Ernesto stumbled into the room. “Something terrible has happened.”
Carlina jumped up and put her arm around the trembling shoulders of her young cousin. “Ernesto! What happened? Are you hurt?”
“No, no, it's not me.” Ernesto gasped for air. His face was so pale that his red hair shone in contrast as if it was lit up from within.
“Here, sit down.” Carlina guided him to the bed and waited until he had dropped onto it, then took his hand.
Stefano disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water. “First, drink this.”
Ernesto took it and gulped down a mouthful. His teeth chattered against the rim.
Carlina and Stefano exchanged a glance.
“Now tell us.” Carlina rubbed her cousin's hand.
“I . . . I've never seen a body in my life.” Ernesto shuddered. “I . . . I didn't think it would be so . . . demeaning. It looked horrible. And it felt so--” He gulped. “I touched his hand, you know. It was dreadful. Clammy. Rubbery.”
“Whose hand, Ernesto?” Garini's voice was both calming and compelling. “Who's dead?”
“I don't know his name.” Ernesto's whole body shook. “It's the . . . the manager of the hotel.”
Carlina's jaw dropped. “Alfonso Rosari?”
“Yes, him.” Ernesto nodded.
“And you're sure he's dead?” Garini asked.
Ernesto pressed his eyes shut. “Oh, yes. There was blood everywhere.”
“Blood?” Carlina's voice was high. “Where did the blood come from?”
“I don't know.” Ernesto shuddered again. “I didn't look. I touched him, and then, I ran to you. Straight away. It was the only thing I could think of.”
“Where did you find him, Ernesto?” Garini's voice was calm.
“At the pool.” Ernesto covered his face with his hands. “He was lying by the pool.”
Garini grabbed his shirt and pulled it on. “I'll go have a look.”
Ernesto grabbed Carlina's hand. “Can you stay here, Carlina? Please.”
Carlina hesitated. On the one hand, she wanted to join Stefano, to have a look and see the scene for herself. On the other hand, she couldn't leave Ernesto all alone in the room, still in shock. Besides, if she really thought about it, she wasn't sure that she wanted to see the body. She still remembered finding her grandfather dead last September, and that image had stayed with her far too long.
She looked up and met Stefano's eyes. “All right. You go, but--”
He lifted his eyebrows.
“Be careful.”
His face softened. “I always am.”
Garini slipped through the door and shut it without a sound. All senses alert, he rapidly went down the stairs. Everything was dark and quiet. He couldn't even hear a television blaring anywhere. A quick glance at his watch told him that it was now a quarter to one. Ernesto must have burst into their room at half past midnight or so. A mere ten minutes, and everything had changed.
He knew that the reception closed down at midnight; that's why every guest got a key to the front door. He went through that door now, noting that he could simply pull it open without using his key, and turned to the right to circle the house to reach the pool. His feet crunched on the gravel. He stepped away from the path and walked on the short grass, listening and looking for the slightest sign of life, but everything was quiet. All the windows of the hotel were dark. Well, no wonder. The family had spent the whole day at the beach, and the full exposure to the sun, combined with an extensive dinner, had made them fall into bed like logs. Even the cicadas seemed to have gone to sleep early tonight.
Small lamps illuminated the path at regular intervals, and several spotlights – now muted – made the pool look appealing, even in the middle of the night. They also highlighted the dark shape lying next to the pool.
Garini knelt down beside the dead man who was stretched out on his back, his arms flung out at his sides. He touched the hand. It was cool to the touch but not stiff. A quick look confirmed that the victim had been shot through the chest. The blood had spread from the wound onto the flagstones underneath the body. Garini frowned, got up and looked all around. There was no weapon in sight.
Light. He needed more light. And a forensic team. But no. This wasn't his case. He pulled out his phone and called the police, giving a short account of the facts without revealing his profession. Let them deal with it. He was on vacation.
Then he settled back to wait, taking deep breaths of the balmy summer night air. From an open window, a snoring sound wafted out into the night. Someone was having good dreams. Uncle Teo? It sounded like him.
Garini folded his arms across his chest and stared into the dark. What had Ernesto been doing at twelve thirty in the morning next to the pool? He distinctly remembered how the young man had gotten up from the table around eleven, yawning, saying he wanted to go to bed early. Had he met a group of friends? If so, why hadn't he told them? Sure, Benedetta was an anxious mother, but Ernesto was eighteen and often went out late at night in Florence to play computer games. Garini shook his head. He would have to ask him.
It was unfortunate that Carlina had some history with the dead man. He would have welcomed it if for once, she'd had nothing to do with the case at all. On the other hand, she only had a slight connection to the dead man this time. A coincidence. Nothing to worry about. And he could give her an alibi. They had spent the whole day and night together.
A siren wailed through the night, then Garini saw a blue light pulsating behind the trees that framed the hotel.
Heavy steps crunched over the gravel, and a fat policeman appeared in front of him. His hair stood up as if he had jumped right out of bed in a hurry, and his shirttail hung loose over his trousers.
