'His boat. His yacht.'
'Does he keep it here?'
'Yes.'
'What's it called? I'd like to see it. It may be up for sale.'
'I don't know, I've never seen it. But you can ask at the Port Authority, or the Yachting Centre, they're both in the Piazza Lorenzo Viani, down by the harbour.'
The Viareggio Yachting Centre was a steel and glass building, the steel painted blue, red and yellow. They pointed him in the direction of a 65-foot Princess 65 Fly moored at a nearby wharf.
The navigator was on board and the Ferraras approached him after pretending to admire the boat.
'She's beautiful!' Ferrara exclaimed.
The man, who was middle-aged and stocky, nodded.
'What kind of engine does she have?'
The navigator almost laughed. 'She has two. Two 1050-horsepower Man engines.'
'How many people can she take?'
'Four cabins, three bathrooms, plus mine. Why?'
'I'm looking for one just like this. Do you know if the owner would be willing to sell?'
'It belongs to a PR company in Florence, UP
Communications. The registered owner just died, though, so they may be willing to sell. You'll have to ask them.' 'Poor man . . . was he ill?'
'Not at all. In fact, we were supposed to be leaving last Saturday. Then I discovered a fault in the forward propeller, and he said he'd rather postpone. The stupid thing is, I'd already fixed the fault by Sunday, but he wasn't around any more . . . Just like that, from one day to the next.'
'Just like that? Suddenly?' Petra opened her eyes wide. Ach du lieber Gott! How cruel life can be. And he was going on holiday, you said ... A cruise?'
'We were supposed to be going to Nice. I don't know if it was for pleasure or business, he never told me.'
It was already nearly eight in the evening when Francesco Rizzo called Ferrara at the hotel.
On hearing his theory of the Masonic connection, Ferrara decided it was time to tell him everything he hadn't said when he'd entrusted the case to him, in order to avoid problems with the Prosecutor's Department and the Commissioner.
'Inform Anna Giulietti, but don't let her know I told you to. Find some excuse, tell her you need authorisation to get hold of the lists of all the Masonic lodges, some nonsense like that. She won't give it to you of course, she'll just say these are the ravings of a crazy old man and a few witty remarks by a police officer who was fed up. But in the meantime, you'll have had a chance to tell her the whole story, and her interest will have been aroused because of the argument she already had with me.'
'Okay, I'll do that.'
'Do it straightaway. She works over the weekend. And there's something else you can do for me. Keep an eye on Professor d'Incisa. He's a Freemason - I know that for sure because I've seen the lists, I have them at home. And Stella ended up in his hospital! It may be a coincidence, but you know what I think. When you're investigating a crime, there's no such thing as coincidence.'
'I agree . . . but I don't see the connection. The cufflink was found before Stella was admitted to hospital, not after
It was like a flash of lightning.
He suddenly remembered the head nurse's words: he got quite angry when he saw the girl. . .
'What's to say he didn't already know her?'
'Who, d'Incisa? A highly-placed consultant and a young illegal immigrant?' Rizzo was incredulous.
'Why not? He could have been screwing her . . . But you're right, I may be getting ahead of myself. In fact, I'm sure I am. We don't even know if it's a Masonic symbol or not. Keep an eye on him anyway, trust me on this. In the meantime I'll have a look at the photo of the cufflink. I haven't had time yet. I'll also send it to the deputy prosecutor in Bologna who gave me the list. He knows all there is to know about the Freemasons and if he doesn't recognise it, you can be sure there's no connection.'
When the call had finished, he switched on his laptop, connected to the network, checked Rizzo's message, and opened the attachment.
For a long time he studied the photo of the cufflink.
A thought crossed his mind briefly, but he dismissed it, or rather filed it away in a recess of his brain: Ugo Palladiani was a Mason, too, and the photo showed the letter P, surrounded by the kind of classical columns associated with Palladio.
He was indeed getting ahead of himself. The case in Marina di Pietrasanta was already complicated enough, given the possible involvement of the Mafia. Putting the Freemasons into the mix seemed a bit too much, even to him.
He phoned the deputy prosecutor in Bologna, briefly explained what it was about, got him to give him his email address, and sent him the photo.
Once again, all he could do was wait.
Maybe Rizzo was on the right track after all. He certainly hoped so, however flimsy the lead was. His own flash of intuition during the phone conversation with Rizzo a little earlier might not mean anything: Profesor d'Incisa's anger at seeing the girl could well have been due to tiredness and the bother of having to intervene in a case which looked hopeless. Anyway, Rizzo was making progress, and he was pleased about that. Whereas Ferrara himself was either letting his imagination run away with him or getting nowhere fast.
Superintendent Lojelo had not been in touch, which meant there had been no new developments in the Claudia Pizzi investigation. But it hadn't been long since the body had been discovered, so they just had to wait.
Meanwhile, another day had passed, and there was still no news of Massimo. If the Carabinieri wanted him so badly, what were they doing to find him?
21
It was Ferrara who provided the solution to Rizzo's problem, and Rizzo who answered Ferrara's question.
