The Bitter Taste of Murder

by Camilla Trinchieri

  “Certainly. I’m sure Signor Mantelli kept a copy of it, but I’ll be happy to send Signora Mantelli a copy of the agreement, along with Signor Mantelli’s letter stating the loan was paid in full.”

  “She would appreciate that. You have his email address?”

  “Yes, we do, and please tell her how sorry we are about his death. We would have lost the vineyard if he hadn’t opened up his wallet.”

  “Did you ask him for a loan directly?”

  “No, I would never have had the courage. He was vacationing in Taormina and came here for a tasting. He liked our wine very much. I told him we might have to close. ‘Your wine merits life,’ is what he said, and he offered us a loan with very generous terms. Please tell the signora how grateful we are to him, may God rest his soul.”

  “I will. Thank you for clearing up the situation. Buongiorno.”

  He eyed OneWag, who was feigning sleep on the front seat, and scratched his ear. The call to the Piedmont vintner gave the same answer. Mantelli had loaned money to Giorgio Casagiorni, owner of the Casagiorni Nebbiolo vineyard, four years ago. He must have been very flush at the time. Casagiorni had just finished paying it back. He, too, agreed to send a copy of the original agreement and the paid-in-full letter to Mantelli’s email address.

  Nico dropped the phone in the open glove compartment and put the key in the ignition. “Get down.”

  The dog raised his head and blinked sleepily.

  Nico started the motor. “Down or out. Take your pick.”

  OneWag unpeeled his body from the front seat and lowered himself down slowly. The pit was better than out.

  On the way to meet Perillo and Daniele in the park, Nico called Diane to tell her about the two vintners. “They both say the loans are paid in full and they have papers to prove it. They’re going to email you copies.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.” Whatever ill feelings she’d had after the pool fiasco were now gone. “I’d like to think the loans show that I loved a man who had some redeeming features, but I suspect he did it to boost his perpetually suffering ego. What made you get this hunch?”

  He told her about Ginevra’s comment. “Can you look through his papers to see if you find the loan agreements?”

  “I’ve examined every piece of paper in this house. No loan agreement, no receipts for debts paid and no Swiss bank account numbers.”

  Her answer didn’t surprise him. He suspected Loredana had found them first. “Let me know if you receive proof of payment from the two vintners. I want to make sure they were telling the truth.”

  “What about Luca?”

  “Verdini claims it was payoff money.”

  “A good review from the great Michele is more important than a loan, then. Luca’s folks are rich. I’ll let you know. Ciao.”

  Nico found Perillo pacing the perimeter of the park under the splotchy shade of the oak trees.

  Nico walked up the slight slope and joined Daniele. “Perillo, stop a minute. I have interesting news.”

  “I have better,” Perillo shouted. “Two more rounds and I’m with you.”

  Nico sat on the bench. “What’s he doing?” he asked Daniele, who was following Perillo with his eyes as if afraid he might fall down.

  “He says the doctor told him the walking would loosen his stiff knee.” Maybe this was true, but Daniele suspected the maresciallo was only trying to clear his head.

  “Come on, sit down. He’ll be fine. What is this better news?”

  Daniele stayed standing. “He received a phone call from Mantelli’s housekeeper last night. He’ll want to tell you the rest himself.” Perillo still had one more round to go.

  “Maresciallo Perillo, if you don’t stop this minute,” Nico said as Perillo paced closer, “I’m taking my news to Tarani.”

  Perillo stopped on the spot. He took a few deep breaths and walked to the bench. “Loredana might not have killed herself.” He sat down next to Nico. Daniele sat on the other side.

  “You got the autopsy results.”

  “Not yet.” Perillo relayed what Ida had told him. “Loredana gave all her drugs to Ida in a bag. Including the syringe. Daniele picked them up this morning.”

  Daniele nodded. He’d gotten a plastic bag full of drugs and two slices of Ida’s strawberry crostata.

