He threw the pen down and rushed outside again. The slender girl in blue was emerging from the drive.
‘Mother!’
‘Dear Marcella,’replied the aging blonde beauty in astonishment.
Giorgio was not disappointed, but certainly he would have chosen a far more adventurous ending for his escapade. After all, he was in the midst of a family reunion, with no possible role to play in it. He was about to head back to Palermo to prepare a new attack on the girl, but she had noticed him already and she acknowledged his presence with her customary frostiness, having only the power to pull him forward, as if attracted by an ice magnet.
‘Good morning, Marcella!’
‘Good morning, Signor Vallesi.’
After another frosty silence, she introduced him to her mother with a bored remoteness, bordering on fatigue:
‘Mother, this is Signor Vallesi of La Gazzetta, a casual travel acquaintance.’
Giorgio bowed and, uttering a couple of vague words, suddenly found himself alone in the icy void, as the girl in blue dragged her mother away by the arm.
Luigi Renzi emerged from the Palermo Police Headquarters after a long meeting with the high commissioner. He took an avenue which descended gently towards the blue sea, its shining sparkle enhanced by the incoming twilight. Keeping to the left, he walked in the direction of the Quattro Canti, where he was due to meet Vallesi. He stopped at a newsstand:
‘May I have today’s newspaper?’
‘Here it is, La Ora!’
‘Do you have any of the Rome or Milan papers?’
‘We have Il Corriere and La Gazzetta del Popolo.’
‘I’ll have Il Corriere, thanks.’
A swift perusal of the paper didn’t reveal any details of the creepy findings on the Palermo train. Renzi was still reading Il Corriere when Vallesi appeared from the direction of the Via Maqueda. Luigi smiled at him, flourishing the paper:
‘Did you know that your friend was a “young and promising police detective”?’
But his friend was clearly not in the mood for a joke.
Luigi tried to guess the reason for his discomfort:
‘Had an argument with your would-be future mother-in-law?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Marcella’s mother.’
‘How did you know? Ah, if you really did know….’
‘Do I know or don’t I? I know, I know, believe me, I know.’
‘What do you know? And why didn’t you tell me about it?’
Luigi was a bit stunned by his friend’s new violence. He had never been the brutal kind, far from it! Asking himself about his clearly trying experience, he tried to explain calmly and quietly: I’m lost, is that supposed to mean something?
‘Sorry, I haven’t had the time or the opportunity. I only guessed the reason for Marcella’s trip to Palermo this morning. She had told me about her mother’s frequent trips to Sicily, and I remembered that her father never mentioned his dear wife when he recovered his daughter from our claws. But Marcella spoke about a very lively and loving mother, no doubt about it, so I guessed that her parents’ relationship wasn’t all it could be. In any case, it was one of the more plausible reasons for Marcella’s sudden trip and her father’s swift expedition to Naples, hot on her heels, to take her back to Rome with him. So, it needed to be checked out, didn’t it? I phoned the Hotel Des Palmes, the only suitable establishment in Palermo for a travelling Signora Arteni. And I was lucky, as you know.’
Vallesi was himself again, so Luigi could add impertinently:
‘If you hadn’t rushed away so quickly… But it’s far better to have checked out the splendid correctness of my deductions…as you did at your own expense, it seems, when you followed her in a taxi….’
Vallesi’s only answer was a smile, but his friend pressed him to narrate his own sad experience, taking him by the elbow and steering him along via Maqueda. Giorgio felt ashamed of himself as he thought about his demeaning meeting with the Arteni women. Only when he had ended his tale did he become his jocular self again:
‘So, as you see, we can strike Marcella from the list of suspects.’
‘That’s the third name I’ve cancelled today. The first was Larini: our teller duly forwarded his documents and he’s returning to Rome on the three o’clock train today.’
‘But that doesn’t matter at all. The only important thing was his sudden departure from the flying boat!’
‘A circumstance with no particular relevance. The reason for his sudden flight has been confirmed, and we have nothing else against him, I’m afraid,’ explained Luigi, with a sort of tired exasperation.
