The Bitter Taste of Murder

by Camilla Trinchieri

  “I’m glad to see you took your time.” Perillo was sitting on Nico’s doorstep, smoking a cigarette. Nico had walked back. His breath was back to normal, even if his knees still hurt. OneWag, who had learned that his short legs were no match for Nico’s long ones on a morning run, now ran to greet him.

  “You know our saying,” Perillo said. “Who goes slow—”

  “—goes far and goes with health,” Nico finished for him. “Daniele?”

  “In church.”

  Nico kept his distance. Besides being covered in sweat, he wanted to avoid the cigarette smoke. “When I got home last night, Cinzia was waiting for me. She was not a happy woman. Are you here to tell me why?”

  Perillo met Nico’s look with wide eyes. “She must have told you.”

  “Not that. The bigger why.”

  Perillo took a long drag of his cigarette before answering. “Aldo was arrested under suspicion of murder. Yes, I’m here to tell you everything Yunas, the waiter, witnessed at Mantelli’s table.” He told Nico about the two whiskies poured by the owner, the second one from a new bottle and tasted by Falchetti, who was still alive. Perillo hesitated, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Aldo may be a good man, but he is stupid.”

  “Go on.”

  “In the statement he signed in my office as to his whereabouts on Tuesday evening, he didn’t mention that he went to Mantelli’s table with his Chinese buyer.”

  “Cinzia told me. Did the waiter claim he saw Aldo put something in Mantelli’s whiskey?”

  “No, but right after Aldo left, Mantelli complained about the taste.”

  “Don’t tell me Tarani considers that proof Aldo tampered with the drink?”

  “I don’t know about Tarani. He’s a closed book. Della Langhe thinks it proves Aldo poisoned him.”

  “Did Aldo explain why he went to Mantelli’s table?”

  “He claimed the buyer found out Mantelli was in the next room and wanted to meet the famous Italian wine critic. Aldo said the buyer is a very good customer and he felt obliged to please him.”

  “Have you or Tarani called the Chinese buyer to hear what he has to say?”

  “Cinzia gave us his number and email. No answer on either. Can we continue this conversation upstairs? You look like you could use a shower, and I owe you an explanation, which will be easier with something soft under my ass. I’ll even put out my cigarette.”

  Nico looked down at the T-shirt sticking to his chest. “A shower would be good, and an espresso will make you explain even better than a soft seat. You can make it while I shower.” Nico pulled the plastic bracelet with his keys from his wrist and unlocked the door. “I only hope your explanation makes sense.”

  “I can answer that right away. It does, with regrets.”

  They drank their espressos on the covered balcony with the balcony door and the window opposite wide open to create a draft. At nine o’clock, the heat was already gearing up to offer a stifling Sunday.

  Nico, in shorts and a T-shirt and still wet from the shower—he hadn’t bothered to towel off, knowing the air would dry him quickly—put his cup down and sat back in his chair.

  Perillo understood it was time to deliver. “Here’s the reason I didn’t show up last night. Before coming down, Tarani looked into my record; I suppose to get a sense of who he was dealing with. He complimented me on my successful investigation of last year’s murder, but he added that he’d heard rumors you had helped me. He’d looked you up too, learned that you’d been a homicide detective in New York, and that sealed it. The rumors were fact. When he saw you in my office yesterday, he understood we worked together. He was incensed. ‘The Carabinieri is an esteemed branch of the army, over two hundred years old, and should know how to solve their own investigations. We need no outside help.’ I of course immediately thought of the ribbings we get from the police. Want to hear one of their jokes? Two carabinieri have their car stolen. The capitano asks—”

  “Not now.”

  “You’re right. In any case, I was ordered not to contact you until we had made an arrest.”

  “He referred the waiter’s statement to Della Langhe?”

  “Who pounced at what he considered excellent news. He wanted Aldo arrested and brought to Florence immediately. He seemed convinced that Aldo would flee. He showered congratulations on Tarani and added that he was going to make sure the media would know an arrest had been made. All that arrogant dickhead wants is to boast the renowned Italian wine critic’s murder has been solved in record time.”

