The Bitter Taste of Murder

by Camilla Trinchieri

  “I’m sorry,” Daniele said. “I interrupted your dinner.” The room was very hot. The windows were closed. Peppino was wearing baggy jeans, workmen’s boots and a long-sleeved shirt. He obviously didn’t feel the heat.

  “No bother. It’s cold. Bean soup from the Coop. A lone man’s feed.” Peppino walked over to the table and sat on a backless metal stool.

  Daniele was going to say that he’d had the same dinner, but the “lone man’s feed” comment stopped him.

  After a couple of spoonfuls of soup, Peppino asked, “What can I do for you?”

  “May I sit?”

  “If you want.”

  Daniele pulled out another stool from under the table and sat. “I was wondering if you ever heard Signorina Loredana threaten Signor Mantelli.”

  “Ida said she heard that. Not me. If the signorina said what Ida thinks she heard, she didn’t mean it. You get angry and you say the stupidest things. Men and women both. That young woman depended on Mantelli. She looked at him like a newborn kitten looks at her mamma. That’s not love. Need is what it is.”

  “The capitano in charge of the investigation thinks she killed him, and that’s why she committed suicide.”

  “No.”

  “Everyone thinks that now. It’s going to be in the papers.” Daniele could see that Peppino was upset by what he’d just said. He was folded over himself. “That’s how she’s going to be remembered. I feel it’s my fault. I called her to come to the station because the maresciallo and the capitano wanted to question her. I must have scared her, and she ran. That made her look guilty. I feel terrible about it. Now she’s dead. Suicide, they say.”

  Peppino shook his head and straightened up. “A weak animal runs from danger, hoping to outsmart death. Poor little kitten.”

  “I think she’s innocent, Peppino. I also think you know more about Mantelli’s death than you’ve told us.”

  “I cannot help you. May Signorina Loredana rest in peace.” Peppino bent over his soup and resumed eating.

  Daniele waited. The only sound came from the spoon hitting the bottom of the bowl. There seemed to be no end to the soup.

  Daniele waited a few more minutes. “The maresciallo is going to question Signora Severson tomorrow.”

  Peppino’s spoon stopped midway between the bowl and his mouth. “The signora is in Florence.”

  “She’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

  The spoon went back to the bowl. Peppino lifted his head to look at Daniele. “Why more questions?”

  “Until the case is closed, there will always be more questions. Goodnight, Peppino. Thank you for listening.”

  After a light dinner made up of barely warm zucchini and onion soup, a spinach omelet and a fruit salad, Perillo offered to clean up, as he did every night. Ivana, as expected, told him to get out of her kitchen. With a kiss to her forehead, he obeyed and left the apartment for his nightly two-cigarette walk around the small park.

  As he walked, he tried to free his mind of the image of Loredana’s body, curled up as if asleep. She looked at peace, something she had clearly not been in life. Was she Mantelli’s killer? Her threat, her actions suggested she was, but there was no definitive proof. He walked the perimeter of the park, and after finishing his first cigarette of the evening, he debated lighting another and walking another round. He was tired, perhaps even depressed, but at least his knee was feeling better. He checked his watch. Ivana would welcome him back now. Perhaps they’d watch a bit of television together. He looked forward to being near her, holding her hand, breathing in the lily-of-the-valley scent she had bought for herself after a church visit to Florence and the thirteenth-century Santa Maria Novella Apothecary. He would ask Daniele to get him a new bottle on one of his trips to the city. Being close to Ivana reduced whatever work problems he had to digestible nuggets. Another cigarette would be of no help at all, he decided. He really did need to quit.

  As Perillo left the park and made his way to the barracks apartments, the first muffled notes of “O Sole Mio” rang out in his pocket. He answered, hoping it was Ivana calling him back for the start of a television show. He had just heard the nine o’clock church bells.

  “Ciao, Salvatore. Am I interrupting something?”

  It was soft-voiced Barbara, Della Langhe’s very capable assistant. They had never met in person, but he considered her a friend. She had saved him many headaches with Della Langhe. “No, I’ve just finished my after-dinner stroll.”

