"Do you believe those stories?"
Marco shook his head. "Of course not. Old people often delight in mischief. They have nothing left to lose, and they love to rattle others." He smiled. "Sheer boredom, I believe."
"Have you heard the story about you?"
The doctor blanched. "What do you mean?"
"They say your wife forced you into marriage with a secret she threatened to spill."
Marco threw back his head and laughed. It sounded convincing. "Commissario, any man with eyes in his head would be happy to marry my wife. There was no need to force me into it. On the contrary. I can't believe that you considered that story even for one second."
Beauty isn't everything. "So far, I reserve my judgment." Garini got up. "Thank you for your time, doctor."
II
Carlina lifted her head and smiled at the man dithering on the door step of Temptation. She had opened the doors wide to let in some fresh air. "Buongiorno," she said without getting up from her bar stool behind the counter. He looked like one of those guys who needed a bit of encouragement but would be scared if she took a direct approach. She was proud of her instinct, honed by many years of retail experience. Some people turned tail the minute you talked to them, some did if you left them alone too long. He looked like an American, and Americans loved small talk. "It's a lovely autumn day, isn't it?" she added in English.
The man relaxed and returned her smile. "It sure is."
She had been right. His accent was American.
"Your English is very good," he said.
She grinned. Trust Americans to start with a compliment. "That's because I was raised in the US."
"Really?" He came closer. "Whereabouts?"
"Seattle."
"My best friend is from Seattle."
Someone usually is. Carlina nodded. "It's a great city. Wonderful landscape, with both the mountains and the sea so close."
"It sure is." His vague answer told her he had never been to Seattle. But it had done the trick. Now that the preliminaries were over, he felt confident enough to broach his delicate subject. "I was wondering if I should buy some underwear for my wife." His gaze darted over the golden horn display like a deer in panic.
Carlina still didn't get up, but she bent forward to show him he had her full attention. "That's a great idea," she said. "Do you have anything particular in mind?"
He looked at the floor. "I . . . um. I've never done this before."
"I will help you." Carlina smiled at him. "Let's start with her favorite color. What does she wear most?"
"Oh." Her customer looked nonplussed. "Green. She likes green."
How unusual. Better not trust this statement too far. "Does she wear more white or black underwear?"
He seemed more confident now. "White."
"Very good." Carlina gave him an encouraging smile. "Last question. Does she prefer flowery patterns or plain ones?"
"Oh, she likes flowers very much."
"Then I have just the thing for you." She led him to the display to her left and pointed at a white bra with a slim fringe of lacy flowers. "This is a very popular model because it can be worn beneath a t-shirt or white blouse, but it still has a special something. We also have a matching slip." She touched the fringe.
His face lit up. "I like it."
"Do you happen to know her size?" Carlina turned her back to him so she wouldn't make him feel embarrassed when he realized he had no idea. His silence told her enough. "Is she taller or smaller than I am?" She smiled over her shoulder and bent down to open the drawer.
His gaze darted over her figure. "Em. Taller. As in wider." He made a wide move with his hand.
Carlina suppressed an amused smile and fished out a bra two sizes larger than hers and a matching slip in size L. "Is your wife with you in Florence?"
"Yes, she is. We're celebrating our twentieth anniversary tomorrow, and I want to give it to her as a surprise gift."
"What a lovely idea." Carlina took the bra and slip to the cash register. "Shall I wrap the set as a gift, then?"
He gave a sigh of relief. "That would be great."
"That'll be ninety-five Euros." Carlina ignored his shocked silence and wrapped both items in the creamy tissue paper she used for gifts. "If the size should not fit, she can come back and exchange it as long as you don't take off the labels. There's no price on them." She dropped the parcel into a shiny little bag with 'Temptation' written on the outside.
He placed his credit card on the counter with a stunned expression.
Carlina processed the credit card and smiled at him. "Your wife will be delighted. I would be, if I were in her place."
