by Beate Boeker
Garini shook his head. “I can't believe it. It's . . . off, somehow. The whole thing is not credible. I refuse to accept that Fabbiola Mantoni-Ashley is a murderess.”
“Now listen to me, my lad.” Cervi bent forward. “It's all very well to have feelings and convictions, but in this case, there is enough proof. You should have arrested her yesterday! I only pray that nothing irrevocable has happened in the meantime. If she fled the city during the night, we'll be the laughing stock of the whole of Tuscany. I only pray that Rome will not hear about it!”
“She didn't flee the city,” Garini said. “I saw her this morning.”
“Eh? This morning? Why did you go to her house so early if you didn't want to arrest her?”
“I live there.”
Cervi's eyes widened. “You live there? I never knew! How come you live in the same house as a murderess?”
Garini kept a tight reign on his temper. “You know that I'm going out with Caroline Ashley, her daughter. She lives on the top floor of the building.”
“Why, yes, but--”
“A water pipe broke at my apartment and inundated everything. That's why I moved in with her some days ago.”
“Then make sure you move out again! You should not stay at a house that's at the core of a murder investigation.”
I won't get a better cue. “I absolutely agree, Signor Cervi.” Stefano forced himself to smile. “That's what I said all along. The easiest thing would be to give the case to Sergio. Then we won't have a shadow of a doubt that this investigation is done properly, without regard to any personal connections.”
“I won't accept the shadow of a doubt on any of my investigations, Garini!” Cervi's face turned dark red. “I order you to arrest the woman now. Immediately!”
Garini swallowed. “I'd first like to talk to the victim's lawyer, Signor Enterolazzi. Maybe something else will crop up that--”
“Now!” A pulse started to beat at Cervi's neck. “And when I say 'now', I mean 'now'!” He left the room and slammed the door behind him.
Garini dropped his head into his hands, then took the phone and steeled himself. This was going to be ugly.
II
“Carlina, it's me.” His voice was taut.
Her heartbeat accelerated. “Stefano? What happened? Why do you sound so--”
He interrupted her before she could put her impression into words. “I've got bad news, but I can't tell you on the phone. Can you come to your mother's apartment? Now? And don't call anybody before you do that. Just come.”
“But the store – I can't close in the middle of the day!”
“Just do it.”
She heard a faint click, then the connection was gone. Carlina blinked. Garini had never talked to her like that before. He had never pushed her around, had never given her commands. What on earth was going on? One part of her was angry, but another part was worried. He has a reason to be like that, a little voice inside her insisted. Now hurry up.
She tried to reach her assistant who had the morning off, but couldn't get in touch with her. Instead, she left a message, then, with a shrug, she put up a sign “will be right back” and closed the store. He'd better have a good reason for this.
Fifteen minutes later, she parked her Vespa in front of the family home and saw Garini arriving from the other side. He was on foot, followed by his stupid assistant Piedro. Garini looked like thunder. Piedro looked as if he had just been offered three extra days off. Strange.
She ran to meet them before the door. “Stefano!”
His gaze bore into hers, then he took her arm in a painful grip. “Ah, you're here. Well, we can't change that.”
But you told me to come! The words were trembling on her lips when a warning glance stopped her. Something was going on that she didn't understand. The pressure on her arm increased.
“Are you going to see your mother?”
She gazed at him, bewildered.
He gave her an infinitesimal nod.
“Yes.” Her throat was dry.
“Let's go up, then.”
He waited until she had opened the door with her key and led the way upstairs. Piedro was trudging up behind them.
When they came to the landing of Benedetta's apartment, Fabbiola shot out of her sister's apartment. “I'm short on wool,” she gasped. “I have to return to the haberdashery and get some more wool. Let's hope she still has the same color.” She stopped short, as if only realizing now that the way down was barred by three people. “Carlina! Why aren't you at Temptation? Has something happened? Why is Stefano here? Why--?”