  “Are you ever going to give up smoking?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Your voice.”

  “I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

  “Your choice, your life. I just got home from having dinner with friends at Perseus.”

  “Dario Cecchini’s steaks in Panzano are better.” He didn’t really know, as he’d never been to Florence’s famous steakhouse, but he liked to one-up Barbara.

  “You’re just envious. But listen. Elsa’s husband happens to work in the medical examiner’s lab. I asked him about the autopsy on the woman who killed herself in Gravigna. He knows I work for Della Langhe and didn’t want to tell me anything. Another bottle of Fontodi Chianti Classico did the trick, but you can’t act on what I’m about to tell you until you get the official autopsy report. I’d like to keep my job.”

  “I understand.” He definitely wanted the same. “I swear on the lives of my suede boots and jacket that I won’t act on what you tell me.”

  Barbara laughed in his ear. “I didn’t know you were such a fashionista. You’ll have to send me a picture.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “He overheard the medical examiner tell his assistant that your Loredana Cardi didn’t have enough pentobarbital in her blood to kill her.”

  “Holy heaven, what are you saying?”

  “She didn’t die of a drug overdose. Something else killed her.”

  “What?”

  “He doesn’t know, and he thinks the medical examiner doesn’t know yet, either. He did say she wasn’t wounded in any way that he could see.”

  Perillo leaned against the barrack wall for support. “Holy Mary and all the saints,” was all he could say. He reached for a cigarette and lit it. After a drag, he asked, “Does your friend have any idea of how she committed suicide?”

  “He thinks she was murdered. Buonanotte, Salvatore. Again, please wait for the official autopsy report before doing anything. You don’t have to thank me.”

  “I won’t. You just gave me a sleepless night.”

  He put out his half-smoked cigarette. It tasted like dust. Daniele and Nico would have to wait for Barbara’s news until the morning. For now, he needed Ivana.

  FIFTEEN

  Caught by surprise, Daniele quickly took off his headphones and stood as Perillo walked into the office. “Buongiorno, Maresciallo.”

  “Sit, sit,” Perillo said with a wave of his hand. “What are you doing in the office at this hour of the morning?”

  It was the very question Daniele would have liked to ask Perillo. It was now 8:10. The maresciallo was never in the office before nine. “I woke up early.” He had tossed and turned all night.

  “Well, I never went to sleep,” Perillo said. It wasn’t quite true. He’d managed to catch snatches between worrying whether he had another murder to deal with. Walking to his desk, he noticed Daniele’s headphones were attached to his phone. “Ah, yes, music to calm the troubled soul. I should try that sometimes. What music?”

  “Beyoncé.”

  “Ah, you have a bias for beauty. Not that I blame you. Well, I hope your soul finds some consolation in that you may be right about Loredana.”

  Daniele’s face turned the color of ripe strawberries. “You have proof she’s innocent?”

  “Not proof. At the moment, it is only a possibility.” He couldn’t think of any reas
on why she would have been murdered for killing Mantelli. Much more likely that she knew who the murderer was and possibly tried blackmail—if she had been murdered, if she was innocent and if the medical examiner was right. If he was smart enough, if he still believed in himself, if he wasn’t going through a midlife crisis.

  “If is a word that should be abolished from all languages,” Perillo said out loud. “We will have to wait for the official autopsy report.”

  Daniele swallowed. “Can you tell me more, Maresciallo? Please,” he added as his color faded. His heart was banging against his rib cage, as if trying to escape.

  “I’ll explain on the way to the café. We both need more fuel.”

  After Perillo had his espresso and Daniele his apricot fruit juice, they slowly made their way back to the office. Daniele listened with bent head as Perillo told him what Barbara had said. He wanted to tell the maresciallo that there was no if involved. He knew he was right and Barbara had just proven it, but it gave him no consolation. He found murder horrifying. Suicide, sad as it was, was at least an act of free will, even if a desperate one.

  “Maresciallo, will you excuse me for twenty minutes?”

