetta or Maria had something to do with it, do you? Besides, Orfeo said it was a man.”

  “You can easily disguise as a man.”

  “Sure, but you can't disguise a large size. Nobody would ever describe Simonetta as slim.”

  “That leaves Maria, then.” He gave her an ironic smile. “Even though you are not as tall as Simonetta, you wouldn't be able to pass as tiny, either.”

  She nodded. “I'm more average.”

  “I didn't say that.” He smiled into her eyes. “I never would.”

  Carlina blushed. “I can't imagine that Maria would kill two grown men. What possible motive can she have? She winces every time she has to kill a beetle.”

  He sighed. “I know but still . . . Promise me you'll be careful, all right?” He was uncomfortable about leaving Carlina at that house with her increasingly crazy family. The blind date set up by her mother had spoken volumes. He shuddered to think what she might come up with next. They were lucky if it turned out to be as harmless as her previous actions.

  A horn behind them tooted.

  He swiveled around, taking Carlina's arm by instinct, pulling her close to him.

  She looked up at him with a small smile.

  He colored.

  The car pulled up at the curb, and the window went down. Ernesto's red head appeared. He slapped the steering wheel of his mother's car and beamed at them. “Hi there! Did you see how I turned around the corner? That was neat, wasn't it?”

  “I'm afraid I didn't see it,” Carlina replied. “But if it was done on two wheels, it's better that I didn't.”

  Ernesto grinned. “We're taking a trip around. The weather is perfect for a little spin.”

  Garini looked in. Next to Ernesto, he could see Rafaele who raised a languid hand in greeting. Behind them, two girls giggled in the backseat. One was Maria, and the other looked very similar. Petite and pretty, with long, glossy hair. No wonder Ernesto felt on top of the world.

  “Don't kill yourselves,” Carlina said and waved them on. “Have fun.”

  They watched the car pulling away with squealing tires.

  “Who was the other girl?” Garini asked.

  “That's Sofia, Rafaele's sister.”

  Garini frowned. “I think Benedetta mentioned her.”

  “Possibly. Benedetta is a good friend of Rafaele's mother. His father died early on, and the whole Altori family is closely knit.”

  “How unusual.” He gave her a provocative look.

  She acknowledged it with a smile but didn't take the bait. “I'm glad she was giggling. She has had a hard time. Some guy or other got her pregnant when she was still in school. She never let on who it was, no matter how often she was asked. Still, she managed to finish school in spite of everything and had her baby shortly afterward. However, it died when it was two months old.”


  “I see. Poor girl.” He walked a few more paces, enjoying her presence next to him, the occasional whiff of her perfume in the mild air. “Do you think there's a romance brewing?”

  Carlina threw him a surprised look. “Between Sofia and Ernesto?” Her voice became thoughtful. “If you ask me, I'd say the boot was on the other foot.”

  “You mean he's in love with Maria?”

  Carlina shrugged. “Possibly. He has been surrounded by forceful women all his life, so maybe he enjoys the difference now.”

  “Do you like her?”

  Carlina hesitated. “Yes, I do, though . . .” Her voice petered out.

  “Though what?”

  “Though I never really get close to her. Maybe it's her heritage. That father of hers is convinced he belongs to the most superior family of Florence. He can trace his lineage back to Adam and Eve or the snake, possibly. I guess sooner or later, it has to rub off somehow.”

  “Still, she cleans your house. That doesn't speak of arrogance.”

  Carlina smiled. “True. Probably I just haven't had enough time yet. Some people take longer to trust than others.”

  He looked at her. She was so open and welcoming that natural reticence was an alien concept for her. Sometimes he wondered why she had ever fallen in love with him.

  Carlina stopped dead and grabbed his arm. “I don't believe this. Look over there!”

  Chapter 12

  I

  She pointed with her chin toward a couple that stood underneath the awning of a tiny flower shop. They were surrounded by a tumble of colorful spring flowers, tulips, daffodils, crocuses. Sharply outlined against a huge bucket with green willow boughs, they could see the man bending over the woman, caressing her cheek. Then he took her head into his hands, careful, as if she was fragile, and kissed her.

  Carlina turned to Garini, her eyes huge. “Aunt Benedetta,” she breathed. “And Leo. I never . . .”

  He smiled at her. “Didn't you see it coming?”

  “Yes, I . . . No. I mean, I don't know. I thought there might be something, but then, with Valentino's death, I forgot all about it.”