  “Shit. That’s terrible.”

  “I agree. Tarani knows we’re only at the beginning of the investigation. I was slow getting started, I’ll admit. I let my dislike for the man get in the way. I should have gone after the waiter right away, not waited for him to come to me when it was convenient for him. I should have gotten a statement from the housekeeper. Questioned Diane Severson more thoroughly. Questioned the gardener a second time. The first time, Mantelli had just died, and he was upset, so who knows what he left out?”

  “Blaming yourself doesn’t get us anywhere. Is Tarani out of the picture now?”

  “For the time being. It depends what happens with Aldo. The judge has to decide if there’s enough evidence to proceed to a trial. If there isn’t, and we know there isn’t, Tarani will be back.”

  “But this means we have a few days to do our own investigating.”

  “Aldo has twenty days to file a defensive brief.”

  “Good. I’ll let Cinzia know he should take the whole time allotted, even if it means more jail time. We need time and active minds,” Nico got up and went inside. He came back with a pen and notepad.

  Feeling better now that he’d explained the why of Aldo’s arrest, Perillo smiled at the sight of the notepad. He remembered the advice Nico had given him last year: Put order in your brain by making a list.

  Nico wrote down the names of the people Perillo needed to talk to again. “What about the owner of Il Glicine? He may have more to say about Loredana.”

  “I don’t think so, but add him anyway.”

  “And Luca Verdini.”

  “Why him?”

  “He’s connected to Mantelli and his wife. Now Loredana is interested in him. In the mornings, he has an assistant taking care of business. She might be able to tell me something about him. I’ll ask some quick questions when I go over and buy a case of wine.”

  “We’ll divide up the questioning. You start, and if you find anything solid, you pass it on to me. I like and respect Aldo, but I can’t afford to lose my job trying to help him.”

  Nico studied Perillo’s face for a moment. The maresciallo met his gaze. “What’s the matter?” Perillo asked.

  “You do believe Aldo is innocent?”

  “You have to admit there’s a possibility he isn’t.”

  “A possibility so thin I can’t see it.”

  “You’re letting personal feelings cloud your judgment.”

  “All right, I’ll proceed alone so you don’t put your job at risk. Most of the town knows Aldo’s my landlord. It won’t seem strange if I ask questions.”

  “They also know you were a policeman.”

  “A patrol cop. Only you, Daniele, Tilde and now Tarani know I worked in homicide. Which reminds me. How did you find out the reason I had to retire?”

  “Working backwards. I knew your retirement date and asked Daniele to look into any trials within a two-year period after that.”

  “That’s absurd, wasting Daniele’s time that way. Why did you bother?”

  “He’s the one who suggested it. Dani knows I don’t like mysteries. He offered because he has nothing to do at night. No girlfriend or friends, and he’s Internet-crazy. I did a good thing. Made him happy.”

  Perillo was an expert at justifying his actions. Nico was convinced Daniele wouldn�
��t have suggested the search if Perillo hadn’t complained about not knowing. “And what did Daniele find out?”

  “A murder trial in which you testified. You and your partner were the first on the scene of a man shot dead in his home. His wife called it in. The woman showed signs of abuse on her body. The district attorney was convinced the wife had killed him, even though the man had big gambling debts. The jury found her not guilty. An important piece of evidence was missing. The gun. You have a big heart, my friend. It took courage to throw the gun away. In one of New York’s two rivers, I suppose.”

  “What I did was instinctive, not courageous. My mother—”

  Perillo stopped him with a raised hand. “No need to go further.” The sufferings of a mother belonged only to the family. “You’re lucky you got away with forced retirement.”

  “My captain didn’t want another black stain on his record. He had many. As I told you last year, the price was silence.”

  “The silence will continue, rest assured. The silence of a tomb.”

  eight-thirty a.m. Mass was over. Ivana Perillo linked her arm with Daniele’s as they slowly walked out with the others who had attended, mostly old women and a few old men. The sudden brightness of the day stunned them. The women squinted and removed their head coverings. Some covered their eyes with their hands.