  Nico leaned back on the bench. As he’d told Diane, it wasn’t like Perillo to jump to conclusions. “Loredana could have gotten more drugs. She was an addict. Whatever her intentions to come clean were, her body needed the drugs to function. She was under a lot of stress.”

  “Pentobarbital is easy to get,” Daniele admitted. Last night, after the maresciallo had given him Ida’s news, he looked up the drug, not sure which was the worse end for Loredana, suicide or murder. “It’s outlawed in America, but here, you can get it online.”

  Perillo stood and lit a cigarette. “You’re probably right, Nico.” He walked a few steps away to keep the smoke from bothering Daniele. “I’m getting overimaginative. I keep wondering why there was no trace of her when the hikers went back to find her. Remember, we thought someone had picked her up?”

  “She hid from them.”

  “If she was planning to commit suicide, why take her two suitcases with her?”

  “Maybe the idea of suicide came to her afterward, when she realized she really had nowhere to go. Perillo, we could debate this all day. Let’s wait for the autopsy report.”

  “If they find she died of an overdose of pentobarbital, that won’t tell us who administered it.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s true. Did you go through the contents of her suitcase?”

  “I did.” Daniele said. “It was full of clothes, shoes, makeup. Women’s things. She must have packed in a hurry. She didn’t bother folding anything.”

  “Her phone?”

  “It was near her body next to a sharp rock,” Perillo said. “She or someone else smashed it into small pieces. The rock had tiny slivers of glass on it. That phone was pummeled with an incredible amount of rage.”

  Or desperation, Daniele thought but didn’t say.

  “Tarani took it with him to Florence headquarters to see if it’s possible to retrieve any information from it.”

  Daniele shook his head and said to Nico, “You have news?” He hoped it had nothing to do with Loredana.

  “I do. Something that might open up a new line of inquiry.”

  “Good,” Daniele muttered under his breath as Perillo spread out his arms and looked up at a lacy patch of sky peeking between the tree leaves.

  “This is important. Sit down and listen.”

  Perillo did as he was asked. Nico told them what he had discovered after talking to the vintners. “Loredana may or may not have killed Mantelli. Now that she’s dead, we can’t know for sure, which means you have to consider all the other suspects. Did you try reaching Diane?”

  “She’s in Florence working with Signora Della Langhe until tomorrow. I told her about Loredana. ‘That’s what I thought she’d do,’ was her only comment. I asked her to come to the station to help me clarify a few things as soon as she got back. She’s said she’ll only come of her own accord if you sit in on the meeting. She’s either given her heart to you or she finds Americans more trustworthy. Perhaps both.”

  “You never quit, do you?” Nico didn’t mind. It meant that Perillo was getting back to his endearingly annoying old self. “Verdini is who you have to talk to next. Diane told me his parents are rich, but that doesn’t mean they were willing to give him money or that he even asked them. After talking to those two vintners, I think Mantelli giving Verdini a loan makes much more sense than asking for a kickback.”

  “Signor Mantelli asked Aldo Ferri to pay,” Daniele said. “Signora Cinzia confirmed it.”

  Nico shook his head. “That was a very different situation. He was in love wi
th Cinzia and wanted to make both of them suffer. Verdini told me he had kept paying Mantelli even after other important wine critics were giving him great reviews. He claimed he had done it out of gratitude, knowing Mantelli needed money. I find that a little too generous of him.”

  “You think he was continuing to pay back the loan with interest, but Mantelli demanded the money back all at once.”

  “And Verdini didn’t want to pay it.”

  “This must have been before he sold the villa.”

  “Maybe Mantelli wanted all the money he could get. Diane only found about the sale from her lawyer a few days before he died.”

  “About the esteemed wine critic needing money,” Perillo said, “Ida confirmed he placed bets every Monday morning.”

  Daniele jumped in. “If Ida knew, I think Signora Severson must have also known. She must be very angry that her husband threw away their money like that. That gives her good motive.”

  Nico studied Daniele’s intent expression for a moment. “You really think Loredana is innocent of Mantelli’s murder, don’t you?”

  “Yes, and that she didn’t kill herself.”