Rizzo was the one who phoned Ferrara. Having temporarily taken Ferrara's place, he had also adopted his habits and had gone in to the office on Sunday morning. His wife and children were still in Sicily and he was bored at home.
As there was not much to be done, he had decided to spend the time examining the land registry results and the maps of the area where Stella had been found, which Venturi had left with him the day before. He wasn't expecting to find out anything useful - the cufflink was a much more promising lead -but it was best to leave no stone unturned.
The memo he had found waiting for him in the office had swept away all his good intentions, and made him regret he hadn't stayed in bed.
'I have something to tell you, chief,' he began.
'So have I, and it isn't good,' Ferrara said, not noticing the darker than usual tone in his deputy's voice: he had always been laconic.
'What is it?' Rizzo asked. He didn't mind gaining time. 'You go first.'
'You re right, everything else can wait . . . There's some bad news
Ferrara immediately assumed it was something to do with Massimo and, imagining the worst, he felt his strength failing.
He said nothing, waiting for Rizzo to continue.
'Your friend Massimo Verga is now officially wanted, along with Simonetta Palladiani ... A copy of a memo from the Carabineri in Lucca has arrived, signed by Captain Fulvi and sent to all police forces, especially those at ports, airports, railway stations and border posts. An order to detain on sight, issued by Deputy Prosecutor Lupo ... It's already been put in the data bank at the Ministry of the Interior, chief
Ferrara did not feel up to asking for the name of the crime, but he could imagine what it was: accessory to murder. This was practically an arrest warrant! Which must mean they had evidence. If they found Massimo now, it wouldn't be easy to get him out of trouble. If he fell into the hands of the Carabinieri, and with a Prosecutor's Department so determined to charge him that Lupo hadn't even had the courtesy to inform Ferrara despite their previous connection - or probably because of it - Massimo's chances of getting away scot-free were slim indeed.
On the other hand, compared with the other, more terrible possibility that he had been found dead, this news was, if not acceptable, at least tolerable. While there'
s life, there's hope, Ferrara said to himself, and while there was even just a thread of hope he had no intention of giving up.
AH right, Rizzo. Thanks. I'll think about it . . . You think about Operation Stella. No good news on that front either, I'm afraid. The deputy prosecutor of Bologna didn't recognise the symbol. He doesn't think it has anything to do with the Freemasons, at least not the official ones. He admits there are Masonic elements in it, but they're all very common: the sun, the moon, the stars, the columns, if they really are columns ..."
'It might be best to drop that line of inquiry and consider some of the other theories that could help us to identify the symbol.'
'The trouble is we've gone through all of them, without any luck at all so far.'
'Sorry to hear that. But anyway, have you informed Anna Giulietti?'
'Of course, chief, last night, as you told me.' 'What was her reaction?'
'Pretty much as you predicted. She was too polite to tell me to go to hell, but she did ask me to come up with something a bit less woolly . . .'
'Of course. Given the way things are, she did the right thing. I'm afraid I didn't make you look good, Francesco.'
‘I’m not worried about that at the moment.'
No. He was worried about something else. The same thing Ferrara was worried about.
They said goodbye, each determined to get back to his own work. Ferrara told Petra to get ready to go out, and Rizzo reluctantly started going through Venturis file.
Deputy Prosecutor Anna Giulietti hadn't slept well. Superintendent Rizzo's phone call, with that improbable allusion to the Freemasons, had disturbed her more than she had thought at the time. There was no doubt in her mind that Ferrara was behihd it, and she felt guilty about Ferrara. Partly because he was in trouble and had been forced to take a holiday, but mostly because she had a lot of respect for him and knew he wasn't the kind of person to clutch at straws in order to solve a case.
If anything, Ferrara was quite the opposite: down-to-earth, rational, scrupulous, flexible, ready to change tack in an investigation if the evidence showed him he was going in the wrong direction.
As a prosecutor, her behaviour had been irreproachable, and yet in her heart of hearts she kept wondering if she wasn't doing him a disservice.
She had woken late and had a not very appetising breakfast - heating up last night's coffee out of laziness, which had left a bitter taste in her mouth — and now she was wandering around the large apartment where she lived alone, filled with a mounting anxiety.
At 10.20 she made up her mind to call him.
'Hello?' It was Petra who answered.
'Good morning, Signora Ferrara. This is Anna Giulietti. I was looking for your husband.'
'Good morning. He's driving at the moment, we're on the autostrada ... Is it urgent?'
'No . . . no, it's nothing. Tell him I'll call him again.'
'It was Anna Giulietti. But it couldn't have been anything important. She said she'd call back.'
They had just got on to the A12, heading for Carrara. Petra was giving him a rundown of Claudia Pizzi's articles, which she had carefully read through the previous day, underlining the most important passages. Some of the articles had been published, some were drafts she'd saved on her computer. It was Lojelo who had passed them on to Ferrara.
'All right. Carry on.'
'Most of the articles, especially the recent ones, are about the marble quarries. She was clearly worried about the situation and was investigating it. Some articles are quite long and even a little boring, full of technicalities. But the gist of them is that the local heritage is in danger because of over-exploitation, some of it by outside entrepreneurs. Do you want me to outline the situation as I've understood it? It might help you to see things more clearly'
'Go ahead. I'm listening.'
