temptation in florence 03 - bankers death

by boeker, beate

  She gave them another quick look, then turned away. “It's nice, though, isn't it?”

  “I think they suit.” He looked at Carlina's shining eyes with a sharp stab of pain. Would they be able to return to that phase where things felt right and good between them?

  She looked up at him. “Yes.”

  He wasn't sure what she had answered, but it didn't matter. He took her hand and led her away.

  Two hours later, he was ushered by a most superior secretary into the inner sanctum of Sergio Elevato's office at the Banca di Firenze. Sergio Elevato was the director at Uncle Teo's bank, the one who had signed that strange mortgage paper, insuring Valentino's death way too high. Garini had asked for an interview right after Valentino's death, but the director had been ill with pneumonia and his substitute was away on some business trip or other. Nobody else felt able to answer the questions of the police, so Garini had been forced to wait.

  The room smelled of coffee and leather from the comfortable looking leather seats that were grouped around a stainless steel table. Gleaming and massive, it reminded Garini of the tables at the butcher's where animals were taken apart. A single file, closed, lay on the large table and looked as if it had been forgotten there.

  He concentrated on the director. A large man, broad, confident, with a suit that spoke of money, just like the heavy gold watch and the elaborate cuff links. Bushy eyebrows hung over the shadowed eyes.

  “Take a seat, Commissario.” The director gave him a jovial smile that revealed a gold tooth at the side and motioned toward the leather chair. “What can I do for you?”

  Garini could feel how the innocuous words masked a condescending attitude. This man behaved like a benevolent father, a man who knew to be superior but chose to be kind to someone he deemed to be far lower than he was. It wasn't the words, it was the extra soothing smile, the pretended interest, the way he leaned back and looked at Garini as if he wished nothing better than to tell him his innermost secrets. An unusual reaction to an interview with the police.

  “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” Garini placed the little recorder onto the table. “Before we start, I need a written statement that I can record our conversation.” He had decided to be extra formal with the director.

  “But of course, my dear friend.” A hearty laugh. “We have nothing to hide.”

  Garini made sure his face remained immobile. He passed the prepared statement to Signor Elevato, waited until he had signed, then pressed the appropriate buttons and recorded the preliminaries. Without further ado, he jumped right in. “About a year ago, you mortgaged Teodoro Alfredo Mantoni's house in Via delle Pinzochere for a total of 1.7 million Euros.”

  The director opened the file and leafed through the pages. “Yes, that's correct.”

  “Do you still believe today that the value of the house was estimated correctly?” Garini had researched the value of houses in the center of Florence, and he was aware that the value fit. It didn't look so from the outside, but it was a large house with seven apartments in a perfect part of the old town – a quiet side street, but right at the hub of things.

  “Certainly.” The director nodded. “In fact, I'm quite certain that the value has gone up.”

  “Were you aware what Mr. Mantoni wanted to do with the money he had raised?”

  “He told us so.” The banker nodded.

  “And you didn't think it a bit odd?”

  Signor Elevato lifted his hands. “It's not our job to judge what our clients choose to do with the money. It is our job to have the risk covered.”

  “And the risk was appropriately covered by the value of the house?”

  “Quite.”

  “Did you advise Signor Mantoni that his scheme to invest the money with the help of his nephew was foolhardy?”

  Signor Elevato sighed. “You have to rid yourself of the notion that we are the police, Commissario. What people do with their money is their own affair. They come to us to get it. We evaluate the risk. If we get an appropriate value in return, we give them the money. It's as easy as that.”

  Fair enough. Again, Garini could not object to the words, but the underlying attitude raised his hackles. “Did you expect Signor Mantoni to be able to pay back the loan?”

  The director met Garini's gaze with something akin to astonishment. “Of course we did.”

  “And yet, you advised him to insure his nephew's death.”