  Perillo shot a look at Nico, which seemed to say, What can I do, Dani has fallen in love again.

  Not love, Nico thought. Daniele was following his instinct, and there was a chance his instinct was spot-on here. “Why would anyone want to kill Loredana?”

  “She knew who killed Mantelli.”

  Perillo and Daniele walked down the geranium-lined path with Contessa leading the way. Perillo had called ahead. Luca Verdini was waiting for them in one of the uncomfortable chairs by the tasting shed.

  Perillo put on a smile as he approached. “Thank you for taking the time to answer a few questions.”

  Verdini stood, but did not return the smile. “Actually, I don’t have much time. I’m conducting a group tasting in twenty minutes.”

  “I shall be as brief as a Neapolitan maresciallo can be. May we sit?”

  “Of course.”

  Perillo picked the chair with the best view. He waited for Daniele to sit and take out his pen and notebook. Verdini sat opposite. Seeing all was well, Contessa took off.

  “We’ve been wondering about the kickbacks Signor Mantelli had asked of a few vintners, you included.”

  “I, too, found it puzzling at the time,” Verdini said. “He was such a well-regarded wine critic. I have to admit I was happy to comply. He gave me the boost I needed.”

  “You attest that the eight hundred euros you paid Signor Mantelli monthly was in order to get good reviews on his blog and his magazine?”

  “I do.”

  “We spoke to two other vintners who were on the same list we found in Mantelli’s computer. They have declared and sent proof that the money they sent Signor Mantelli was repayment plus interest for a loan he had given them. Perhaps he offered you a loan also?”

  There was no telltale reaction from Verdini. “No, he didn’t,” he answered calmly. “He’s the one who wanted money, not me. I needed to be put on the map, that’s why I accepted the deal. Why are you asking?” He raised a hand. “You don’t need to answer. Diane put you up to this. If Michele had loaned me money, she’d want me to pay it back. Well, there was no loan.”

  “And you continued to pay him even after you no longer needed his praises?”

  “Yes. I was, still am, grateful to him. I stopped paying last month because I discovered he was gambling his money away.”

  “Where were you on Tuesday last week?”

  “Tuesday? I’m always here working with my men. Three Albanians who have been with me from the start. Ginevra came mid-morning. I had a lunch appointment at Cibreo with friends of mine, a couple from Paris. We did the art-in-churches tour together. Florence has the highest concentration of fine art in the world. Have you been to the Brancacci Chapel? I see your brigadiere has.”

  Daniele had been nodding. Now he blushed.

  “Glorious, isn’t it?”

  Daniele nodded again. The anguish on Eve’s face after being expulsed from the Garden had crushed his heart. For an instant, Loredana’s face flashed through his mind with the same anguish.

  “What time did you get back?” Perillo asked.

  “Too late to change for dinner, unfortunately. I drove from Florence straight to Castellina to pick up Diane. She was staying at the Palazzo Squarcialupi Hotel.” As his fingers combed through his hair, he smiled. “She was nice enough to forgive my disheveled attire.”

  Perillo leaned forward and set his dark eyes on Verdini’s handsome face. For a moment, he thought how nice it would be to have his youth, his looks, his confidence. But only for a moment. “I ask again to be doubly certain: Signor Mantelli did not loan you money?”

  “He did not. He asked for a kickback and I gave it to him, just as Aldo Ferri did.”

  “I see. I hear voices approaching. I think your clients are here. We shall leave you to your work.” As Perillo stood up, he saw a flash of red running up the path. “Daniele will write up what was said here. I ask that you please come down to the station tomorrow to sign it. And please bring the names, phone numbers and addresses of Ginevra, the workers who were with you and the friends you saw that day.”

  Verdini got on his feet. “I have them right here.” He stepped into the shed and came out with an open logbook. “You’ll find what you need on the top of each worker’s page.”

  While Daniele had copied what he needed, Verdini took out his phone, clicked on contacts and when Daniele had finished with the logbook, offered him the names and phone numbers of his Parisian friends. “They’re still in Florence, staying at the Lungarno.”