  “It’s a nice church,” Ivana said. “The priest gave a good short homily. Ours goes on forever.” They had always met for the early Mass at the Basilica di Santa Croce in Greve, but this Sunday, Daniele had wanted to attend Mass in Gravigna. Curious to know why the sudden change, she asked to join him.

  Together, they walked down the two ramps of stairs edged with terracotta pots of pink geraniums. “I hope you’ll be happy with lunch today,” Ivana said.

  “It was very nice of you to invite me, and anything you feed me makes me happy, Signora.”

  “Thank you, but please call me Ivana. We’re Salvatore and Ivana.” She knocked gently on his forehead. “Lock those two names in your sweet, stubborn head.” They reached the bottom of the stairs. She could see the sign for Sotto Il Fico thirty meters further down. “That’s where Salvatore’s friend works, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Ivana stopped and unhooked her arm. “One day, I should invite him for a Sunday lunch.” She was taking time she didn’t really have, and Daniele’s head was swiveling from right to left and back. He was clearly looking for someone.

  “I think he would like that very much,” Daniele said.

  “Good. I’ll invite him after the case is solved. I don’t want talk of murder at my table.”

  Daniele wasn’t listening; his eyes had found the person he was looking for at the top of the church stairs.

  “This is no stairway for old people,” Elvira grumbled as she tugged at her white Sunday dress to hide her expansive stomach and linked arms with Stella. “If Don Alfonso does nothing about it, he’s going to have an empty church on Sundays.”

  Stella slipped on her sunglasses and tightened her grip on her grandmother. “Mamma told me the church committee is going to have pizza parties to raise money.”

  “Pizza! I don’t like pizza.”

  “You don’t have to eat it.” They were taking the stairs one step at a time. “Just give them some money.” She knew Nonna didn’t part with money easily. “They’re going to put in a chair that will ride you right up. That should be fun.”

  “I’m going to church, not a Luna park.”

  Daniele was looking at the nice young girl, Ivana realized. She was pretty. “Do you know her, Dani?”

  He nodded.

  “Go and say hello. I’m not in a hurry.” She crossed herself mentally for the lie she’d just told. The pasta for the cannelloni was made, but she still had to prepare the mushroom cheese filling and the green parsley sauce, which involved a great deal of chopping.

  “I’ll be right back.” Daniele walked the few steps to the bottom of the church stairs. Elvira and Stella had reached the second ramp. “Ciao, Stella.”

  Stella stopped and looked down. “Ciao, Dani. How nice to see you.”

  He pushed his hair off his face and smiled, “Me too. I mean, nice to see you too.” He could feel the blush rising on his cheeks. “It’s awfully hot, isn’t it?”

  Stella waited until she had brought Elvira down to solid ground to answer. “Yes, it is hot,” Stella said, knowing his red cheeks—they made him look adorable—had nothing to do with the heat. He was dressed in pressed tan slacks and a checked blue and white long-sleeved shirt with the cuffs and collar buttoned. He’d added a navy-blue tie. When she had seen him in Florence, he hadn’t been dressed so properly. She suspected this was his church outfit. “Why don’t you roll up your sleeves? You’ll be cooler.”

  “Yes, of course. Good idea.” Daniele fumbled with the buttons, reluctant to take his eyes away from Stella. Luck had blessed him. Ever since he’d heard from Nico that she was back for the weekend, he had hoped to run into her. He’d even thought of the possibility of having lunch at Sotto Il Fico to see her, but that was before Signor Ferri got arrested. Now the case took precedence over his personal wishes, but he was always allowed Mass. Why not in Gravigna instead of Greve? He rolled up his sleeves and half-bowed to Elvira. “Buongiorno, Signora. Daniele Donati.”

  “I know perfectly well who you are, thanks to last year’s horrifying events.” She turned to Stella. “This young man is right,” Elvira said, giving Daniele a nod of acknowledgment. “It is far too hot to linger. Take me to the restaurant, please. I have work to do, and so do you.”