  “That is standard procedure, Commissario.” The director leaned back and crossed his legs. “When Signor Mantoni chose to tell us what he planned to do with the money, we advised him to cover any unfortunate accidents.”

  Garini wanted to get underneath that infuriating self-assurance. “And by luck, you were just able to offer this kind of insurance.”

  “This has nothing to do with luck, Commissario.” A cool gaze accompanied the reproving words. “As one of the major financial establishments in Florence, we offer the whole gamut of financial services. Life insurances are, naturally, one facet in our range of products.”

  “What made you include the risk of murder? You'll admit that this at least is rather unusual.”

  “Experience.” Signor Elevato said. “We knew that Signor Canderini planned to invest the money in Dubai. That would take it from our jurisdiction and even outside the European Union. We felt that it would be in Signor Mantoni's best interest to cover any risk. In the light of recent events, you have to admit that we were right in doing so.”

  “Signor Mantoni told me that you were about to take possession of his house.”

  “That's correct, Commissario. He had failed to honor the payback date, and we were compelled to take the next steps, even though, on a personal level, we regretted doing so.”

  Garini decided he would not get any further. The banker was correct. He had done his side of the deal according to the rules. Uncle Teo was the one who had gambled high and lost. It wasn't the bank's mistake. But, boy, how he wanted to wipe that supercilious smile off the man's face. “Thank you for your time. I'll be in touch with further questions should the need arise.”

  II

  Maria sat back on her haunches and looked at Garini with wide opened eyes. She seemed lost in Fabbiola's kitchen, as if it was too large for such a small woman.

  “Please leave the corn for a minute,” Garini said. “I'd like to have a talk with you.”

  She pressed her little hands together and rose up. “Yes, Commissario?”

  “Take a seat.” He pulled one of the futuristic chairs from underneath Fabbiola's kitchen table, dusted it off and pushed it toward Maria.

  She sat as if she expected it to explode any minute now. Her gaze reminded him of his first guinea pig that had always trembled whenever he had picked it up. It had never stopped trembling, no matter how soothing Stefano spoke to it, no matter how tenderly he touched the sleek fur. Stefano had never managed to find out if it had had some nasty experience in its past or if it was just chickenhearted by nature. Theirs had not been a happy relationship.

  “I need to ask you a few questions.” He made sure his voice sounded as gentle as possible.

  She blinked once, but otherwise, she gave no sign of having heard him.

  The kitchen was permeated with a strange smell, sort of musty. It came from the corn that covered most of the floor and stretched across the entrance area into every room. You had to take care where you were stepping, otherwise you could slip on the moist stuff.

  “When we celebrated Ernesto's birthday, you did an impressive juggling performance. Where did you learn to juggle?”

  She swallowed so hard that he could see it. “I . . . I'm not very good.”

  “I wouldn't say so.” Garini shook his head. “For a layman, it was quite a good act.”

  Maria took a deep breath. “I learned it at school.”

  “At school?”

  She must have heard the incredulity in his voice because she winced and added in a flat, hurried voice, �
��It was a special circus week. We took lessons every day, and in the end, we did a circus performance for our parents.”

  “And just because of that one week, you were able to juggle so well?”

  Maria shook her head. “No. I really liked it. That's why I continued to train, in my room. I got some bean bags for my birthday.” She sounded wistful now, as if it had happened a long time ago, when times had been happier.

  “Was this at a school here in Florence?”

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head. “It was when my mother was still alive.” She hunched her shoulders and looked at her hands. They were folded as if she wanted to press blood from her bare flesh. “Simonetta helped me, too. She used to work for a circus, and she talked me into doing the performance. I found her bean balls when I was cleaning her room, you see, and she surprised me while I was trying to juggle them. That's how she got the idea.”

  Somehow, I've got a feeling that you didn't like to be in the limelight. Garini opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the door of the kitchen flew open.

  Fabbiola waltzed in. “I am extremely anxious.” She paused for breath and looked around the room with tragic eyes. “In fact, I am almost out of my mind with worry.”