But Giorgio was still unaware of the tragic discovery on the Palermo express, so he had fully regained his own usual thoughtless gaiety, as if he were actually reading an exciting mystery novel:
‘And the third name you scratched from the list? It wouldn't be our lady in red, by any chance?’
‘No, although we shall speak about her soon enough. It was Pagelli-Bertieri. He did indeed leave for Tunis, just as he told us.’
‘I hope you alerted the local police!’
‘Of course, but I’m quite certain that he’ll simply forward his letter, just as Larini did.’
Suddenly he remembered a detail he’d noticed previously, which had slipped his mind immediately afterwards. Pagelli had noted Marcella’s anxiety after the banker’s disappearance had been noticed. She’d asked the name of the vanished financier several times. It wasn’t very significant in and of itself, but even if he tried not to remember the tragic discovery of the night before, even if he thought that the culprit was probably now in the hands of the police, a possibly excessive scruple was pushing him to solve that tiny, unimportant little mystery as well. So he gripped his friend’s elbow and dragged him along via Stabile to the Hotel des Palmes.
‘Look, Giorgio, if we know very well why Marcella is in Palermo, we have a ninety per cent chance that her anxiety on the plane was caused by her mother’s trip to Sicily.’ He tried desperately to smile again. ‘So I’m giving you the chance to meet your future mother-in-law again.’
Giorgio didn’t react to his jest at all, so Luigi asked more solemnly:
‘So you really are serious about her?’
But Vallesi remained silent.
‘So, when you meet Marcella again, you can always put the blame on your silly friend and on his stupid way of muddling everything up.... ’
At the Hotel des Palmes, they couldn’t find either the mother or the daughter. But the highly cooperative hotel manager gave Luigi every possible detail about a group which had arrived in Palermo with Gianna Arteni a couple of days before. They were joining her on a Mediterranean cruise on a yacht owned by the British banker Rowsett. Apart from Gianna and Rowsett himself, the group included the other people Vallesi had seen on Pellegrino Mountain: Lucilio and Miriam D’Alfedena, and M. le Comte d’Espinade.’
‘As you can see, our puzzle is recomposing itself,’ observed Renzi, once they were out of the hotel. ‘And every new piece is demonstrating the innocence of all the people on board the plane! If it seemed materially impossible that they could have had any part in the banker’s vanishing act, we could at least have suspected them of some very clever trick... but now.... ’ He stopped for a moment, trying to find some optimistic energy in the same pessimistic words he was saying. ‘So,’ he continued, with a sort of nervous excitement, ‘I really can’t choose amongst the three possible options: an impossible murder, an impossible suicide and an impossible accident! Everything is materially and psychologically impossible! Look at your brilliant sleuth of a friend, look how “the young hope of Italian police,” so praised by this very clever newspaper is so reduced!’
He crumpled the pages nervously, until his friend managed to rescue them from total destruction:
‘If you hate it so much, at least leave me the chance to read it!’
He restored the newspaper’s moral and physical integrity and he
searched and found the Flying Boat Mystery item, so Luigi was obliged to walk nervously, his hands in pockets, around the lamplight where his friend had stopped to read. At last, the latter lifted his head from the half-crumpled paper:
‘It seems that my colleague does not completely share your doubts. He firmly excludes the murder and accident options, and plumps for a desperate suicide solution! ’
‘Very good reasoning, the clever fellow! Certainly there’s no need to ask him how Agliati could have committed suicide through that wretched skylight. ’ Renzi seemed calmer and happier now. ‘And it’s not necessary to tell you that you must not use in any way my strictly personal confidences. But you’ll be the first to be informed of any new developments, don’t worry!’
‘The usual deal between sleuth and reporter, you can find it in any good mystery novel,’ smiled Vallesi.