He found his smile again. "I hope so. Thank you for your help."
"My pleasure." She followed him out of the store and lifted her hand in a farewell gesture. "Better hide the bag inside your jacket."
"Oh." He nodded. "I will."
She waved him off and turned around only to find herself nose-to-nose with Garini. Her smile faded, but her heart seemed to get something wrong, for it started to beat quicker. "Oh, it's you again. What do you want?"
"That was a very skillful manipulation."
Carlina narrowed her eyes. "It's called sales advisory service. I helped that man find a perfect gift for his wedding anniversary. Some even call it an art, an art that combines psychology with instinct and product knowledge."
He gave her a mocking smile. "Is it?"
She decided to change the subject. "How come you've been listening in again, Garini? Nothing better to do?"
"I was just standing in front of your window, admiring these, ah, brown nylons." He made a move with his hand toward her mannequin. It had hidden him from her view.
"Aha." Carlina lifted an eyebrow to show her disbelief. "Do you want to purchase the nylons?"
"No, I don't."
"Pity. I could do with some turnover."
He frowned. "I thought you're doing quite well."
"I was." Carlina relished each word. "Until I had to rush off to the police station all the time." She put her head to the side. "Have you come to take me somewhere again?"
He smiled.
Carlina's heart skipped a beat.
"No. This time, I've come to ask your assistant a favor."
"Oh." She averted her face so he wouldn't see how disappointed she was. "You're out of luck. She's not here this afternoon." And how come he never asked her a favor but ordered her about as if she held the lowest possible rank in his army?
"Do you know where she is?"
Carlina shook her head. "No. But I can call her on her cell phone, if you want."
He nodded. "Thanks."
Carlina talked to Elena with her back to him, so he wouldn't see the fake leopard skin cover on her cell phone. She didn't want to hear another snarky remark. When she had Elena on the line, she said over her shoulder. "She's with her mother."
"Good. That's what I had hoped. Can she stay with her for a while? I wish to come and talk to her mother."
Elena said she would wait and Carlina slipped her phone back into her handbag.
"Thanks." Garini looked at her, a curious light in his eyes.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing." He turned around and left without a backward glance.
Carlina stared at his back, her feelings in turmoil.
III
Signora Certini laid propped up in bed, a cushion twice as large as herself behind her. Her brown hair had been combed back into a ponytail, and bony shoulders defined a fragile frame beneath the flannel night dress in pale rose.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Signora Certini." The Commissario sat in an upholstered armchair next to the bed while Elena stood at the open door and watched them. The room smelled of menthol and lilies, and it was much too warm. "But I need to ask you a few questions. I'll try to make it as short as possible."
A faint smile creased Signora Certini's mouth. Her tight skin looked papery and blotched, like brittle paper.
>
Stefano's heart constricted. His mother's skin had looked like that.
"It's no problem, Commissario." Her voice was low but clear. "I quite enjoy visitors."
"Thank you." Garini smiled at her. "Your daughter mentioned that you take morphine. Is this true?"
"Yes." Signora Certini looked at her daughter. "Show him the prescription, love."
Elena handed Garini a piece of paper with the signature of Enrico Catalini.
"Enrico Catalini is your usual doctor?"
"Yes." Signora Certini moved her hands on the bed cover as if she wanted to feel its texture. "He's a nice man."
"How often do you get a new prescription?"
"Once a week." Elena answered. "The doctor comes every Tuesday, and I take it to the pharmacy."
"Please tell me about the week when the morphine disappeared."
"It was the week when you felt so bad on Thursday and the doctor had to come again," Elena said.
Signora Certini nodded. "Yes, I know. On Tuesday evening, Elena bought the morphine as usual before she went out. That week, quite a few visitors came to see me." She straightened her shoulders with a smile that showed how proud she was of her visitors. "On Wednesday, Carlina from Temptation came because Elena told her I would like to meet her. She's a sweet woman. Right afterward my old friend Fabbiola brought some flowers." She looked at her daughter. "We laughed because they missed each other by a few minutes, and they live in the same house."