Behind him, a bony man appeared. He carried probably only a third of the fat man's weight and looked like a small boat tugging alongside a huge ocean liner. His thin hand clutched an unwieldy flashlight that he shone at everything and anything without stopping for an instant.
Garini wondered what he could see at that speed and turned his gaze away before it made him dizzy.
“Buona sera,” the fat man wheezed. “Are you Stefano Garini who called the police?”
“Yes, sir.” Garini waited patiently. It felt good to be a bystander for once. He decided to be a perfect witness. Succinct, to the point, showing no curiosity. He wondered how soon he could return to Carlina.
“You say you found a murdered man? Shot?”
Seeing that the fat man was almost standing on top of the victim, the question was superfluous, but Garini nodded. “That's right.”
The fat man looked for a fleeting instant at the victim and murmured under his breath, “Unfortunate. Very unfortunate.” Then, with an abrupt gesture, he turned back to Garini and gave him a sharp glance. “Did you kill him?”
Garini was taken aback. “No, I didn't.”
“Ninety percent of the people who find the victim are the murderer.” This was said with a sense of finality and in utter sincerity.
“What?” Garini's jaw dropped. “Excuse me, but I happen to know that that is completely wrong.”
The fat man stared into space, and an expression that looked very much like regret flitted over his face. “A pity.”
Garini had the impression that he was having a surreal dream. On a subconscious level, he noted that the thin policeman had started to wander around and was flashing his light into the shrubbery around the pool. Before he could stop himself, he barked at him, “You, there! Stop running around in the middle of the crime scene! Don't you know that you can destroy important clues?”
The thin policeman jumped and dropped the flashlight. It spun around in a half circle and ended up illuminating the victim's face.
The fat policeman shuddered and averted his face.
Garini blinked. He was having a very strange dream indeed. When would he wake up? “Where's your forensic team?” His voice came out sharper than he'd intended.
Garini realized that he was strangely reluctant to tell the truth. Being on the other side had some unpleasant side effects. Then again, he knew how lies to protect someone who was innocent could hamper a case. How often had he been exasperated by a case that was completely muddled up by well-meaning people. He overcame his reticence and plunged in. “Actually, I didn't find the victim. I only reported the murder.”
“Then who found the victim?”
Really, this policeman had a strange way of conducting an investigation. He seemed to make a bee line for the one who found the victim, discarding all other facts left and right. Garini wished he could conceal Ernesto's role, but his training took over. He had to tell the truth. “His name is Ernesto Santorini.”
“Ah.” The fat man nodded until all his chins wobbled. “Then he's the murderer.”
Garini shook his head in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”
“Ninety percent of the people who find the victim are the murderer,” the policeman repeated his mantra.
“One hundred percent of the policemen who believe that are wrong.” Garini made sure his voice sounded icy.
The fat man reared back. “Who are you?”
“My name is Stefano Garini.” Garini waited, and when nothing came, he added, “And yours?”
“Me?”
“Yes. What's your name?”
“I'm Commissario Pucci.”
Garini nodded and made a move with his head toward the thin man who had picked up the flashlight and was checking it for possible damage. At least he had stopped trampling around. “And what's his name?”
“This is my assistant Ambrosiano.”
Garini choked. He could hardly imagine anything less ambrosia like than this bony bundle of a man.
“This Ernesto you mentioned,” Commissario Pucci said. “Where is he?”
“He's at the hotel. He's had a shock.”
“A shock, eh? Well, it affects some murderers this way.”
Garini opened his mouth, but before he could say something, Pucci turned to his assistant. “Ambrosiano! Come with me. We're going to the hotel. We'll talk to this Ernesto.”
“You haven't secured the crime scene,” Garini said. He couldn't believe his ears. This was the worst police investigation he'd ever seen. They didn't even cover the basics, something you learned in your first month on the job.
“Ah, yes.” Pucci stopped and looked around. “Well, Ambrosiano, I suggest you stay here, then. The forensic team will arrive in a minute, and they can take the body to the morgue.”
Ambrosiano clutched the light to his chest and threw a scared look at the shadowy shrubbery. “All right.” He had a throaty voice that sounded as if he had a severe cold.
Pucci looked at Garini. “You – what's your name again?”
“Garini.”
“Yes. Garini. Show me the way to this Ernesto.”
Garini swallowed his pride and inclined his head with hauteur. “Certainly.” He led the man back into the hotel but stopped in front of the door of his room. “One moment, please. I'll just have to alert my--”
Commissario Pucci pulled himself up to his full height. It looked as if a pear tried to become a sausage. “You can't go in there and discuss things with a suspect. I have to be present.”
Enough was enough. Garini blazed him a look. “If you had taken one moment to learn more facts, you would have found out that I'm sharing this room with my girlfriend who happens to be the cousin of Ernesto Santorini. I'm only going in to make sure that she's properly dressed before admitting you. And that's already a huge favor, Commissario Pucci.” He spat out the title of the policeman. “It would be by far more professional if you'd arranged for a room somewhere in the hotel to conduct your interviews there.”
The Commissario shook his head. “Not necessary. This will soon be cleared up.”
Before Garini could throttle him, the door opened and Carlina slipped out. She was dressed in a sweater and a pair of shorts. “Shush. Do be quiet. You don't want to wake the whole family, do you?”
