The commissario when he arrived was about forty, dressed in a suit that was most definitely not off the peg, his grooming highly polished. He had a hard, intelligent face and an overly large nose. He was small and wiry but exuding confidence. His politeness, she suspected was a veneer. Obviously, he was one ruthless cop and Luca had told her that he had risen up from the ranks. A Roman, he had transferred to the coastal fringe at his own request.
‘I suspect,’ Luca told her, ‘that he was spawned in the slums and knew intimately too many villains. Here he is an unknown quantity and can be what he wants. He is not so bad, as cops go.’
Alva could see where Luca got his assessment. The man had the stamp of someone who had had to pull himself up out of the streets but she did not find him in the least intimidating. Again, she suspected it was because of her ability to mix with so many different kinds of people. Probably it was why she had been good at her job in the past, that — more than ability with a word processor and telephone — had made her indispensable to Tony. Again the confirming thought just popped into her mind and she accepted it.
‘So, Contessa, perhaps you would tell me what happened? If you do not mind, from the beginning. I believe Signora d’Casta telephoned you and asked you to visit her, is that right?’
Taking a deep breath, Alva held it inside her for a few moments. She allowed herself to look directly at the commissario; his dark eyes were hard and his expression like that of a hawk examining its prey. He was not going to let her intimidate him, he had obviously decided, no matter her position. All the deference he had shown when he had first come in had gone; now he was professional. All men were created equal in his eyes — that would be his mantra. Alva knew the type and there would be just the tiniest core of resentment at the conte’s position, as if the commissario suspected that the conte imagined he could buy himself out of trouble with any authority. If only he knew, Alva thought, the opposite was true of Luca. He was not a man like that — or, Alva was certain, she could not love him.
‘Cara,’ Luca urged as if he suspected she had slipped into a trance, which in effect, she realized she had.
‘I’m sorry, Commissario. You must know that I lost my memory; things come hard for me.’
‘You cannot remember daily happenings?’
‘Oh no, I did not mean that. Thank God, I haven’t any sign of dementia. No, it is just that when I am going about my business things slip in and out of my head. Things that are not connected with what I’m doing. A memory, well a fraction of a memory to be exact, I had that just now. Something about my husband’ — she turned and smiled at Luca — ‘a rather pleasant realization about him.’
Luca looked back at her, unsure whether to smile or not.
‘But, I must get to the business at hand. Poor Rosa. Yes, she called. She was a little hysterical — ’
‘What do you mean?’ The hawk pinned her down.
‘Well, she said she had to see me but would not tell me what it was about. She was rather mysterious about it,’ which, Alva thought, was not entirely a lie. ‘And she couldn’t come here, I had to go there and I had to go alone. It was all rather strange because the signora and I were not close friends. I mean I don’t even know if I met her more than once?’ She looked at Luca.
‘You did, but not very much. I think if you met her at three social occasions that was it,’ he explained. ‘My wife met Signora d’Casta again at a dinner party a couple of weeks ago, here at the palazzo. For myself I cannot imagine why she wanted to see the contessa, unless … do you think she might have some information about the man that took you away, Alva. Did she say anything about that?’
‘Not a thing. As I said, she would not tell me anything over the telephone.’
‘Well go on, Contessa, you agreed to go and you left the house without telling anyone.’
Alva went on to explain about Carlo. How he was her bodyguard but Signora d’Casta had insisted she go alone, and so she had deceived the staff and Carlo into thinking she was going to lie down.
‘Why not tell them the truth?’
‘I thought that Carlo might follow me. He would believe that my husband would expect that of him. I admit, I’m a curious cat and if anyone tells me they want to reveal something I have to go for it. Inquisitive mind, I suppose. Besides, I thought she might be ill or something. She sounded so strange. With hindsight I realize it was silly of me. I should’ve had Carlo follow me — hindsight is great but it isn’t walking by your side when you make these stupid decisions.’
‘Yes, I can appreciate that. So you arrived at the villa and you saw no one and no one passed you on the road.’
‘No one, well there were just a couple of goatherds and their dog, but no one in a car or walking. Goodness, had I met a car I’m sure I would have died — how would they get past?’
‘There are passing places,’ the commissario said with serious concern, as if he doubted her ability to be a safe driver. ‘So then you arrived, what happened then?’
This took longer, as she began to explain how she had gone into the drawing-room and opened the shutters, the horror revisited her. She started to shiver and Luca crossed the room to sit next to her, wrapping a comforting arm around her.
‘The contessa is cold; perhaps a wrap would be good for her?’ suggested the commisario.
He obviously thought he was being crafty, but Luca was on to him. There was no way he would leave her alone. Going to the telephone he buzzed for a servant and asked for a wrap for the contessa.
It was accomplished in moments; the youngest maid had been dispatched to run up to the contessa’s bedroom and to come back with a shawl. The shawl was thick cashmere, a single green colour but it still reminded Alva of the shawl that had covered Rosa d’Casta’s head, the terrible scene that she had witnessed as she had removed the shawl.