Elena nodded.
"Then Maria and Alberta came. You might know them. Maria is Teodoro Mantoni's wife, and Alberta is Fabbiola's eldest sister."
The Commissario frowned. "They were both here that day?"
"On Wednesday, yes." Signora Certini inclined her head. "We used to play cards together, before I got ill. Now they often come to visit me, but I can't play cards anymore." She sighed. "It tires me too much."
"It seems incredible that so many members of the Mantoni family came to your house the very week the morphine disappeared." Garini wanted to hit his head against a wall in frustration. What a case. Every step forward was followed by two steps back.
"That's not unusual," Signora Certini said. "Fabbiola and I have been friends since Kindergarten and we used to live next to each other, so I played with all of the Mantoni kids. When Fabbiola moved to America, I started to see the other Mantoni girls more often."
Garini bent forward with a sudden idea. Maybe the trail to the morphine turned out to be cold, but he saw an opportunity to learn more about Carlina's father. He had to take it easy, though, otherwise Signora Certini would clam up. "I imagine many people missed Fabbiola when she left Italy."
"Oh, yes." Signora Certini looked into the distance, her mind more than thirty years in the past. "Her father was furious that she married a foreigner, and even worse, a foreigner she knew only four weeks." She smiled a little. "But he was good-looking and sexy, and we all envied her. Against him, poor Angelo didn't have a chance. Angelo was her boy-friend before, you see.” She frowned. “He had a funny name, the American. Paul." Her mouth formed the word with care. "Like Paolo."
"She married him after four weeks?" Garini tried to sound amused and not like a terrier sniffing out a trail. He took off his jacket and wished he could take off his shirt too. It was way too hot in this room.
"Yes." Signora Certini sighed. "It was love at first sight.” She shook her head. "Poor Angelo, he was so angry, he wanted to force her to stay, but I told Fabbi to follow her heart." She nodded to herself. "She made the right decision, though she was unhappy first in America. Who could have known that Paul would die so young?" She made it sound as if she had expected better from a nation as sturdy as the Americans. With another sigh, she folded her thin hands on the bed cover. "You never know the will of our good God."
"Did Angelo ever marry?" Garini made sure his voice sounded as if he enjoyed the gentle reminiscence and leaned back in his chair, pretending he wasn't interested in Signora Certini's answer.
"Not he." Signora Certini shook her head. "He never looked at another woman. He's single to this day. We all thought they would get married when Fabbiola came back . . ." She fell quiet and stared into the distance, her face drawn in.
Elena leaned forward. "Here, Mama, drink a bit. That'll make you feel better." She handed her mother a glass of water from the table next to the bed.
Signora Certini took the glass and sipped from it like an obedient little girl, then handed it back to her daughter.
Elena bent forward to place it on the side table.
Signora Certini continued as if the interruption hadn't occurred. "She was such a pretty widow. But with three kids not his own . . ." She lifted her thin shoulders and dropped them again. "It would have been difficult."
"So he didn't even try to get her back?" Garini asked. God, I sound as if I'm hooked on trashy romances.
"He did." Signora Certini slid a bit deeper into the cushion. "But Fabbi sent him away. She said it wasn't the same." She shook her head. "I told her to marry him, but she refused. Not very wise, if you ask me. Carlina would have coped."
"Carlina knew of it?" Damn. His question had sounded too sharp. He smiled at Signora Certini to take off the edge.
Signora Certini didn't notice. "She was a teenager, and a true daddy's girl. She took it hardest. The other two, they were younger and soon settled in, but not Carlina. Fabbi was afraid Carlina wouldn't accept Angelo."
"But she never tried?"
"No," Signora Certini's face looked drawn now. She had paled in the last minutes until she looked as white as her pillow. "She never tried."