  “What happened?” Garini expected other family members to show up behind Fabbiola, but for once, Fabbiola was on her own. Was Carlina safe? He hadn't talked to her since this afternoon. Since when had he become dependent on seeing her so often?

  “The corn isn't drying as it should.” Fabbiola flung out her arms so that the bracelets on her wrists jingled. The strand of henna-red hair hung over her face. “I'm very much concerned that we'll have to deal with mold on top of everything else.”

  Garini could feel the tense feeling in his shoulders seeping away. He should have known it was only a tempest in a teacup.

  “I've turned the corn as you said, and I also exchanged the sheets,” Maria said. “But I'm not sure if it'll work. It still seems to be really moist.”

  “Maybe we can blow-dry it.” Fabbiola said.

  “Think of all the energy that would cost,” Garini said. “Besides, the blow-dryers would soon be overheated. They're not made to work for hours on end.” He stopped himself short. What on earth was he doing? He had no interest in the corn; in fact, he had sworn he would stay out of it. This family was getting to him.

  “Then we'd need professional hairdryers.” Fabbiola pressed her mouth into one determined line. “Loads of them. I'll have to think about it. Maybe Rafaele can help. He should know.” She meandered from the room, deep in thought.

  Maria smiled for the first time. “She's so funny.”

  “Yes, indeed.” His voice was dry.

  Fabbiola put her head through the door again. “What are you doing here, Commissario?”

  “I'm investigating the murder.” His reply was mild.

  “Well, you'd better get on with it. It's not as if you've gotten anywhere so far, have you?” She disappeared again.

  Maria gave him an insecure smile. “She doesn't mean it, you know.”

  “I think she does.” Garini returned her smile. “But don't worry. It doesn't bother me.”

  His phone rang. When he answered it, Signora Pulo's voice said. “I've found it! Now I know what they've taken. Can you come here immediately?”

  Chapter 13

  “Look at this!” Signora Pulo's sugary hair stood up on end as she dragged a series of heavy photo albums toward Garini. “This is what they took!”

  Garini stared at the albums in front of him. He had no idea what she meant.

  She opened one in the middle and flipped through several pages. Colorful pictures of a circus tent alternated with artists in full costumes. The director in a scarlet coat. The orchestra. An artist on a trapeze. Then she turned the albums so they came to lie one on top of each other. They were organized chronologically, one album per year. “Now look here. And here. And here.” Her knobbly finger pointed at a gap of several years in the pile.

  “You mean they took the albums of those years?”

  “Yes!” She nodded. “There are several years missing. Unfortunately, that was years before I got to know my husband.”

  Garini took one of the albums and sat down with it. It was a heavy tome that smelled of face powder. “Who compiled these albums?”

  “Giorgio did.” Signora Pulo nodded so hard that her sugary hairdo wobbled. “He always kept one right next to his dressing table and whenever he had a second, he would add some more pictures. It was a sort of hobby, if you like.”

  “Who knew about it?”

  “Everybody at the circus did. They made fun of him, but they also enjoyed looking at the pictures. Every year, he started a new one.”

  “Where did you keep them?”

  “In his caravan, Giorgio had them all in a row, right next to the entrance. But when we moved here, he stopped doing the albums. He said there was no point in documenting the same face year in year out. In a circus, there's more change, you know. So we pushed them into a box underneath the bed.”

  “Are you sure that this is what they were after?”

  She shrugged and looked around. The room had been returned to order. Several frames were still missing from the walls, but everything else had found its old or a new place. “You said I should check what's missing. This is the only thing, with the exception of my pearl necklace.”

  “A pearl necklace?”

  “Yes.” She made a face. “It was cheap and fake, and it hung across the mirror in the bathroom. I can't imagine what the thief would have wanted to do with it. On the shelf, I had a little box with my gold earrings and my best gold necklace. They didn't touch them.”

