The Broken Frame

by Claudio Ruggeri

  "I could do even more damage, believe me Claire. Especially if I don't uncover something useful to the investigation. This is a job that can only be done by the police. I went to see the Commissioner in charge of the investigation a couple of weeks ago. I’m pretty sure he'll find out everything for himself, without the need for me to suggest it to him.”

  “So this is getting more and more complicated for you over there in Italy.”

  “Oh yes. We can only wait for a miracle.”

  After listening to the conversation, the two police officers very slowly laid down their headphones on the table. They stared at each other dumbfounded for several seconds, until Germano ended the heavy silence.

  “Angelo, what makes you suspicious about this conversation?”

  "I don't know. It seems as if Simons had some purpose other than to inform his wife. If you listened carefully, you may have noticed how every single word and every single concept was presented in great detail. Calm, almost like he was dictating to a primary school class. I don’t think this was just a call to his wife, but for us as well. After all, we've seen several attempts to misdirect us, right?”

  "True, but this time I don't think they wanted to lead us down a dead end. Can I hear it again?"

  “Sure.”

  Germano listened to the tape twice more. After that he put the headphones on the table for the last time.

  “This guy Simons is truly a genius.”

  “What are you trying to say, Vincent?”

  “He’s a genius. Now I understand why he’s so famous, it would take too long to explain. Angelo, do me a favor. As well as the records for the past month, try to go back further. Get the records as far back as six months ago."

  “The telephone records from Carlo Riva?”

  “Yes. He was a customer of the bank, right in front of his shop, correct?”

  “That’s the branch, yes.”

  “Good. Angelo, bring me that information as soon as possible. In the meantime I’ll go to the bank.”

  "Okay, Vincent. We'll meet up later?"

  "As soon as there's some news."

  "See you later then."

  Germano arrived at the bank in Grottaferrata just after it had opened. He discreetly went to the security guard located near the entrance, showed his badge, and asked to speak to the manager. After some quick calls through the switchboard, the Commissioner was ushered inside and into the room of the branch manager.

  Andrea Veroli looked barely forty years old. He was definitely one of the youngest bank managers Germano had ever seen, and after a vigorous handshake, the Commissioner was invited to sit down.

  “What can I do for you, Commissioner Germano?”

  “As you may know, a couple of weeks ago the owner of the art gallery situated in front of your bank was found dead. Our research has shown us he was your client.”

  “Oh yes, he came here twice a month to bank his profits.”

  “What kind of client was Carlo Riva?”

  “Please wait, I need to check. He had an account for more than ten years, and during that time we haven't had any problems with him. Our people said he was very polite with everybody.”

  “Is there any chance that in these ten years you saw something that attracted your attention, something unusual?”

  “Absolutely not. He was an excellent client. We don’t have too many like him.”

  “I understand. Listen, I’ll bring you the authorization as soon as possible, but right now can you show me the list of his single transactions from last year?”

  “Okay, I just need to print it.”

  When Germano left the bank, he rushed to his car. In his hands he carried the documents that he intended to give to Parisi. It would enable him to subject them to a thorough scrutiny.

  Parisi, in the meantime, had started to check Riva’s telephone records, trying to discover the trail Germano was following.

  The Commissioner went back to his office a few minutes before ten. He started work immediately, after he’d lit a cigarette, and began to grapple to make sense of every bank transaction.

  It emerged that Carlo Riva used his bank account to pay all of his normal domestic bills, including his mobile phone. Also for his insurance payments and car tax.

  The ATM was rarely used, and the few exceptions were mostly at the gas station. The money transferred into the account could be traced to bank transfers resulting from the sale of works of art.

  A few minutes after noon, Germano felt he'd discovered some interesting information, and he hoped Parisi had too. He went to his office.

  “May I come in?”

  “Sure, come inside, Vincent.”

  “Did you found anything?”

  “Here’s what I have, but I must be honest, I don’t know where you're going with this.”

  “Without the rest of the information, it would definitely have been impossible to work it all out."

  "In that case, would you explain exactly what we're looking for?"

  "We need to find out where Carlo Riva used to go on the fifteenth of every month."

  “What?”

  "Amongst his bank cards, I found that each month, between the tenth and the thirteenth, he withdrew a sum of two thousand Euros in cash. Considering he didn't use it to pay bills or to go shopping, I need to find who the recipient was."

  “Maybe the wife?”

  “No, I've checked Mrs. Bezzi’s bank account. She has her own credit cards. As for the son, he pays his debts with what he earns from his job.”

  “So who then?”

  "Take a look at the records and eliminate all those places where Carlo Riva has not gone around the fifteenth of each month."

  “This is going to take a while, I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “I'm counting on it.”

  “Stay calm, Vincent. I'll see you later.”

  For the next two hours, the Commissioner read through more of the documents. Germano was determined to find the tiniest detail, even if it wasn’t at all clear at the outset.