‘Perhaps we could have some tea,’ Alva murmured to no one in particular but the maid obviously took it on herself to go and order it.
It was Claudia who brought it in. They had sat in silence as Alva had merely stared at the carpet unable to bring herself to relive those horrid moments.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said not for the first time. ‘I can’t do it … give me a moment.’
‘Take as long as you like. It is important that what you say is accurate,’ the commissario said.
‘Take some tea,’ Luca urged, pouring some into the thin white china cup.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the cup; folding the offending hand in the other she rubbed it, as if this would end the tremor. Oddly, it worked. She took up the cup and sipped the pale brown liquid.
‘You must think I am an idiot,’ she said to the commissario.
‘He thinks no such thing, Alva; you have been through so much. People understand that.’
‘Tell me, Conte, do you think the two could be connected. What happened to the contessa and what happened to Rosa d’Casta?’
Silence hung in the room; it was there even in the tiny dust motes that floated in a beam of sunlight.
‘I don’t see how it can,’ Luca said. ‘They have no connection. They were not friends; they shared no mutual secrets, or did you, cara?’ He turned and looked at her kindly.
‘No, of course we didn’t. I couldn’t stand the woman.’
There was a gasp from somewhere, maybe herself or Luca or perhaps the commissario. She realized when the words popped out that she could practically be condemning herself.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I’ve said it; I won’t try to explain it because I can’t. I met her for what I thought was the first time at the dinner party. She came late with some feeble excuse; she monopolized my husband all evening and was rude to everyone else. But for doing that I would not invite her again. I don’t think it warranted my going to her home and battering her over the head with some terrible instrument.’
‘You were jealous of her?’
‘Of course she was not, what is she to be jealous of?’ Luca snapped.
�
��No, not jealous exactly, I was annoyed with her. But I think I am rather used to women trying to steal my husband from me. I think it happened a lot. It did, didn’t it?’ she shot a look at Luca.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know really … but perhaps … ’
She warmed to his modesty; he did not want to admit that women found him irresistible … Ping, there it was — another little dart letting light into her dark mind.
‘Anyway, this isn’t relevant,’ she put her cup back on the saucer. ‘Now … now I think I can tell you what I found when I went into the drawing-room.’ Tugging the cashmere shawl close around her, she started her description and did not stop until she told him about running from the house and of sitting in the car and not being able to remember the emergency number.
‘Then, when I started to ring the palazzo, the police arrived. I don’t know how they knew what had happened … ’
But the commissario was not going to reveal that, he ignored the statement, saying.
‘No one was at the villa; there was no car, there was nothing?’
‘No one was there, there wasn’t a car, at least I didn’t see one.’
He sighed.
‘You see how difficult it is conte. The Contessa passed no one on the road, apart from the paesano, the police coming the other way also say they passed no one and yet someone had been and killed the signora.’
‘But they could have escaped before the police set off.’
‘The police were in the area. They had been to visit someone over a traffic accident. When the servant, Maria, heard the screams she ran away. To the villa that is just beyond the signora’s home. They telephoned and the police were there in seconds, as the contessa has confessed.’
‘I can see it looks strange,’ Alva said, trying to sound calm and reasonable but her heart had started to go like an express train. It looked as if she could be accused of what she had not done. The evidence was certainly not fanciful.
‘But the girl … Maria, I think you said … when she saw me she left the car and said something … the policeman was very rude to her but she pointed to me and said … what?’
‘That the person was a man. She had caught a glimpse of trousers, but you were wearing trousers.’
‘But she did not see my wife’s car!’
‘She saw no car but as you know, Conte, since you own the property, that there are huge bushes across the courtyard where people often parked because it offers shade. A small car would not be noticed there. The contessa could have put her car there and then have been driving away just as the police arrived.’
‘I was facing the wrong direction. My rear was to the police car, I had not turned around as I would have done if I were coming from the bushes.’
The commissario was staring at her now. She had not missed the sarcasm when he had said that ‘since you own the property,’ to the conte, as if that implied that perhaps Rosa d’Casta was allowed to live there because she was more than a friend.
It could be true, Alva thought, the woman could have been his mistress. After all, they had been separated some time and he was a man who — Wildly, she looked at him, was that it? Was that why the commissario was suspicious of her — because the murdered woman and Luca had been lovers? In a place like Santa Caterina things were never kept secret for long, she knew that only too well.
There is that — you were only sitting in the car, you had not started the engine and you were not where you should have been had you wanted to hide yourself. Unfortunately, contessa, your fingerprints are the only other ones in the room, you touched the body, and you had blood on your hands … ’
‘It came off the shawl when I lifted it and I touched Rosa’s neck to find a pulse.’
‘This is ridiculous!’ Luca exploded. ‘Do you really imagine my wife could do that? Look at her, she is so frail … ’
‘One blow could have felled the woman and then while she was down she could have been beaten senseless.’