  “Of course,” Perillo did not ask him the reason. “Be back by nine-thirty. I’m expecting Signora Severson to come by, and I need you with me.”

  “Yes, Maresciallo.”

  Perillo lit his first cigarette of the day and watched his trusted brigadiere walk away briskly, as if he needed to distance himself from Barbara’s news. He’s going to the Basilica of Santa Croce to light another candle for Loredana.

  Back in his office Perillo called Nico to relay Barbara’s news.

  Nico was sitting with Gogol at their usual table at Bar All’Angolo when he took the call. “Too bad you can’t bring it up with Diane.”

  “I can play with the fact that we don’t have the results of the autopsy yet. Suicide hasn’t been proven.”

  “Is Tarani in on this?”

  “No, and I’m not telling him because I’m not supposed to know. I’m interrogating Diane Severson on my own. You will be her American witness. I’m very happy to have you. But I want no . . . what is it you Americans say?”

  “Miscarriage of justice?”

  “Hanky panky.”

  Nico’s eyebrows shot up. “Where did you get that from?”

  “An old tourist from Texas taught me. Whenever he saw me, he’d shake his finger at me and say, ‘No hanky panky now.’” Perillo let out a long breath. “I’m sorry. I needed to put a crack in this boulder Barbara dumped on me.”

  “We’ll smash it to pieces together once we know for sure that she was murdered. I’ll see you at ten-thirty.”

  “Diane is coming in at nine-thirty. She sent me a text last night.”

  “She changed it to ten-thirty. I was going to text you in a few minutes. Ciao.” Nico wasn’t happy about having to be on witness duty for Diane’s interview. He had planned to do his shopping before reporting for lunch at the restaurant. Nelli was coming over for dinner tonight, and he wanted to impress her with a meal she’d never eaten, a down-home American meal—Caesar salad, fried chicken and homemade potato chips, followed by apple pie and ice cream. The apple pie, he’d made late last night. All it needed was to be heated in the oven.

  Nico stood up. “Gogol, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve got a busy day.”

  The old man looked at his friend with regret on his face. “You are entering the deep and savage path.”

  “No, my friend, I think that path is ending. I’m about to embark on a much happier one. Arrivederci.”

  “I wish it for you. Tomorrow, if I live.”

  “You will.” Nico waved at Jimmy and Sandro and walked out, followed by a reluctant dog. A friendly lady had been feeding him bits of her ciambella.

  Nico, Diane and Peppino walked into Perillo’s office together at precisely 10:30. Perillo instantly stood up. Daniele did the same, his heart skipping a beat at seeing Peppino.

  “I see you’ve brought reinforcements to do battle with a harmless maresciallo,” Perillo said in a light tone. “It is to your advantage that I did not ask Capitano Tarani to join us. I bend with the wind. He does not. Signor Risso, although I did not summon you, I am glad you are here.”

  “I asked him to come. I think it’s fairer to interrogate us together.” Diane lowered herself on one of the two chairs that had been placed facing Perillo’s desk. She was wearing wide purple slacks splashed with bright orange flecks. Her loose-knit top was the color of apricots. Turquoise espadrilles completed the outfit. As usual, she had on no makeup or jewelry.

  Peppino, in the same work clothes he had worn on his first visit to the station, stood behind his mistress, not knowing what to do with his hands. He had not brought his hat.

  “Peppino, sit next to me.” She took his hand and steered him to the chair. Peppino looked at Nico. Nico shook his head. “No, please, the chair is yours.”

  Peppino sat down slowly, his gaze on Nico, just in case he changed his mind. Daniele had already left the room when Diane said, “Maybe your brigadiere can get another chair,” in the imperious tone that came to her when she was annoyed. “I don’t know why I am here again, Maresciallo. I am a working woman. As you know, Prosecutor Della Langhe is very annoyed I’m being kept from doing my work for his wife.”

  “I’m perfectly aware of that, Signora. You are here—” Perillo stopped as Daniele re-entered the room with a wooden chair. Nico took it from him and placed it several feet from Diane and Peppino, angled so he could see their faces.