'Right. Well, to start with, it's important to know that the marble in this area is unique in the world. Without going into too many details, the key thing is that it's ninety-nine percent calcium carbonate - in other words, practically pure. A block of marble is nothing but compact calcium carbonate. They call it "white gold". The kind that's best for statues, the unveined kind, which is actually called statuary, is only extracted from a single quarry these days, which is known as "Michelangelo's Quarry" because that was where Michelangelo went to choose the blocks he needed. Although no one knows for sure whether it was actually that particular quarry'
'You're not going to tell me the whole history, are you?'
'Only what might be useful to us to know, and I think this
is.
Ferrara didn't mind the use of the word 'us'.
'The marble is extracted in blocks, usually weighing about twenty tons each, and from the waste they obtain marble dust, which has many uses: it's used for some types of plaster, to restore old statues, even to make glossy paper for illustrated books. They even - and this you really won't believe - give it to hens mixed with their feed to make more eggs!'
And we eat the eggs?'
'Well, we don't eat the shells. It's the shells that contain the calcium carbonate.'
'Okay . . . but do you want to tell me what all this has to do with anything? We'll be in Carrara soon.'
They had in fact left the autostrada and were now driving along the Viale XX Settembre towards Carrara. From there, Ferrara intended to continue to the spot where Claudia Pizzi's body had been found and even further, if necessary. He had decided to take advantage of the fact that it was Sunday to take a closer look, and that was why he had asked Petra to brief him on the articles, which might contain a clue to Claudia Pizzi's death and perhaps lead to Simonetta Palladiani.
'It does have something to do with it! The thing is, the trade in marble dust, although it doesn't have the prestige of the trade in marble blocks, is a lot easier to handle, and the profit margins are impressive. The manpower required is minimal because most of the work is done by machines. Basically, it's an activity the - what shall we call them? - the purists look down on, and Claudia Pizzi was a real purist. In fact, she'd launched a virtual crusade against it. The way it works is, the market in marble is cyclical, depending on the state of the world economy. When things are going well, rich people in the richest countries build themselves villas, minarets, palaces, using our precious marble, but when things are going less well there's less demand for marble, and the economy of the area suffers. So they use the trade in marble dust as a stopgap, and keep the blocks in reserve until times are better. What Claudia Pizzi was trying to draw attention to was the fact that in the last few years the exploitation of the marble dust has been growing out of all proportion, even when the economy's fine. It's got to the point where sometimes even perfectly good blocks are sacrificed. And the thing is, a lot of this is being done not by the locals, but by companies that have come into the area from outside. Listen to this for instance ..."
Petra put on her tortoiseshell glasses and leafed through the papers.
'It is impossible not to ask why a company based in Bellomonte di Mezzo, Sicily, should invest in the revitalisation of old quarries which have been unproductive, and then exploit them only for the manufacture of marble dust, using non-specialised, non-local workforces, and even getting fresh supplies from other quarries in order to increase production. Everyone knows that a ton of marble dust is not worth even a tenth of a block, and the old timers regard the newcomers as naive fools. But is that really the case? Or is there something behind it that no one sees or wants to see? Money laundering, for example, which would be a terrible stain on the whole of our community, or something even worse, something your reporter hopes to reveal when she has gathered sufficient evidence?'
'The woman certainly didn't use kid gloves,' Ferrara said. 'If the Mafia really is behind this, it's no surprise she ended up the way she did. When was this article written?'
'It's just a draft, Michele. The file was last opened on July twenty-sixth. And listen to what she wrote four days later in another file:
A brave woman, don't you think?'
'Reckless, I'd say' he commented. 'Imagine if that had been published! But I suspect she'd already exposed herself quite a bit during her investigation. I'm certain she knew something about Simonetta's disappearance. Simonetta inherited the lease on the quarries from her father. She must have reinforced or even confirmed her theories. "I'm adding powder to the fire," she said to me . . . What did she mean? What fire? If there's any truth in what she wrote, she was sitting on something really big . . .'
They were driving through Carrara now, but their progress seemed to be blocked by an endless line of cars and coaches. Ferrara made a detour and found himself in the central square, where he saw a stand belonging to the Provincial Tourist Authority and was struck by an idea.
He parked the car and asked Petra to wait for him.
He soon returned with a leaflet and a grim expression on his face.
'It isn't going to be easy to get up there today,' he said. 'They're holding the annual sledge celebration.' 'What's that?'
'You mean it wasn't written in Claudia Pizzi's notes?' It was meant to be a joke, but it fell flat. This wasn't the right moment.
'No, it wasn't, so what is it?'
'It was the method they used to use to bring the marble blocks down from the mountain. That's what the tourist information person told me. They slid them down on tree trunks laid over a bed of stones, like a sledge. Just think. They carried them all the way from up there right down to the sea! It was dangerous, too, people sometimes got killed . . . Fortunately it's all different now.'
Death in Tuscany Page 20