Garini winced. How right she was. Adding Carlina's mother, Fabbiola, to the mix or even worse – Ernesto's mother, Benedetta - would certainly not help.
Carlina looked at the fat man. “Are you the investigating officer?”
Pucci squared his shoulders. “I am. And I demand to see this Ernesto right away.”
Carlina nodded. “Certainly. He's been expecting you.” She opened the door wide and let Pucci enter.
As soon as Pucci's back was turned, Stefano lifted both hands in an apologetic gesture.
Carlina smiled at him and followed Pucci into the room, then sat next to Ernesto on the bed. She was so close to him that their shoulders touched. “Here's the police, Ernesto. Best tell him everything at once, so you can put this terrible experience behind you as soon as possible.”
Ernesto balled both hands into fists and placed them with military precision onto his legs. Then he looked at the fat man in front of him.
Pucci crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared down at Ernesto with no expression whatsoever on his face.
Garini looked around and discovered a notepad and pen on the hotel desk. He grabbed a chair and the cheap plastic ball pen and prepared to take down Ernesto's statement. It was much better if he did it instead of leaving it to the prejudiced Commissario who did not seem to take any measures at all to record the interview.
Ernesto drew a deep breath and plunged into the story like a five year old who has learned a poem for Christmas and wants to get it over with as soon as possible. The sentences came out in staccato with no pause between them. “I came back to the hotel by way of the pool. I saw the dead man lying there. I saw the blood. I didn't touch anything. I ran up here and woke up Stefano and Carlina.”
“Did you kill the victim?”
Ernesto's mouth dropped open. “No! No, I didn't.”
“Did you know him?”
“Barely. He is – I mean, he was – the hotel manager. I only got to know him yesterday, no, the day before yesterday, when we arrived.”
“Did you like him?”
“I didn't know him!”
“Sometimes, you dislike people on sight.”
Carlina turned her head and looked at Stefano, her eyes wide, her mouth slack with surprise.
He gave an apologetic shrug and continued taking notes. For the moment, he couldn't do anything. But he would find out more about this Commissario Pucci as soon as the night was over.
“I didn't dislike him on sight.” Ernesto's face turned redder by the minute.
“Maybe later?”
“No!”
“Are you sure you didn't kill him?”
Ernesto looked like a haunted fox. “Yes! I mean, no, of course I didn't kill him.”
“What about the gun?”
“What gun?”
“The gun that was used to kill him. Do you still have it?”
“No!”
“But you had it before?”
“No! I never had a gun!”
Carlina clutched Ernesto's arm. “Stay calm, Ernesto,” she said. “It'll be all right.”
Pucci looked at her with a cold expression in his eyes. “If he's the murderer, nothing will be all right.”
“I'm not the murderer.” Ernesto's voice broke. “I'm not!”
Garini got up. “I suggest we stop the interview at this point and ask for a lawyer to be present.”
Carlina's eyes widened. She knew how much he hated to have lawyers meddling in his cases.
Pucci shook his head. “It will only make extra work and prolong this case,” he said in a sad tone. “But if you insist, I'll go back to bed now. Just as well. I don't like to be up and about at all times.” He turned on his he
el and went to the door, but just before he left, he said over his shoulder, “You're not allowed to leave the hotel. None of you.” Then the door closed with a soft sound behind him.
Carlina gave Stefano a wild look. “What kind of caricature is that?”
Stefano swallowed. “Unfortunately, he's the investigating officer in this case.”
Ernesto stared at them, his face stark white. “He thinks I did it.”
“Don't worry,” Stefano said with more confidence than he felt. “At first, he was convinced that it was me.”
“You?” Carlina jumped up. “Why should he think that you killed the hotel manager?”
“Oh, merely because I was there. He seems to prefer the easiest solution.”
Ernesto dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “Oh, what can I do?”
Garini pulled up a chair, turned it around and sat on it, then bent forward and asked the question that had been troubling him all along. “Why were you in the garden in the middle of the night, Ernesto?”
Ernesto didn't look up. “I met some friends down at the beach.”
“What friends?”
He shrugged. “I can't recall their names. One was called Beppo, I think.”
Half the male population of Italy was called Beppo. “Do you know where they're staying?”
Ernesto shook his red head from side to side. “No. They're leaving tomorrow. I mean, today. It was their last night at the beach.”
“How did you meet them?”
Ernesto looked up and shrugged. “How do you meet guys at the beach? You walk into them, you drink a beer or two . . . you know how it goes.”
Yes, he knew how it went. But it was unfortunate that Ernesto could not produce a single one of his newly found friends when he needed an alibi. “Do you recall when you found the body?”
“I left the beach twenty-five minutes past midnight.” Ernesto said without hesitation. “It only takes five minutes from the beach to the hotel, so I got to the pool at half past.”
“But why did you go to the pool at all? The front door is on the other side of the building.”
Ernesto's color deepened again. “I'd left the door of my room open.”
“The door to your room? But you're on the first floor with Omar.”
temptation in florence 05 - seaside in death Page 3