  Perillo finally sat down behind his desk. “You are here, Signora, because I have to solve the murder of your estranged husband and find clarity in the mysterious death of his girlfriend.”

  Diane tossed one colorful leg over the other. “Della Langhe has declared it solved. Loredana killed Michele and then took her own life.”

  “That is one possibility.”

  “And the other possibility is that I killed Michele?” Diane laughed. “Maresciallo, you’re unbelievable. What is your thought process here? Did Loredana’s beauty grab your genitals so hard your brain has turned to mush?”

  Daniele’s eyes widened in horror. Perillo’s face lost all expression. Every one of his muscles clenched like a fist aching to strike.

  Nico called out softly in English. “Diane, there’s no need for that.”

  “Shut up, Nico. I didn’t ask you here to take his side.”

  “Actually, I’m taking yours.” He said this in Italian and turned to Perillo. “Excuse the interruption.” He noticed that Peppino seemed to have shrunk into himself.

  Perillo relaxed his shoulders and sat back in his chair. “Signora Severson, we have no proof that Loredana killed your husband, just as we do not yet have any proof she took her own life.”

  “What, you think she died of a heart attack? With a syringe right next to her body?”

  Perillo ignored her interruption. “Until we do, I need to pursue every possibility. You had a good motive. Your marriage was over. You weren’t going to get the money he had removed from your joint bank account. If he lived, the money from the sale of the villa might disappear too. If your husband died, the money from the sale of the villa would go to your son. You went to the villa Tuesday morning with the excuse of telling Signor Risso about the sale. You knew your husband liked to drink whiskey. You doctored the bottle and then asked Peppino to dispose of it after Mantelli had his evening drink.”

  Peppino stood up as fast as his old body permitted. “No. No, Maresciallo. The signora did not ask me to do anything. Please, believe me. She did not ask me.”

  Diane took his hand. “Thank you, Peppino. Sit down. It’s all right. The maresciallo is just fishing around, trying to give himself importance. He can’t prove anything.”

  An interesting comment, Nico thought.

 
He wasn’t going to get anywhere, Perillo realized. Not with her. He had hoped to shake her up a bit. He’d never met a woman like her. A Medusa, capable of turning men to stone. Peppino was the weak link. He would have to get to Peppino alone. It was time to change the subject. “Why do you think Loredana killed your husband?”

  “He was going to leave her.”

  “He told you this?”

  “He always left them. But no, Ida told me. She overheard him telling Loredana it was over. Heard her threatening him.”

  “That’s the word of only one person. Daniele tells me you asked Loredana to leave the villa. You even changed the locks. Why is that?”

  “She was acting as if she owned the place, dropping her clothes everywhere, ordering Ida about, sending Peppino out on errands. She must have been on some pill or other. She became manic. I’d had enough and drove her back to the B&B. She wouldn’t give back the keys to the villa I’d given her, so I changed the locks. I hope my kicking her out didn’t destabilize her even more. Feeling guilty is something I’ve always tried to avoid.” She checked her Apple watch and stood up. Nico stood too. “I’m going back to Florence now to continue my work for Signora Della Langhe. If you need to interrogate me again, you’ll have to charge me first. Buongiorno, Maresciallo. Brigadiere.” She nodded at each of them. “Come Peppino, I’ll take you home.”

  Peppino stood up slowly. “No, Signora. Thank you. I have shopping to do at the Coop. Nelli will take me back.” He held his hands clasped tight, his shoulders tensed forward, his expression hard to read.

  “Then I’ll drive you to the Coop.”

  She’s afraid he’ll stay and talk, Perillo thought.

  He’s shaken, Daniele thought. He had kept his eyes on Peppino throughout. He defended the signora, but clearly didn’t like what he heard her say.

  He looks overwhelmed, Nico thought. Broken. Nico was glad Nelli was going to drive him home.

  “Thanks for coming, Nico,” Diane said as she walked to the door followed by Peppino.