  During the second search, Germano noticed the damaged frame that contained the family photo of Riva. It seemed to want to talk, even if the language appeared to the Commissioner to be obscure and indecipherable.

  After his analysis of the papers, ideas began to ripen in Germano’s head. They were abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Inspector Parisi.

  “What is it Angelo?”

  “I have what you wanted.”

  “Ok, give me the details.”

  “Mr. Riva used to visit a house in Via Oreste De Marchis, which is a street that crosses Via Cristoforo Colombo. His visits were never longer than twenty minutes.”

  “Did you check to see if those visits occurred after he went to the bank?”

  “Yes Vincent. He stopped at the bank before going to that address.”

  “I see. How many people live in the building?”

  “Twelve families.”

  "This is useful information. For now we can say we’ve made a small step forward. A very small step."

  “There’s one more thing, Vincent.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Fifteen days ago, that building was reported to be a brothel.”

  “Reported? How?”

  "It was during the trial of a new product we recently started using. It’s connected to the Police computer database. The application is installed on your phone, and allows citizens to report crimes anonymously. The process is simple, you indicate the place on a map and add a note to describe the type of offense that is being committed."

  “Interesting. Is that incident under investigation?”

  “Not yet. Felonies must be reported at least three times before we take any action, otherwise there’s a big risk that the report may be an act of vengeance.”

  “In a case of prostitution, the report may have come from an unsatisfied customer, is that what you mean?”

  “Exactly. I just wanted to tell you so you could add it to y
our information. ”

  “You’ve done well. What do they call this new system?”

  “They call it Breath of Wind.”

  A peal of laughter accompanied the answer.

  “It would be hard to find a better name.”

  "You are right Vincent. Now that you know, how do we make progress?"

  "The first thing for us to do is call the tax office. We need to establish details of the tax returns from all the families who live in that building. After that we’ll plan our next move.”

  “Right, then I’ll move quickly.”

  There was no need for any further clarification between the two cops. The Inspector knew his friend well, and in this type of case, the Commissioner would know exactly where he was going.

  Germano, however, once he was alone, began to wonder how he should proceed with the investigation. After all, the tax office data would represent only a tiny part of the facts. It was therefore necessary to begin a parallel investigation. An independent investigation.

  With that in mind, the right person to approach was Mrs. Bezzi, wife of the late Carlo Riva.

  Germano was able to make an appointment at the lady’s house for that afternoon. Located in the fields outside Grottaferrata, it was built in an Art Nouveau style, surrounded by vineyards that seemed to produce excellent grapes. Germano reached the house and went inside.

  Mrs. Bezzi met him after returning from the grave, and despite the heat, she was wearing a hat and a scarf. Inside the house, the furniture made it obvious Mr. and Mrs. Riva liked to buy the highest quality art works for themselves.

  “Well Commissioner, I believe that you must have some news, since you’ve come all the way out here.”

  “Well, yes and no. Mrs. Bezzi, your son is remaining silent, refusing to talk. This is not helping us at all.”

  “My son, the poor boy. You must understand how he feels, Commissioner. First his father’s death, and then the handcuffs.”

  “You saw the footage. I know how hard this must seem to you, but I couldn’t let him go free.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Anyway, the investigation hasn’t stopped, even if we do have one man under arrest. But I’m going to need your help.”

  “You need my help? What for?”

  “Maybe not to find the killer, but to exclude anyone else.”

  “I guess you’re going to ask me some extremely personal questions.”

  “Well, sort of.”

  “Let’s start then.”

  “This is not a police interrogation, Mrs. Bezzi. I’m just trying to get a better idea of what happened.”

  “Don’t worry, Commissioner.”

  “We’re trying to find if your husband had a second life. I mean...”

  “That’s impossible!”

  “You seem quite confident.”

  “I have good reason to be confident.”

  “I don’t doubt it. However, did your husband limit himself to only going to the art gallery, or did he often visit his friends?”

  “He had friends, but he rarely visited them. Usually they came to our house for dinner at the weekends. I mean, they never joined him just for a cup of coffee.”

  “I understand. As for your marriage, was everything fine with your relationship?”

  "Commissioner, even if Charles was older than me, I have never thought about leaving him for someone else. He was fine the way he was, I assure you."

  “I understand that, but I was talking about some...”

  "I think I understand what you meant, Germano. I can tell you again, from that point of view, it was all good."

  “You tell me your husband didn’t have a second life, and you say you’re sure about that. But there is always some kind of doubt.”

  “Not in this case. When I did have certain doubts, I took the proper measures.”

  “Can you explain that better?”

  “I hired a private investigator to follow him for several weeks, day and night. Nothing came of it.”

  “Can you give me the name of this man?”

  “His name is Giovanni Arcangeli. I can give you his phone number.”

  “No thanks.”

