From that moment on, the door took on the function of Destiny, determining the course of events each time it swung open like a terrible Nemesis.
7
Count Marchionni
The first to enter was a distinguished older man. He stood strong and erect, with an almost youthful elegance. Following him was a very small, slight man, who would nevertheless have turned heads in the street, his light grey suit was so flashy. His whole manner attracted attention. He wore rings on his fingers and a huge diamond on his brightly coloured cravat, and above that fantastic diamond and no less fantastic cravat was a common, ferret-like face, perpetually sniffing.
Cruni moved aside to let them in and closed the door behind them.
The elderly man came forward confidently. “I’d like to speak to the inspector in charge of the investigation. They told me at the station that he was here. I am Count Marchionni.”
His face was serious and cryptic. When he saw Giannetto, he moved not a muscle.
De Vincenzi instantly recovered his calm assurance. He went towards the unexpected arrivals and bowed coldly.
“Inspector De Vincenzi. I’m at your service.”
He then looked at Harrington and an ironic smile broke out on his face. “You’ve found something to do, Harrington!”
With a slight air of triumph the bejewelled man swiftly proclaimed: “I have the authorization of the chief constable, sir. The count has requested and obtained it!” He raised himself up on his heels.
“Precisely so,” Count Marchionni confirmed. “I fancied I’d avail myself of Harrington’s services. It’s not that I don’t have faith in the intelligence or ability of the functionaries working for Public Safety, but I think a private detective should be able to work freely. He can succeed where others fail. I’ve spent a lot of time living in England, and I am accustomed to considering the profession of private detective as necessary and indispensable.”
He paused, as if waiting for the inspector to raise some objection. But De Vincenzi kept quiet, so he continued.
“The chief constable made an effort to understand my reasoning and he realized above all how crucial it is for me to know the truth, the whole truth. Only then will I be able to protect my daughter’s honour from the slander and ugly comments being levelled against it.”
Giannetto, who had remained silent and motionless in a corner of the room, took a step forward. His face became paler still, if that were possible, and his eyes gleamed.
But De Vincenzi quickly stepped between him and Marchionni, fearing that Aurigi might lose control of himself. He said quickly, “I don’t understand, Count, how your daughter’s honour can even vaguely be an issue.”
“Until yesterday, my daughter was engaged to the killer.”
At the word killer, even De Vincenzi was visibly shocked.
Aurigi’s voice resounded with dull pain. “You can’t believe I’m a killer!”
Marchionni slowly turned towards him. “I don’t believe anything. I’m observing, trying to get to the bottom of this. I’m evaluating the situation. It’s for others to condemn.”
De Vincenzi intervened authoritatively. “Allow me, Count…” and he held up his hand, as if to prevent him physically from continuing.
He then turned towards the other side of the room and called Cruni. “Come here, sergeant.”
Cruni came into the room. The inspector indicated Giannetto.
“Signor Aurigi is under arrest. I entrust him to you, Cruni. Take him there, into the dining room, to await transfer to San Fedele. He must not speak with anyone. Close the door and don’t leave his side for any reason—not even for an instant.”
Giannetto listened to the words with complete indifference. He fell back into his state of torpor and offered not the least resistance when the sergeant came towards him and said courteously, “Come with me.”
They both disappeared into the dining room. Cruni closed the door.
All of this took place in seconds. The count witnessed it with no sign of surprise. The silence that followed was brief.
Casually, De Vincenzi offered Marchionni a chair. “Would you like to sit down, Count? Since you’ve gone against my wishes in coming here, I would like to ask you some questions.”
“I’m here for that reason as well,” the count replied as he sat.
De Vincenzi addressed Harrington.
“I believe you’ll want to take a look at the crime scene, Harrington. Since you’re authorized to follow the investigation, I’ll allow it. But do understand that the investigating magistrate will do with you as he wishes. For the moment, you aren’t bothering me in the least.”
The detective immediately assumed a friendly, confidential air.
“I hope, instead, to be of some help, sir. I know a bit more than this morning’s newspapers have published and I can tell you I already have a theory.”
“A theory, eh, Harrington?” said De Vincenzi with a faintly ironic smile. “It’s nice to have a theory… You should know that I, on the other hand, have no theory.”
The other man ignored the inspector’s irony. “Oh, you have only to get the little grey cells of your brain working!”
“That’s it,” said De Vincenzi. But then he broke off and said coldly, “So make them work, Harrington. Now is the moment to do so.”
He started for the door of the parlour and signalled to the detective to follow him. At the threshold, he pointed inside and said, “The body was found here, in this room. Do go in but don’t touch anything… in any case, we’ve already touched anything there was to touch.”
Harrington entered the room and murmured, “I can believe it, sir.”
De Vincenzi immediately turned to the count.
“Pardon me. As you see, I’m facilitating your detective’s duties… a good man, that Harrington. He’s been so anxious to start investigating a crime, a real crime. Give yourself an English name, like Sherlock Holmes, and you get involved only in information or surveillance… A martyr! But the good Lord has finally helped him out.”
He paused. Then, looking closely at Marchionni, he asked, “But how do you think the work of a private detective can help you, Count?”