‘Could have been,’ Luca picked up on the ‘could’ that seemed to add doubt to this theory.
‘Our experts believe that is what happened. The signora was struck, she fell to the floor and then continued to be beaten. We know this because she had put up her hands and they were covered with bruises … ’
‘Oh my God,’ Alva gasped. ‘That is so — ’ She started to shake again, her imagination illuminating the scene in her mind. She put up her hands behind her head as if it were she who was warding off the terrible blows. ‘That poor woman, what could she have known, or done to make someone hate her like that?’
‘Hate? Yes, it did look as if someone really hated her. A woman’s kind of hatred.’
Alva looked at the commissario, feeling helpless. A wave of tiredness hit her, her eyelids fluttered, if she let herself she could drift away. Was this why she had been saved from the sea, just so that she could now be accused of murdering someone? Better to have drowned, or for her to have died when the car tried to run her down, or even when she had allegedly fallen down the stairs. The brief bout of happiness she had clawed back was now eroding fast. It was as if someone with a motive wanted to punish her … but for what?
‘No weapon has been found,’ the commissario murmured. ‘And you Contessa would have had no time to hide it somewhere where it would not be found. I do not think it was you. I might be overruled when the evidence is examined once more, but I doubt it. You have no real motive, if you did not like the woman, well then I do not like many people but I would not beat them to death. And as the conte has consistently pointed out, you have been a victim yourself. I believe it is a conspiracy but how and why I do not know. However, I do assure you I will find out.’
*
If only that were the end of it, Alva thought, in the wake of the commissario’s departure. But it was not to be. A deal had had to be struck, or an arrangement made, as the commissario put it.
Luca held her close to him, they were sitting on the sofa and the afternoon sun had fled the sky. Neither had bothered to light lamps, preferring the dim glow of late afternoon.
‘I don’t like it,’ Luca said, not for the first time.
‘I don’t like it much either, Luca, but if it brings the rats from their nests then I am all for it. Do you think it could all be connected as he suspects, that somehow Rosa and I shared a secret?’
‘I wish I knew for certain but I really doubt it. You had nothing in common with Rosa. I think it a coincidence.’
The commissario had asked them both not to say anything about Alva’s ordeal, not to let anyone know that as far as he was concerned he believed her story. The less said about it the better it would be. He would talk with the magistrate, of course, but if the real killer thought he was in the clear, he might yet overplay his hand. If suspicion still rested on the contessa he might even try to speak with her to find out just what she knew.
‘But you must be careful. You must never go anywhere without protection,’ the commissario told her. ‘No matter who calls or whatever they tell you. You could be in real danger, Contessa.’
‘I think I am in danger whatever,’ she had said. And when she had said the words she was amazed how less afraid she felt. There was nothing she could do about it, but she could protect herself. She would not go out without Luca or Carlo. No one would tempt her again, no matter what they said they had to tell her. Fear had put her on the alert; it had sharpened her senses. She would be strong and she would use the adrenalin pumping through her to good advantage.
‘Someone believes I know something and Rosa knew something too. But the two might not be connected. You know, I rather gave the impression to Antonio that I was well again, that I remembered things … ’
‘Antonio? But why should what you told him matter?’
Ah, he liked Antonio and trusted him. After all, he was the one who had lied about her throwing herself down the stairs, but he was the one that Luca had believed instead of her.
‘Perhaps he said something to someone
else or it was repeated elsewhere and whoever wanted to harm me heard it and panicked.’
‘It seems unlikely,’ Luca said softly. ‘Besides, Antonio is not a gossip. No, it does not come from here. It is someone, somewhere, who does not care whether you have remembered or not. They are just afraid that you might remember.’
‘All right,’ she whispered, letting him believe what he wished. Anyway, Luca could be right. If she carried a secret then she was a danger while she lived because if she regained her memory she could expose them. Better that they did not take the risk of her memory returning. They could not wait for that to happen, they had to act before it did.
‘It’s cold,’ she said, snuggling against him.
‘I think it is time we lighted the fire would you like that? A real fire … come here,’ he held her to him tightly. ‘My poor brave, Alva, you should not have to go through all this.’
‘I know, I should just live a normal life, but it seems I’m not destined for that. And yes, Luca, I should love a real fire … and a glass of wine before dinner … I want to chase it all out of me, Luca and just enjoy this night … ’
‘Then that is what you will do, let me call for Guido … ’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alva had vivid dreams. She awakened slowly, as if not wanting the reality to intrude. Luca lay on his side beside her. He was sleeping, his face worry free, and looking younger in repose, the concerns and worries he had for her obliterated by deep sleep. Her dreams had gone further back than her time with Luca. She had dreamed of her parents. For the first time since she had been run over, she saw their faces. Her mother was like her, blonde and small and delicate, her physical attributes hiding the toughness inside her, her dad was taller, darker, with friendly blue eyes.
Shadows of the Past Page 13