  The rest of the conversation settled on mundane matters, and he uncovered no meaningful insights. After he drank the coffee that Mrs. Bezzi kindly offered, the Commissioner went back to his car. He intended to reach his office as soon as possible.

  More details, uncovered by Germano during the interview, put the surveillance of Giovanni Archangel between spring and summer, two years before. It was perhaps too far back to be useful to the Commissioner’s investigation. Despite this, it was essential he made the effort to make sense of it.

  He called the private investigator to call at the police station at noon. From the way he acted, and from his body odor, Germano concluded that Giovanni Arcangeli had suffered some recent problems with alcohol. He was a drunk. Even so, he hoped that the man he interrogated could understand all the questions.

  “Good morning, Arcangeli, excuse me if...”

  “Good morning, Commissioner. Don’t excuse yourself, just tell me what you want.”

  "We're investigating the murder of Carlo Riva, and we understand that some time ago, you had the opportunity to observe him closely."

  “His wife called me to do the job. I watched from the sidelines for three weeks, but nothing came of it. Commissioner, it seemed like he was a saint."

  “Did you take any pictures?”

  "Yes, I did. On those few occasions when I watched him meet up with people, that's all."

  “With women?”

  "No, in both cases they were men. The first time was outside a bank in Rome. The guy with whom he went for coffee probably worked there. In his fifties, and well dressed."

  “What about the second time?”

  “It was a young man. Older than eighteen, because after the meeting they left in their own cars. I think he may have been the son.”

  “Go ahead, tell me about that day.”

  "My recollection is all a bit vague, to tell you the truth. It's been almost two years. However I do remember how well she paid me for the work, the highest I'd ever..."

  “Just try to stay on our case.”

  “Oh yes, sorry. I followed the old man until he stopped at the square in Pietralata. He stayed there for an hour and a half, until the boy came.”

  “What did they do?”

  “It seems to me that they went to have a coffee. After that, they both returned the way they came.”

  "Do you remember the model of the car in which the boy showed up?"

  “No, I don’t’ remember it.”

  “Okay, we're done for now. Thank you for coming, and please call me immediately if you think of anything else relevant to this matter."

  “You can count on it.”

  The Commissioner was not entirely convinced by the last words of the strange investigator. The man took his coat, made his way out of his office, and went toward the parking lot.

  December 3

  “Vincent, may I come in?”

  “Sure, Angelo, come in, come in.”

  “We’ve received the information you requested, about the income taxes.”

  “What does it say?”

  "That eleven of the twelve families who live in that condo near the Cristoforo Colombo declare more than twenty-five thousand Euros a year."

  “Eleven out of twelve? That’s interesting.”

  "Yeah, and that's not all. We compared the reported income with their standard of living, and everything fits."

  "Well, at this point I only need to ask you which family is not present in the list.”

  "It isn’t really a family. It appears that the tax return is for one person. Virginia Lucci, who is single.”

  “And her income declaration goes up to how much?”

  “Not even five thousand Euros a month.”

  "I understand. I want you to assemble a team of two or three people that can keep an eye
out for a few days. In the meantime, we’ll dedicate ourselves investigating in another direction."

  "Ok Vincent, I’ll go and tell the others."

  Mrs. Lucci, in the opinion of the Commissioner, already looked like a person who had something to hide. It remained to be seen whether she was fleeing from something, or just concealing income from the tax office.

  Meanwhile, Inspector Parisi briefed his team and gave then the necessary information about Virginia Lucci. Germano decided to make inquiries on his own. Once he’d discovered the identity of woman’s employer, he decided he’d pay him a visit.

  The gentleman in question was named Luciano De Vincenzi. He lived just a few steps away from the lady, and declared that he paid her a few thousand Euros for domestic work.

  Germano showed up at Luciano De Vincenzi’s house, without calling ahead as he normally did.

  “Who is it?”

  “The postman! I need you to sign for this parcel.”

  As soon as the door opened the man came face to face with the Commissioner's badge.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing Mr. De Vincenzi. I just need to have a little chat with you.”

  “Okay, come on in.”

  The entrance, and all of the rooms which Germano passed through on his way to the living room, gave off an air of melancholy. They looked more run down than they really were. Like the people who lived in them.

  De Vincenzi was elderly, a man in his seventies, with a very pronounced hump. He was more deaf in one ear than the other. During the interview, Germano realized the other man was reading his lips.

  “What can you tell me about Virginia Lucci?”

  "Virginia? She's a good woman. She kept this house clean for me for several years. She always made sure it was comfortable, in exchange for money of course.”

  “How much money?”

  “Around three hundred Euros a month. She came twice a week”

  “What do you mean she came, past tense?”

  “Because she hasn’t showed up for the past two months. She failed to collect her salary the last time, so I thought she’d found something better.”

  “Do you remember anything strange about Virginia Lucci’s behavior?”

  "To be honest, no. She's always been punctual and hard-working during the five years she’s been working in this house."