“He might be of some help to the police and therefore speed up the investigation.”
There was sarcasm in his voice, but De Vincenzi seemed not to notice it and replied with perfect sincerity, “Thank you.”
“And then he might show everyone, if the need arises, that even though Giannetto Aurigi is his daughter’s fiancé, Count Marchionni has not hesitated to take a stand against him.”
“Assuming he’s actually guilty,” the inspector insinuated with a gentle smile.
The count looked at him attentively, almost marvelling.
“Oh, yes, naturally. Well, sadly, what hope can there be of his innocence? Have you found something? When will there be an inquest?”
“We’re at the beginning, as far as I’m concerned, at the beginning,” De Vincenzi replied, shaking his head. “As for the investigating magistrate, I don’t believe he’s even begun yet, aside from the formalities.”
“You see! No, no, I don’t believe one can have any illusions about it…” Marchionni stopped talking and bowed his head.
“It’s a complex crime, and terribly mysterious,” the inspector observed, if only to break the embarrassing silence. “Everything seems to point to Aurigi. It’s impossible to think who it could be if not him. And yet, logic balks at the idea.”
“Indeed, anyone who’d known him up until yesterday, anyone who’d trusted him completely, to the extent of welcoming him into their own family, would refuse to believe he was guilty. But for that very reason I fear that this time, reason is being confused with sentiment… or with personal advantage, and I considered it my duty to make a useful and concrete contribution to unveiling the truth.”
De Vincenzi’s irony was now obvious. “By engaging our friend Harrington’s investigative and deductive gifts?”
The cou
nt rose and said rather heatedly: “Precisely! In any case, he will act as a witness.”
“For us”—De Vincenzi was frosty—“there wasn’t any need for a witness.”
“Given your reasoning, Inspector, which can be said to be driven neither by sentiment nor by gain, why do you hesitate to accept the evidence… which is there, all of it implicating Aurigi?”
“Because it would be the first time a criminal had brought his intelligence and strategy into play in order to render his own guilt absolutely clear.”
“Well,” said Marchionni, shrugging his shoulders, “even if he were a killer, Aurigi would only be an accidental one.”
“Yes, but if one dismisses the idea of premeditation in this crime, it couldn’t have happened. And if one allows for it, it couldn’t have been carried out the way it appears to have been.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed the count. The inspector’s words seemed to have embarrassed him rather than anything else. To change the subject, and as if to get down to practicalities and confront the situation directly, he straightened up and said, “But you wanted to question me.”
De Vincenzi corrected him with too much courtesy to be sincere. “I requested an interview with you. I wouldn’t have allowed myself to question you. But I won’t hide the fact that I’m relying on whatever you want to tell me to make progress with the investigation.”
“I don’t know how, but you may begin.”
De Vincenzi seemed to be gathering himself together for a moment. Then, fixing his interviewee in the eye, he asked, “Yesterday evening, Giannetto Aurigi was with all of you at La Scala—in your box?”
“Aurigi is my daughter’s fiancé. I could try to justify this fact, which I cannot deny. But I prefer not to. She has been engaged for a year. She would have got married after Lent. I assure you, however, that I had already decided that the marriage would not happen.”
“Why? If you don’t mind telling me…”
“For the past few months Aurigi has been gambling. Last month he made a huge loss on the stock market. This month the situation was even worse. Even if it hadn’t happened… after what had happened he would never have been able to avoid ruin.”
“I see,” said De Vincenzi. “And what time did Aurigi leave the theatre last night?”
“After the second act of Aida. It must have been eleven.”
“Was he in the foyer with you?”
“That is clear enough,” Marchionni acknowledged with a brief smile. “It was I who invited him to come with me to the foyer for a conversation. The argument was heated, as heated as an argument in the foyer of La Scala can be, with all those people surrounding you, listening.”
“And from the foyer, Aurigi went on to leave the theatre?”
“No. He returned to the box. He stayed with my wife and daughter for a few minutes and then he bid us goodbye and left, saying he had a sudden headache.”
“You stayed in the box with the ladies?”
“Yes, naturally.”
De Vincenzi noticed that for the first time since he’d started giving his answers, Marchionni had shown some slight embarrassment. He stared at him.
The count pressed ahead. “In the meantime, the third act had begun… my daughter went to visit the Marchesa di Belmonte in her box and remained with her friend, the Marchesa’s daughter, until the end of the opera. She left the theatre with them and came back home in the Marchesa’s automobile.”
“I see,” murmured the inspector. “Therefore, your daughter came back to your palazzo at around one in the morning.”
“I make it exactly that time.”
“Did you see her come in?” De Vincenzi asked immediately, watching him closely.
“Yes. But why are you asking these questions? I don’t see how what I did with my family last night can interest you.”
“Exactly! It doesn’t. It’s only to get the timing right and to try to understand Aurigi’s movements that I’m asking how and where you and your family spent the evening.”
“If you’d really like to know, then I’ll tell you that after the show, I went to the Savini and then to the Clubino… I left the Clubino at two… or around two.”