Giorgio was still casually reading the newspaper in silence, when he grasped his friend’s arm:
‘Look here, Luigi, this is interesting.... ’
THE FLYING BOAT MYSTERY AGAIN
VANISHING BANKER'S WIFE IS GOING TO ITALY
Athens, the Thirteenth of....( as phoned by our local correspondent)
Maria Agliati, wife of famous banker Francesco Agliati, who vanished from a flying boat on the 12th, during the Ostia-Naples flight, is leaving on the Ausonia to Brindisi with her daughter Alice. They will arrive tomorrow in the evening and they will direct themselves immediately to Rome.
‘Yesterday's news, so they will arrive this evening,’ commented Renzi. ‘And tomorrow afternoon they will be in Rome. Another good reason to phone Galbiati.’
He dragged Vallesi to Police Headquarters, to the high commissioner's bureau.
‘I was trying to reach you at your hotel, Dr. Renzi.... ’
‘Any news?’
‘Regarding the Martellis... The detective shadowing them has discovered a connection with some very fishy people....’
Hoping for a long-awaited break, Giorgio and Luigi exchanged very interested looks.
‘Investigatore Agosti reported that the Martellis had immediately gone to a sordid hotel near to the station, the Italia, and had immediately made a phone call from the cabin in the hall, even before going up to their rooms. After they finished their very long call, Agosti was able to check with the switchboard that they had called a lawyer named Alfredini, a suspicious character we have had under strict observation for some time, hoping to be able to grill him at the first possible opportunity. His office had been a thriving concern some years ago, but he gambled away his reputation on the market and on the green table. Stocks and cards were his thirst and his damnation. He lost trust, fame and customers, but as of today, he’s still dealing with certain companies very interested in the new industrial development areas of Corleone and Piana dei Greci.’
‘Shady businesses, needless to say.’
‘Very, very shady, but without any legal evidence of certifiable crookedness. If only this time we could transform our suspicions into solid proofs... It would be very good news, very good news indeed!’
Vallesi smiled, thinking that Alfredini certainly wouldn’t be sharing that hope. In the meantime, a phone call from Agosti was passed through to the high commissioner and the two friends looked expectantly at the new developments:
‘Yes, I understand. 41, via Papireto... Yes, of course, we’re leaving now and will be there in ten minutes....’
The police car drove rapidly to via Papireto, where they could make out detective Agosti as an ominous shadow in a dark courtyard in front of shady Alfredini’s house.
Renzi was a bit embarrassed by his own presence at the stake-out, but the high commissioner reassured him:
‘Don’t worry, Dr. Renzi, we haven’t very much regard for this Alfredini fellow. A fishy individual, indeed! And he knows very well our opinion of him, and would, if he could, have escaped abroad ages ago, believe me!’
Their official raid left the manservant speechless and devoid of protest.
A strip of light filtered below the door of one of the rooms. After a tense eavesdropping, the high commissioner whispered:
‘He’s doing one of his tricks. He’s praising a certain big deal too much... It’s our cue, follow me!’
He knocked briefly on the door, opened it and he found himself in front of four people around a desk: the Martellis, Alfredini, and a big man with a sort of brazen self-important arrogance. Vallesi immediately noticed the parcel of stocks and shares on the big square desk. He had passed six painful months of his youth among these garish filigree-paper documents....
‘Up to your usual tricks, Signor Alfredini?’ asked the police chief.
Alfredini nodded, as he was uncertain about the other’s demeanour. In the absence of a reaction, the high commissioner pursued his heavily ironic attack:
‘Could you explain this very winning deal to us as well?’ He indicated the stocks and shares to the stuttering lawyer. ‘I have so much trust in you that I could almost buy some shares myself... Almost, only almost, of course!’
‘You could be very lucky, it’s really a big deal! The SFASO shares, issued by the Company for the Agricultural Development of Western Sicily, are very safe and highly rewarding....’
Giorgio approached the stocks on the desk. He was remembering something... He turned a share over and observed the violet stamp on it:
‘This is the option stamp, isn’t it? Privileged shares?’
