by Beate Boeker
Uncle Teo's instructions showed them the way to a luxurious building on Via de' Benci. The glass doors gleamed as much as the marble in the lobby, and the whole place smelled of the expensive flower arrangement which presided on a round table in the middle of the lobby. Garini sniffed. Lilies. He didn't like the smell of lilies; it was too heavy, too overwhelming, and the scent reminded him of funerals.
A uniformed concierge behind a counter that dwarfed him asked who they wanted to visit and rang in advance. Garini half expected Ugo to make a run for it, but within two minutes, they were told to go up.
Ugo scowled like an angry lion, but he let them in and stood back with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Garini looked around. The Ottimas had the penthouse apartment with a magnificent view of the Santa Croce area through arched windows that stretched over two stories. The whole effect was a bit like living in a converted church.
I can't believe that Ugo was willing to trade this with Carlina's apartment. Olga must have enjoyed riling Carlina when she said so. A sour feeling rose inside him. He knew how much Carlina loved her apartment and the house on Via delle Pinzochere. With an effort, he managed to push the thought away and started the interview along more conventional lines. “We've come for more information to help find out who killed your mother, and we would be grateful for your cooperation. My colleague Alfonso Piccolo will note down anything you say. You can read the statement later and sign it. Is that all right with you?”
Ugo shrugged and waved them toward a black leather sofa that could easily have seated half the police force of Florence. “I don't have much choice, do I? Sit down.”
Garini waited until Alfonso had taken out his notebook and pen before he started. “When did you last see your mother alive?”
Ugo stared at his folded hands, his mouth grim. “On Sunday afternoon.”
“Where were you?”
“Right here.”
“Did she behave in any way unusual? Worried? Or upset about anything?”
Ugo shook his head. “No.”
“Was she happier, more relaxed than usual?”
“No.”
Garini suppressed a sigh. If he kept on answering in monosyllables, this was going to be difficult. “So you'd say everything was normal?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you talk about?”
He shrugged. “Usual stuff. What I had eaten. My job.”
“What is your job?”
Ugo's shoulders tensed even more. “I'm a pastry chef.”
Alfonso blinked but continued writing.
Garini had trouble imagining Ugo handling fragile cakes and flowers made of marzipan. On a hunch, he said, “Do you enjoy your job?”
Ugo pushed his chin forward as if he had to prove a point. “Yes.”
“And what did you mother say about your choice of profession?”
“Leave my mother out of this.”
So Olga hadn't been in favor of her son's job. Well, no wonder. She'd probably expected Ugo to fill a power job somewhere, preferably at a bank or other financial institution.
“Did your mother say what she had planned to do on Monday?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“No date with a friend or something to do with her job?”
“No.”
Garini studied the bovine face in front of him, and once again, he wondered if Ugo was really stupid or if he just played the part. He had a temper, but for the moment, he seemed to have it under control. “Do you want your mother's killer to be found?”
“Yes.”
“Then it would help if you answered in a bit more detail.”
Ugo stared at his feet and didn't reply.
“Or do you think that your mother committed suicide?”
He shook his head, for the first time showing a bit more animation. “No way.”
Two words. Way to go. Garini suppressed a sigh. “Where were you yesterday?”
Ugo shook his head. “I'm not telling.”
“You are aware that you are a suspect, aren't you?”
“I didn't kill my mother.”
Garini gave up. He was wasting his time here. “One last question: Do you know if your mother made a will?”
Ugo looked surprised, as if the idea had never crossed his mind. “No.”
“Can you give me the name of your mother's lawyer?”
Ugo frowned and turned his head.
Garini followed his gaze to an ornamental desk that stood in one corner of the living room. The desk wasn't much larger than a handkerchief, with spindly legs and a little drawer underneath. Its gilt surface looked pristine, and the chair in front seemed too uncomfortable to use for a long time in spite of the gold and red striped brocade material that covered the seat. “Is that where your mother kept her files?”
“No.”
“Where did she work, then?”
“She didn't have files. She memorized everything.”
Garini eyed Ugo. “She can't have kept everything in that little desk. Surely somewhere, she must have kept more extensive files. We'd like to have a look at them.”
“No.” Ugo jutted out his chin. “You're not going to look at anything.” He jumped up. “You can leave now.”
Garini clenched his teeth. “I might have to return with a search warrant as her files can give us valuable information. It would be helpful if you cooperated a bit more.”
Ugo stared at him like a bull. “No.”
“All right.” Garini controlled his rising temper and got up. “How about the address of your mother's lawyer, then? Are you going to give it to me or do I need to put an announcement into the newspaper to ask him to come forward?”
Ugo pressed his lips together, then he said, as if the words were dragged from him. “Signor Enterolazzi.”
“Thanks. We'll be back.” Garini went to the door and held it open for his colleague. When Alfonso had gone through, he closed the door behind him without a further glance at Ugo.
Neither of them said anything until they were back in the street, but as soon as they were out of earshot of anybody living in that semi-palazzo, Alfonso shook his head. “This guy is incredibly stupid and slow. Like dough, somehow.”