Garini cleared his throat. “I'm arresting you, Fabbiola Mantoni-Ashley, for the murder of Olga Ottima. Anything you say may be used against you and--”
Fabbiola's shriek drowned his next words. “What? You must be joking!”
Carlina stared at Stefano, unable to process the news. But his closed face was more eloquent than his words. Oh, Madonna, he's serious! The staircase receded, and darkness threatened to overtake her vision. A hand came down on her shoulder and shook her, then Stefano's voice said in her ear. “No way, Carlina. I need you now.”
The darkness pulled back, and she stared into his light eyes. “Right.”
“I'm not coming!” Fabbiola shouted. “I refuse to go with you!”
Carlina put a hand on her mother's arm. “Mama, please. I'm sure it's only a misunderstanding. They'll clear this up soon enough.”
“What?” Fabbiola shook her off. “Are you in with them? Have you realized that your precious boyfriend wants to take me to prison? Me?”
“What's going on here?” Uncle Teo's calm voice came from behind them. He had mounted the stairs and stood two steps below, clutching the banister.
Garini took a deep breath. “I very much regret it, but I have to arrest Fabbiola for Olga's murder.” He clenched his teeth visibly. “It wasn't my decision.”
Uncle Teo blanched. “It must be a misunderstanding.”
“I'll keep on looking,” Garini promised. “But for the moment, I can't do anything else.”
Piedro looked at Garini in surprise. “You'll keep on looking?” He sounded incredulous. “But the facts are conclusive! It must have been her! There can't be anybody else!”
Fabbiola took a step forward until she had cornered him against the wall. “You little stupid pup! What do you know? How dare you say that I killed Olga?”
Garini took her arm and pulled her back. “Fabbiola, please. He's right. The facts all point into your direction. And that's why I have to take you with me now.”
Carlina found her voice with difficulty. “Where will you take her?”
“To the prison at Sollicciano. She'll have to stay there until the trial.”
Fabbiola's face turned white. “You're serious, aren't you?”
He nodded. “I'm afraid so.”
“Do you want to handcuff me? What will the neighbors say? They'll all see me being taken away like a criminal, being pushed into a police car! I've done nothing, nothing at all!” She covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders heaved.
Carlina put her arm around her mother's shoulder. “Shhh.” She didn't know what else to say. Everything sounded trite – and wrong.
“We left the car two streets away. If you'll follow us calmly, nobody will notice,” Garini said.
Fabbiola lifted her head. “I have to pack!”
“You won't need much.” Garini said. “I suggest that Carlina packs everything you need and follows us.”
Fabbiola looked at him. “Will I be allowed to wear my own clothes?”
Garini nodded. “At Solliciano, yes.”
“Good.” Fabbiola pulled Carlina closer and whispered something into her ear.
Piedro jumped forward. “It is not allowed to whisper instructions once you've been arrested.”
Garini winced. The one success in his career had not done Piedro any good.
Fabbiola reddened. “This is personal.”
Piedro drew himsel
f up and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything else, Garini dropped a hand onto his shoulder. “It's all right, Piedro.” Then he turned to Fabbiola. “Can we go now?”
Fabbiola hung back and looked around the room, searching for something. “Not yet. I forgot my knitting. I have to take my knitting with me!”
Piedro's mouth dropped open. “You're not allowed to knit in prison.”
“What?” Fabbiola turned on him in hot fury. “Why not? What can be more peaceful than knitting?”
“You stabbed Olga with your knitting needle!” Piedro's eyes were big. “So of course it's not allowed. That's like giving a murderer a knife when he goes to prison!”
His words fell between them like a bomb. For a minute, everybody was too stunned to move.
Then Uncle Teo hissed in his breath. “Olga was stabbed?”
“Yes,” Garini said. “A knitting needle was found inside her body. And Fabbiola has been missing one knitting needle since Monday.”
Fabbiola stared at him. “But you can't prove that it's my needle!”