Alfredini confirmed grudgingly:
‘For its 25th anniversary, SFASO issued a special privileged option share with a bonus of one free share for every three shares purchased....’
‘They’ve been rising, haven’t they?’
‘From 520 to 545, so far, and they will continue rising until the offer is ended.’
The Martellis were silent. Even the overbearing Signora Martelli had had to absorb her surprise at the police raid before intervening in the argument with her usual belligerent acrimony:
‘Now that we have persuaded these gentlemen, can we return to our business deal: we’ve agreed on 530, I believe?’
Alfredini had now absorbed the impact of the intrusion, and was recovering far faster than the two flying boat passengers; he even permitted himself a little dignified peevishness when he answered acridly:
‘Impossible, my dear lady, utterly and totally impossible! Quite ridiculous, indeed! I ask you, dear Commendatore, how could I sell for 530 such highly rewarding, highly remunerative, successfully rising stocks I obtained at.... ’ But his voice became less and less persuasive while he tried to follow the whispered conversation between Giorgio and Renzi, in a far corner of the room.
Now, on cue, the two actors were assuming centre stage:
‘Commendatore, we are hereby stopping a big fraud,’ announced Renzi. ‘My friend Vallesi is a banking expert and he can explain the trick with far more competent details, but basically we can say, if I understand it correctly, that SFASO issued two series of stocks, the privileged option shares, giving bonus rights and now reaching a value of 545; and the common shares, not giving any options or bonus rights and reaching only a teeny-weeny 525. The stocks on the desk, for example, having nothing to do with any options, apart from a very fake violet stamp on the back.’
Alfredini jumped out of the shadows and into the dark corridor, but after a shrill whistle from the police chief, and a moment of even more anxious waiting, a small confusion in the hall announced the triumphant arrival of the officers, one of whom appeared in the door frame:
‘Gotcha!’
This time the Martellis were really and truly petrified. The events were too much even for Signora Martelli’s venomous tongue. Even when the high commissioner, after a few words of officious reproach, announced severely that they were free to leave, they couldn’t shake off their astonishment, and only when the house was free of its intruders did they sleep-walk out of it, into the street of their defeat and discomfort.
Giorgio was still stunned and l
ost in thought:
‘So this was the motive for their sudden rush to Palermo,’ he commented at last.
‘Of course,’ smiled the very satisfied high commissioner. ‘I’m very grateful to you, dear colleague.’ He smiled at Luigi. ‘Your coming to Palermo permitted me to nail a crook I’d had my eye on for many months. I’ve waited ages for this chance, but somehow I don’t think that Alfredini will be quite as happy about your timely intervention.’
His self-satisfied laughter died in the silence. Giorgio noticed that his friend was worried, particularly when he threw back his head as he so often did to indicate a sort of thoughtless determination.
Back at the police HQ, Renzi immediately phoned his office in Rome.
‘Is that you, Galbiati?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did you receive Commissario Boldrin’s communication?’
‘I have the situation completely in hand, Dr. Renzi.’
‘Good. Did you arrest Marchetti when he arrived at the Termini Station?’
‘Yes sir. And with his suitcase full of human parts....’
‘His suitcase as well? Was he walking merrily along with it?’
‘Yes, with the armless and legless torso inside. The limbs had been very professionally sawn off.’
‘What does Marchetti have to say for himself?’
‘He seemed surprised when we arrested him. He was more angry than scared about the accusation, but he seemed utterly astonished and terrified once we opened the suitcase.’
‘But he admits that it’s his suitcase?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Yet he still claims to be innocent?’
‘Absolutely. After the first moment of astonishment, he began to claim, with a poker face and a vigorous and totally fake indignation that—.’
‘His poker face doesn’t match too well with his stupidity. God, he fell quite blindly and childishly into a very simple trap... What’s he saying now?’
‘According to him, he lost his friend Sabelli immediately after their release from Naples police. Sabelli stayed in a phone booth for some minutes....’
The Flying Boat Mystery Page 7