“I'm not so sure.” Garini said. “Maybe he's also incredibly clever. But I will find that out. First, let's go and see this Signor Enterolazzi.”
At that instant, his phone rang. Garini looked at the display. It was Piedro. He suppressed a wriggle of uneasiness, wondering what Piedro might have found out while showing the picture of Fabbiola to everyone in the neighborhood of the tower. “Yes, Piedro?”
“I've found the murderer,” Piedro gasped as if he had been running. “Can you come to the tower immediately?”
Chapter 8
When Garini and Alfonso arrived at the tower, Piedro threw himself at them with the speed of a falcon who's spotted a mouse.
Garini opened his eyes wide. I didn't know he could be so quick.
“Finally!” His eyes shone. “I've found the murderer.”
Alfonso looked around. “Where did you put him?”
Piedro rolled his eyes. “I haven't made an arrest. But I've got the piece of information we need. Come with me.” He took Alfonso by the arm and dragged the much taller man down the street, in the rough direction of the Boboli gardens.
Alfonso hung back. “Where are we going?”
“Not far.”
They walked for ten minutes until they came to a small store in the Via dei Bardi.
“This is it.” Piedro stopped and beamed at them.
“A haberdashery?” Garini stared at the shop windows that were crammed full with different kinds of wool and sewing patterns. The effect of the colorful display was enhanced by the turquoise paint that had been used for the old-fashioned door and window frames, even though the vibrant color had faded with time, and now the paint had cracked and peeled off at several places.
“Yes, a haberdashery.” Piedro opened the door to the musi
cal tingling of a bell.
A middle-aged woman with a pinched mouth looked at him, her eyes sad. “There you are again.”
“Yes.” Piedro almost danced toward the dark wooden display table that reached up to the woman's hips. The table was made up of a multitude of flat drawers, with the top made of glass. The view from above revealed rows and rows of transparent tubes filled with colorful buttons. Behind her, a whole wall was covered with a shelf that displayed balls of wool sorted by type and color. “This is Signora Balli,” he presented the woman. “This is my boss, Commissario Garini.” He forgot to present Alfonso.
Signora Balli looked at Stefano with shadowed eyes. “I hope I'm not getting Fabbiola into trouble, Commissario, but when your assistant showed me her picture, I recognized her immediately, of course. We went to school together.” She saw that Alfonso had taken out his notebook and looked at her, a question in his eyes. “Yes, of course you can note down what I say. I know the procedure. My son works for the police, too, but he's in Rome.”
She turned back to Garini. “Fabbiola came to my store at a quarter past four on Monday. She's a regular customer since she took up knitting some months ago.” She looked at her hands and twisted them into each other.
Garini's heart sank. Here was an honest witness, someone he couldn't ignore. And the case already looked bad for Fabbiola, though Signora Balli had hardly said a word. “How come you recall the exact time?” he asked.
“I have to take medicine regularly, that's why I always set a little timer. I had just swallowed my pills when she came in.”
Garini nodded. “I understand. Please continue.”
“She chose wool for her latest project. Apparently, her knitting group has decided that they will knit a cover for the Ponte Vecchio. In burgundy.”
Garini blinked. “A cover for the Ponte Vecchio?”
“Yes.” Signora Balli's lips twitched. “I admit I joked about it, asking if she wanted to do a sort of bridge cozy, like a tea cozy, you know, but she took her project very seriously.”
“I know.” He gave a heartfelt sigh. She always takes all her projects very seriously.
“She seemed a bit more nervous than usual. For example, she checked her watch repeatedly, and when it was twenty to five, she said she had to go, grabbed the wool and left in a hurry. Usually, she has all the time in the world.”
“Did she buy any knitting needles?”
“No. Just the wool. And then she left.”
“I see.” Garini swallowed. This doesn't look good. “Did she say anything else? Did she mention an appointment or say that she planned to do anything else?”
Signora Balli shook her head. “No.” She hesitated, then said, “I hope I've not gotten her into trouble. I was just so surprised when I saw the picture that I blurted out her name. And then, I couldn't go back on my words.”
“No, of course not.” Garini forced himself to smile. “You did the right thing. Thank you very much. We'll type your statement and will ask you to sign it. It's possible that you will have to repeat it in front of a court.”
Signora Balli blanched. “Oh, no.”
“We'll let you know.”
He left the store with a heavy heart. It looked as if he had to interrogate Fabbiola again, this time with gloves off, and who knew where it would end. He didn't even want to think about Carlina's reaction.
Piedro fairly danced with enthusiasm. “That was the all important detail, wasn't it? The link we were missing, the one connection we needed!”
Garini forced himself to nod. “Yes. Good work, Piedro.” Then he turned to Alfonso. “Please return to the station and finish the report. We'll join you later.”
Fifteen minutes later, Garini walked into the Mantoni family house on Via delle Pinzochere, with Piedro at his heels like a happy terrier. Garini, in contrast, was dragging his feet. With a dry mouth, he looked at the shiny key in his hands that would open the door to the family home. Would they take it away when he had to arrest Fabbiola? Would Carlina throw him out? His heart clenched.