  Garini frowned. “It sounds as if they just took the necklace in order to divert attention from the missing photo albums. How on earth did you find out that they were missing?”

  Signora Pulo's grin revealed a crooked tooth. “I wouldn't have noticed if the thief hadn't forgotten to push the box way back in. I stubbed my toe on it and when I bent down to check what it was, I noticed that the lid wasn't closed as it used to be. That's when I pulled it out and started to go through the albums. Several years are missing.”

  “Are you certain that these volumes weren't missing earlier?”

  “Positive.” She gave him a sharp glance. “I know my own house. I know what's here and what isn't. And what's even more important: I now know what Giorgio said just before he died. It wasn't nirvana or any other such esoteric stuff that he didn't believe in anyway. It was Alana.”

  “Which didn't get us anywhere before.”

  “Ah, but now it does.” She drew herself up. “Because when I looked at the pictures, I realized that I have something left of that time. And suddenly, I also knew why the name Alana meant something to me. Come with me.” She left the room without looking back or waiting for him, sure that he would follow her.

  To his surprise, she led him into the small bathroom. “You have to come right in,” she said and made a beckoning gesture with her hand.

  Garini hesitated. With Signora Pulo and himself inside, the tiny room would be overcrowded. There would not be much left to see. What on earth was she getting at?

  She grinned again. “Believe me, you won't regret it.”

  He shrugged and followed her inside. It smelled of lavender soap and was just as tight as he had expected. He kept his arms to his sides in order to avoid knocking something over by accident. It felt uncomfortable, and he still had no clue what she was up to.

  She reached around him and closed the door behind his back. “Turn around.”

  Garini swiveled on his heels and rocked back. The door was papered with a large poster that claimed in golden and red letters CIRCUS BELLINI. SEE THE AMAZING ALANA!

  “Alana was a trapeze artist. He often told me about her. She was very young, a child still, but apparently, one of the main attractions of the circus. Giorgio spoke of her sometimes.” She narrowed her eyes until her wrinkles looked like deep
furrows. “Something terrible happened then. I can't recall what it was, but she had to leave the circus.” She pressed her lips together. “Maybe he blackmailed her and now, she had enough and decided to put an end to his game.”

  Garini frowned. “You say she was a child then?”

  “Eleven or twelve or so. She'd be a young woman by now.”

  “I have to talk to the people at the Bellini Circus. To people who remembered her.”

  She nodded. “I thought so. I am still in touch with them, and I asked where they are now. They're at Matera at the moment.”

  “Matera? In the South?”

  “Yes. You'd better go.”

  “I sure will.” Garini left the apartment in a hurry. This new development pointed to Maria. She was the right age; she was slim enough to have been the disguised Russian, but he couldn't see even a shadow of a motive. Why should Maria decide to kill Valentino?

  As soon as Garini was out on the street, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket to call his assistant Piedro and inform him about the next steps and arrange the trip to Matera, but before he could punch in the right keys, it started to ring.

  His heartbeat accelerated. Carlina. She could not have called at a worse moment, but he didn't have the heart to send her to his mailbox. Maybe she had something important to share with him, and even if she didn't--oh, heck. A minute more or less wouldn't make a difference.

  “I'm glad I reached you.” Her voice sounded soft.

  “Did anything happen?”

  “No, not really. I just--”

  “Tell me.”

  “Promise you won't laugh?”

  “I promise.”

  “I . . . I have a strange feeling. As if something terrible is about to happen. And I . . . I wanted to hear your voice.”

  Something warm went through him. “I'm fine. Don't worry.”

  “Good.”

  He could hear the relief in her voice. “I have to go out of town. I won't be long.”

  “Oh.”

  He had to admit he liked the disappointment in her voice

  “Does the trip have to do with the case?”

  “Yes.” He didn't elaborate. He couldn't. “I'll be back soon. Take care of yourself, will you?”