“Oh!” exclaimed De Vincenzi. “Strange.”
The other man was sarcastic. “What’s strange? That I surrendered to a premonition, and was away from home at just the time when a homicide was being committed?”
“I believe in premonitions,” said De Vincenzi.
“But I don’t. And I’ll tell you that it was quite simply the argument I had with Aurigi that disturbed me. I felt he was hurtling towards his own ruin. I actually feared the worst, and I was worried about the effect on my daughter of a definitive separation. It was already inevitable.”
The count paced the room for several minutes before deliberately stopping in front of the inspector.
“My daughter loved her fiancé,” he stated with some force. “She had chosen him freely. She would have renounced her title in order to marry him.”
He went silent, waiting for De Vincenzi to say something. De Vincenzi kept quiet, so he began pacing the room once more, speaking to himself as if he’d forgotten that he was not alone.
“Certainly, I’d never have been able to think of something so terrible… but I knew that Aurigi was in the most serious financial difficulties… I saw him reduced to ruin… to bankruptcy… to flight, perhaps… I knew Maria Giovanna had had a violent confrontation with him just yesterday evening… I saw them speaking animatedly in the box and in the corridor.”
He stopped once more and looked at De Vincenzi, who was still quiet, watching him.
“Premonition, eh?” he said with a bitter sneer. “Intuition. What’s strange about my feeling nervous and upset?”
De Vincenzi thought he’d kept quiet for long enough.
“It wasn’t for that premonition of yours that I exclaimed: ‘Strange!’,” he said in a calm voice. “The strangeness lies elsewhere.”
The count was put on the defensive. “Explain yourself.”
“I was saying that it’s strange you could be there to see your daughter return home at one if you were at the Savini or the Clubino.”
The count was not terribly perturbed. He smiled. “Oh, so that’s it? In fact, I did not see her come back. The porter told me what time she came back last night and my wife confirmed it. Does any of this seem to you to be of the slightest significance?”
“None,” De Vincenzi said offhandedly.
“Exactly! None. And I don’t see why you should trouble your brain excessively in order to reconstruct the scene of the crime.”
“So you think. Yes, there can be more than one logical reconstruction. But all of them ring false, like cracked bells.”
Marchionni gave him a look of sincere commiseration. “So you’ve come to this conclusion!”
“No. I’ve not yet come to any conclusion… I’m still working on it.”
“Very well,” the count said coolly, as if to cut their conversation short. “But you’ll let Harrington look, and you won’t hinder his progress, isn’t that right?”
“Certainly not. Because he is really seeking proof of the truth.”
The count started for the parlour door. “I’m going to tell him, then, if you’ll allow it.”
De Vincenzi bowed. “But of course.”
When he got to the door, he called him back.
“Excuse me, Count. Might I possibly telephone the Contessa to ask her to receive me?”
Marchionni slowly turned. He looked at De Vincenzi with perfect composure.
“You cannot telephone the palazzo, Inspector.” He paused calculatedly.
Marchionni certainly is a clever man, De Vincenzi thought to himself. He understood perfectly what De Vincenzi was getting at with his request. And in fact he continued, with a hint of irony. “We don’t have a telephone. I’ve never wanted to install one.”
“Then, if you don’t mind, would you notify her of my visit yourself?”
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br /> “Naturally. I’ll tell my wife about it and you can come today, this afternoon.”
He answered De Vincenzi’s bow with a nod of his head, and disappeared into the parlour.
De Vincenzi stood still, lost in thought. The interview had opened up a new horizon. New, and rather unsettling. Where would things end up? At the moment, the drama was running down tortuous paths strewn with obstacles of every kind. Evidently, that gentleman had a plan, and it surely wasn’t the one he’d admitted to. De Vincenzi remembered the comparison he’d already made, and thought that Marchionni, too, rang as false as a cracked bell.
But why? Where was the crack in him, and what had caused it?
He paused before walking to the door of the dining room. He looked inside and signalled for Cruni to join him. He then closed the door straightaway. When the sergeant was beside him, he took his arm confidentially and said quietly, “Cruni, my friend… you trust me, right?”
He always used a little of the familiar tu with him as well as the more formal voi, according to whim.
Neither the words nor the tone of his superior surprised Cruni. He understood him and was fond of him. As an inspector, De Vincenzi didn’t harass his personal staff with too many demands. He was the only one who was always courteous with them. The only one who didn’t let them take the blame for his own errors, or land them with all the tedium of the job.
“I’ve been with you for eight years, sir,” he said, his voice betraying his emotion. “It’s you who should trust me… I’d do anything to show myself worthy of it.”
And he underlined the phrase vigorously, waving his fist around in the air.
A smile crossed De Vincenzi’s face. “I know, Cruni. However, right now I’m actually relying on you. I have to…”
He hesitated briefly, staring into the eyes of his employee. He read in them such frankness that he immediately took up the thread again.
“Cruni, I’m about to do something irregular… quite irregular… and you must do it with me, if you don’t mind. It’s necessary. Not only to save that man in there—” and he indicated the dining room door “—if he actually deserves to be saved.”
The Murdered Banker Page 7