As soon as he had closed the heavy wooden door behind him, the door to Uncle Teo's apartment opened. “Ah, there you are, Stefano.” The old man smiled at him. He looked better today, less defeated. “I have an idea that I would like to present to you.”
Garini found it hard to meet his gaze. “Would it be all right if we postponed this for a bit?” His voice sounded odd. “There's something I first have to do.” And then you might not wish to speak to me anymore.
“Of course.” Uncle Teo looked at him from beneath his bushy eyebrows. “Are you all right, my boy?”
Garini cleared his throat. “Yes.” This was getting worse by the minute. He went upstairs, wishing himself to the other end of the world.
Unfortunately, Fabbiola was at home. Even worse, she was alone. He had counted on having at least one family member with her, to support her. In that case, he might have been lenient and let them stay, against his better judgment and against the rules. But he couldn't very well ask her to fetch someone.
Fabbiola invited them to take a seat on the overstuffed sofa in front of her. She subsided into an armchair and picked up a shapeless blanket in burgundy. “What can I do for you, Stefano?” She smiled at him. “You don't mind if I continue to knit, do you? We have a big project and want to finish it in time. I feel so much happier now that Olga is gone. She was a real threat to our family, but God in his wise way decided to remove her.”
Garini held up his hand. “I'm afraid I've got bad news, Fabbiola. Do you wish to call a lawyer? I think you should have legal counsel here with you.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “But no, why should I? After all, we know each other, and I've got nothing to hide.”
“I think you should. Can you give me the name of your lawyer?”
She made an impatient sound that sounded much like an angry kitten. “Tscha. Stop talking nonsense and let me know what's bugging you.”
“Do you agree that Piedro here will record everything you say?”
She threw a fleeting glance at Piedro, who was holding up the small recording machine. Then she rolled her eyes. “Yes, of course. Go ahead.”
He was puzzled by her behavior. She seemed completely relaxed, as if she had never been near the tower during the crucial time. “We have found a witness today who told us that you were close to the tower San Niccolò at the time of Olga's fall.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
“When we talked about this earlier, you stated that you had spent the day at home. Do you wish to correct your statement?”
Her gaze slid from his face, and she gave a slight titter. “My, how serious you sound. So I forgot. Now that you mention it, it's true. I went to do a bit of shopping. Is that a problem?” She focused on her work and started to knit at a feverish pace. The clacking of the needles sounded harsh in the silent room.
“Where did you go?”
“I went to the haberdashery to buy this wool.” She lifted the burgundy mass in her hands. “We're planning to cover the Ponte Vecchio. It'll look magnificent. I often go this shop, so that's nothing unusual.” She shrugged and didn't look up from her knitting. “I guess that's why it slipped my mind.”
“But you had a date at five o'clock.”
The clacking of the needles stopped. Nothing filled the sudden silence. Outside, a Vespa honked, but the sound only emphasized the quietness of the room. As the silence lengthened, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Fabbiola sat straighter and pressed her lips together.
Garini saw it and recognized her reaction for what it was – the walls were going up. Fabbiola had abandoned her carefully constructed carefree position and was retreating a step. Damn. Carlina's face rose in front of his inner eyes. Was he going to lose her over this? He clenched his fists. It shouldn't influence him. He had a job to do.
“Who said I had a date?” Fabbiola's voice sounded tense.
“The witness did.”
“Humbug.”
Ga
rini bent forward. “Fabbiola, you lied to me before, and I advise you to stop doing that. I can tell you're not telling the truth.”
“I didn't have a date.” She clenched her teeth so hard that the muscles in her jaw bulged.
“Where did you have to be at five o'clock?”
“Nowhere.”
“But you left the haberdashery in a hurry.”
She bit her lips.
“Who did you meet, Fabbiola?”
“Nobody.”
“You didn't meet anybody at all?”
“That's right.” She met his piercing gaze with defiance.
“Where did you go?”
She pulled back her shoulders. “I want Carlina. She's the only one who can control you when you look like this.”
Garini winced. “You can have a lawyer.”
“I don't want a lawyer. Besides, I don't have a lawyer. I've never needed one. Who should I call? I don't have a name, nothing.”
“I could give you a list to choose from.”
“Pah.” She shook her head. “I don't know them, and I don't trust them. No. I want Carlina. Why can't she be here?”
Garini forced himself to take a deep breath and decided to ignore her question. “Please answer my question. Where did you go on Monday when you left the haberdashery?”
A door banged, and Carlina's voice called out, “Mama! Are you here?”
Garini closed his eyes.
Fabbiola perked up. “I'm in the living room, Carlina!”
Carlina shot into the room like a bullet but slithered to a stop when she saw Garini. Her gaze went from him to Piedro, to the recorder in Piedro's hands, and back to Garini. “What's going on?” Her voice was sharp.
“Sit down, my dear.” Fabbiola patted the sofa next to her. “You have to stop this Commissario of yours. He seems to be bent on taking me to prison.”