  Stella obeyed.

  Daniele stayed at the bottom of the stairs, watching her go with a heavy heart. She looked so pretty in that light-green dress that matched her eyes. Even her feet were pretty in raw leather sandals.

  At the door of Sotto Il Fico, Stella let go of Elvira’s arm and walked back to Daniele. “I’m taking the last bus to Florence tonight. I’d love to have an ice cream with you before I go.”

  Daniele’s heart skipped a couple of beats. His cheeks bloomed. “I can take you to Florence on my motorbike.”

  “That’s wonderfully generous of you, but no. It’s too far away.”

  He started to protest. She shushed him with a finger on his mouth. “Just ice cream. Okay?”

  Daniele nodded, wishing he had kissed that finger.

  “Bar All’Angolo has the best. I’ll call you.” He had given her his number on his last visit in Florence.

  “You have work to do,” Elvira called out.

  “Coming! Ciao,” Stella said. Daniele watched her go, his heart now light.

  “Daniele.” Ivana tried to hide that big smile in her heart that was sure to show on her face. “If you want lunch, you’ll have to drive me home now.”

  “Of course, Signo—Ivana.”

  Nico and Perillo were drinking their second espresso when OneWag, who was outside, started barking. Seconds later, they heard a motorbike approaching.

  Perillo looked at his phone. “Mass is over.”

  The barking stopped.

  Nico went inside his living room/kitchen and strode to the far window. Daniele was trying to get off his bike, but OneWag was jumping up on his legs, body wriggling in welcome, making a nuisance of himself.

  “Ciao, Daniele. Ignore OneWag. He’s just happy to see you. The door’s open.”

  Perillo joined Nico at the window. “Ehi, Dani, where’s my car?”

  “I parked it in your spot at the station.”

  Perillo turned to Nico and in a low voice said, “Just like him to worry about using up my gasoline.”

  OneWag ran in with the satisfied look of a job well done. Daniele followed, holding a folder in his arms.

  “You’re looking happy, Dani,” Perillo said. “I’m afraid going to Mass never did that for me. I hope you said a few
prayers for us.”

  “Only for Signor Ferri.”

  “Good for you,” Nico said. “Your boss seems to think he might be guilty.”

  Daniele looked at Perillo, then Nico, then back to his boss. “We don’t know that yet, do we?” He lifted the folder he was holding. “Capitano Tarani left a folder with his notes in the office last night when you left to arrest Signor Ferri. I assumed we would continue the investigation and made copies.”

  “Ah, that explains your happiness.”

  Daniele did not correct his boss.

  Perillo crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. “Bravo, Brigadiere Donato.”

  “Good thinking, Daniele,” Nico said. “Have you had breakfast?” Rita, a devout Catholic, never ate before Mass if she was taking Communion.

  Daniele hugged the folder. The compliments embarrassed him. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Food sounds good,” Perillo said. “How about a nice American breakfast? Bacon and eggs, or those flat round things with streams of syrup on top.”

  “No pancakes, eggs or bacon. And no cornetto. All I can offer is toast, mortadella, caciotta and some prosciutto bought two days ago. What shall it be?”

  Perillo and Daniele answered together. “Toast.” Daniele added, “please.” Eating cheese and prosciutto for breakfast was too odd.

  Nico was still eating his melted caciotta sandwich and Daniele was crunching on the last of his buttered toast when Perillo put his empty plate aside and opened Daniele’s folder. “Our dear capitano didn’t mention he already had Mantelli’s phone records. Incoming and outgoing.” He should have asked about them. He was letting Tarani take over too easily.

  Perillo traced his finger down the few numbers and names. “The usual suspects.” Daniele had looked up the numbers and jotted down the names next to each. “Many to and fro with Loredana, the wife calling him four times. He didn’t call back. Three restaurants. A couple to the gardener.”

  A meek bark from OneWag, seated at the maresciallo’s feet, made him look down. Perillo had purposely released a shower of crumbs to the floor. They were now gone. “Go to your boss, he’s still eating.”