“You're right; we can't prove that.” His voice was heavy. “But it's the right size, and the timing fits. I'm sorry, Fabbiola, but with all this evidence, I have to arrest you.”
Fabbiola stared at him.
He bent forward. “Think, Fabbiola. You were the only one close enough to have seen anything. Are you sure you didn't see anybody slipping away?”
Fabbiola frowned and looked into the distance, remembering. “I didn't look in her direction when I came up. She was at the side of the tower that faces toward the Arno River, while I was facing the hill. It was difficult to see anything in the distance because it was so misty. I only turned around when I heard someone scream.”
“And then? What did you see?” He urged her on. Please say you saw a shadow. Anything.
“Nothing. I saw nothing.”
“The platform is not large, though. If someone had pushed Olga over the edge, you would have noticed them, wouldn't you?”
Fabbiola shook her head, puzzled. “Yes, I guess. But I didn't see anybody.”
“Was it too misty to see to the other side? Could someone have slipped away?” Come on. Say yes. It's our last chance.
“No. I could see to the other side of the platform. There was nobody.”
Carlina gulped. “Then it must have been suicide.”
Garini looked at her and the expression in his face was something akin to pity. “Was Olga the type to kill herself?”
“No.” Uncle Teo, Carlina and Fabbiola all answered at once.
Garini nodded in slow motion. “That's what I thought.”
Fabbiola shook her head again. “I don't know how she did it. Even in death, she managed to mess up other people's lives.” She got up. “All right. I will come, Stefano.” She looked him straight in the eye. “But you've got the wrong person. I didn't kill Olga.”
Chapter 10
I
Garini heaved a sigh when they left the prison and looked at Carlina next to him. She walked with her head bent and sagging shoulders. He longed to put his arm around her, to pull her close and comfort her, but he was afraid that she would slap him in the face, or even worse, turn away with an expression of disgust on her face. He had just arrested her mother against his conviction, against his instincts. Did she fully understand that it had not been in his power to avoid the arrest? “I'm so sorry, Carlina.”
She stopped and looked at him, her eyes huge. “Will she have to stay all on her own, all day long, Stefano? I don't think she could stand that.”
“No.” He shook his head. “They are only in their cells at night, and she will share hers with two or three people. From nine in the morning to the evening, she'll also be allowed to mingle with the other prisoners.”
“Good.” She took a shuddering breath.
“Carlina?”
“Yes?”
He had to ask. “What did Fabbiola whisper into your ear just now, when I had to arrest her?”
Carlina gave him a twisted smile, a travesty of her usual carefree expression. “She told me that I shouldn't pack the underwear she had knitted for herself.”
He was at a loss. “The underwear she had knitted for herself?”
“Yes.” Carlina nodded. “You see, she came to Temptation and offered to create some hand-knitted underwear for me, but I told her to try it herself first. It seems she did, and . . .”
“And?”
She looked up. “And I guess she learned that it's hideously scratchy, so she wanted to make sure that I didn't pack the wrong stuff.”
He smiled back at her, happy about the slight quiver of laughter in her voice. “Now I understand why she didn't want to repeat it in front of Piedro.”
“Yes, that would have been too embarrassing.” Carlina looked at her feet, then up again. “Stefano. Do you . . . do you believe she did it?”
His throat hurt. “No.”
“Then why did you arrest her?”
“Because my boss gave me the order. I tried to get out of it. Really, I did, but he wouldn't listen. It didn't help that the decisive bit of information came from his son.”
“From Piedro?”
“Yes.” Garini sighed. “He's not the brightest bulb, and Cervi knows that. Of course, now he's overjoyed that his son brought the investigation to a close.”
“But what did he find?”
“He found the shop owner of the haberdashery who sold wool to Fabbiola just before the murder. That placed her in the area, when before, she had claimed that she had stayed at home all day long. The rest was easy.”
“Damn.” She pressed her lips together. Then she looked up. “Stefano?”
“Hmm?”