  Perillo noticed the smug smile crossing Verdini’s lips. He suspected that meant the alibi was solid. “Thank you. I expect to see you tomorrow.”

  Verdini nodded. “Probably in the afternoon. My morning is packed with tastings and sales. Excuse me, but I need to greet my guests before Contessa overwhelms them with her attention.” He hurried up the path.

  Daniele put his notebook and pen back in his shirt pocket and gave a last look at the vines receding in the distance. “I’ll check the alibi when we get back.”

  “I think you’ll find it has no leaks.”

  For Loredana’s sake, Daniele hoped it was full of holes.

  Daniele was in his room, spooning a ready-made bean soup he’d bought at the Coop that he hadn’t bothered to heat. When the maresciallo invited him to dinner, he’d said he wasn’t hungry. It was true, but it wasn’t the real reason he’d turned down the invitation. He needed to be alone to understand why he was so certain that Loredana hadn’t killed Mantelli or herself. It was like something was stuck in his teeth and no prodding would get rid of it. He had no proof. Was he being naïve? He knew that was what Nico and the maresciallo thought. Was it because she was so beautiful? Verdini’s alibi had turned out to be as solid as Ghiberti’s bronze doors.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the phone. He didn’t recognize the number and clicked off. The phone rang again. Maybe it was from Vince or Dino. They’d never exchanged numbers.

  “Brigadiere Donati speaking.”

  “Dani, my mother just told me what happened. I’m so sorry.”

  A soothing happiness enveloped him. “Thank you, Stella.”

  “I knew you’d be upset. I don’t want to disturb you, just give you a hug by phone.”

  “I don’t think she killed herself or Mantelli.”

  “I know. Nico talked to Mamma, and when I called her ten minutes ago, she told me. Do you have proof?”

  “No. That’s what’s terrible. Not a shred of proof, but I can’t get rid of the conviction. I think she knew who killed him and maybe tried to blackmail them, and that’s what got her killed. She didn’t have any money of her own.”

  “You must have someone in mind.”

&n
bsp; “I do, but I can’t tell you.”

  “I don’t need to know, but what are you going to do about it?”

  “It’s up to the maresciallo, but he doesn’t believe me.”

  “You’re his brigadiere. Maybe you can sniff around. You might find something you can show him.”

  He had thought of asking Peppino if he had heard Loredana’s threat to Mantelli. Ida might have lied for her own reasons. “The maresciallo wouldn’t like that.”

  “Well, sometimes he does.”

  Daniele’s “yes” wasn’t very convincing.

  “Now can be sometimes. But be wise in your sniffing. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Thank you,” Daniele said, too moved to say anything else.

  “Come to Florence soon,” Stella said. “I could use a friendly face.”

  “Me too.”

  They clicked off.

  Peppino peered out of the half-open door. “The signora is in Florence,” he said and started to close the door.

  “I know, Signor Risso,” Daniele said. “It’s you I want to talk to. You know Signorina Loredana is dead.”

  “Yes, Nelli told me. She was a strange one, but kind. Before she left, she wanted to give me some money. I didn’t take it. I have no need for money. She said she wanted to give me something because I was nice to her. All I did was make her breakfast. Caffelatte and yoghurt with a spoonful of my blackberry jam. I have three blackberry bushes at the end of the property.”

  The door stayed half open. “You’re lucky. My mother makes jam, but she has to buy the fruit.”

  “Luck is no longer with me.”

  “Yes, I heard about the sale. It must be very hard.”

  “It broke me.”

  “I’m sorry. May I come in? Signorina Loredana’s death has shaken me, and I thought maybe you could help.”

  “If I can.” Peppino opened the door slowly, as if its weight was too much for him.

  Daniele stepped inside. “Thank you.” He followed Peppino into a room just beyond the entrance hall. The kitchen was all steel and glass. At the far end of the room, between two large windows, a ceramic bowl with a utensil sticking out of it sat on the edge of a thick glass table.