Stefano bent forward. "I won't bother you much longer, Signora Certini. Just one last question: Do you know where I can get in touch with Angelo?"
She nodded. "He's an architect. They both were architects, Paul and Angelo. That's how they met." Her voice was so low now, he had to lean forward to catch it. "His last name is Soccio."
IV
"Roberto, it's me, Stefano." Garini dodged a Vespa and hopped across a puddle. It had started to rain while he was at Signora Certini's. The street smelled of wet dust.
"Stefano! I thought you'd gone on vacation." Roberto's chuckle came through the phone. "Haven't seen you for ages."
Stefano sighed and crossed the Piazza della Repubblica with long steps. "We met some days ago at the pizzeria. Remember?"
"But that's what I mean," the pathologist said. "Normally, you call me every five minutes after a murder. What's happening this time?"
"I'm calling you now." Stefano hurried past the red-and-white merry-go-round. "Listen, is it possible that a certified doctor could have missed the signs of morphine poisoning on the body of Nicolò Mantoni?"
Roberto's answer came like a bullet out of a gun. "Not if he's a pathologist."
"He's a general practitioner, and a young one."
"Which university does he come from?"
Stefano frowned. "Does it matter?" He passed a little restaurant now, and a scent of roasted panini with molten cheese floated out. Stefano's stomach grumbled.
"Not really." Roberto's voice still sounded cheerful. "It's just nice to know that someone who's making an ass of himself isn't from my university."
"So are you saying it's possible or not?"
"Of course it's possible." Roberto's voice was light and happy. "'After all, the victim just falls asleep and you don't see why until you open him up. Still, the body was moved after the death. Even you noticed that."
"The young doctor said he only uncovered the torso."
Roberto clicked his tongue. "That's general practitioners for you. They're all the same. Superficial. Only used to the living, unable to read a body." He sounded disapproving, as if he was being forced to watch an apprentice mishandling a piece of art. "Never trust a general practitioner, I say. It's amazing, the things they miss. They wouldn't even notice if--"
"If a body rose up and bit them in the nose," Stefano supplied.
Roberto shouted with laughter.
"Well said, Stefano! I didn't know you could be funny! Where did that come from?"
Stefano smiled. "Oh, go back to your bodies, Roberto. You've been no help at all."
"Thanks for the compliment!" Roberto hung up with a chuckle.
When Stefano reached his office, he looked up Angelo Soccio and arranged a meeting with him two hours later at the cafeteria of the Biblioteca delle Oblate. Then he found out the name of Annalisa's teacher and asked him for a meeting in three hours, sent an e-mail to Piedro with detailed instructions how to inquire into the background of Marco's university, and wrote a confidential letter to the bank where Alberta's son, the Dubai investor, was employed. He checked his watch. Forty minutes to go. Time enough to file a request to check the financial situation of Uncle Ugo who had such surprisingly good cameras. Then he had to commit every detail into his report. Just before leaving the office, he placed a copy of the report onto Signor Cervi's desk. It made him feel he had covered all the ground he could, but a nagging feeling that it was all useless persisted.
V
The cafeteria of the Biblioteca delle Oblate was situated on the top floor of the library and included a large terrace. When Garini went through the glass door that led outside, he stopped in surprise. He knew that the library was situated in a former convent, but nobody had told him that its terrace offered a magnificent view. Below, he could see into the atrium of the building, surrounded by two stories of graceful arcades that immediately made him picture nuns going to prayer. He turned his head. Beyond the red-tiled roofs of the neighboring houses the dome arose like a mirage. The sky had cleared up and now the sun was setting in soft pastel colors, tinting the red marble of the dome and the terracotta tiles in such intensive hues that it took his breath away. He smiled. The beauty of Florence made up for many ugly things he saw in his work.
Only a handful of people were scattered across the terrace, but from the corner of his eye, Garini noted a massive man who was looking as if he was expecting someone. Garini went up to him.
Delayed Death (Temptation in Florence Book 1) Page 18