“Why do you believe that she isn't the murderer?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I can't tell you why, but something's off. I can feel it, but I can't put my finger on it.”
She leaned her head to the side like a sparrow hoping for a crumb. “So you think that Mama is not capable of murder?”
“Not at all.” He didn't hesitate. “I do believe that she's capable of murder, particularly when it came to Olga. During the last days, there were enough emotions in that house for several murders.” He looked at her with a rueful smile. “But she would do it in a fit, and this murder was intricately planned, up to the last minute. That's why it feels all wrong.”
Carlina gripped his arm. “Find the right person, Stefano.” Her gaze locked with his.
He swallowed. “I'll do everything I can. I promise.”
“And now, can you please take me into your arms and hug me? I need a hug now.”
A weight fell from his chest. With a smile, he opened his arms wide. “Come here.”
Thirty minutes later, Garini entered the office of Enterolazzi & Enterolazzi. Olga's solicitor had his offices in a historical building on Via dei Pescioni. From the shining brass plate at the door to the colorful flags mounted above the entrance and the expensive wooden wainscoting in the hall, everything shouted power and wealth. Enterolazzi himself was dressed in an impeccable dark-blue suit with a brocade vest, a matching tie and handkerchief. His dark-brown shoes shone as he came forward to shake Garini's hand. His white hair was carefully arranged in soft waves, combed back from a high brow. His sharp eyes were partially hooded by heavy lids.
“Commissario Garini,” he said with a soft voice. “I have been expecting you. You're here to learn about the last will of Olga Ottima.”
“That's correct.” Garini took the spindly chair pointed out to him. “As you know, we're investigating her death.”
The lawyer shook his head and turned the corners of his mouth down. “Such a sad case. She was a wonderful woman.”
Garini gave him a sharp look. Was this a standard phrase or did he really believe it? If he spoke from conviction, he was certainly a minority in Florence. “I understand that she wasn't universally liked,” he said to probe the waters.
Enterolazzi lifted his eyebr
ows. “Oh, really? I always found her very easy to work with. She knew what she wanted and didn't change her mind every so often. Very efficient.”
I guess that's true. “Has she been your client for long?”
“Oh, yes.” The aged solicitor nodded. “I knew Olga Ottima for almost thirty years. She once said that she trusted me more than anyone else.” A small smile creased his mouth as he remembered her. “Such a small woman, but so much strength. I admired her, you know.”
So here was the second person in Florence besides Olga's son who truly mourned for her. Garini frowned in thought. Maybe he would need that knowledge later.
“But you're here to learn about her will.” The solicitor took a seat behind his huge desk, pulled a file across the polished walnut wood, placed a pair of black-rimmed glasses on his nose, and opened the ledger with care. “The will is very simple and straightforward,” he said. “Signora Ottima left everything to her son Ugo. This includes the apartment here in Firenze, a house at Lake Garda, and several investments and savings with a value of roughly four hundred thousand Euros.”
Garini nodded. Not a bad inheritance by any means. He had expected that the astute Olga had accumulated enough money to live in style.
“The biggest chunk, however, will come from her life insurance.”
“Her life insurance?” Garini perked up. This was news to him.
“Yes.” Enterolazzi nodded. “She signed up for a very large life insurance policy when her son was still small, to make sure that he was financially safe even if something should happen to her. That was right after the death of her husband.”
“And how much is it?”
“It's almost eight hundred thousand Euros.”
Garini stared at him. That made Ugo a millionaire. “Does he know about this insurance?”
Enterolazzi hesitated.
“You'd best tell me,” Garini said. “Or I'll ask Ugo.”
Enterolazzi looked at him for one pregnant moment.
Garini could almost see the thoughts moving behind his high brow. If Garini went to Ugo to interrogate him, Ugo would no doubt tell the truth, but would manage to present himself in the worst possible light, not being blessed with the intelligence his mother had had. It was better if Enterolazzi covered that part.
