Murder in Verona (An Armstrong and Oscar Cozy Mystery #9)

Chapter 8

8

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON

Anna waited to hear the end of the aria and then came out to join us. She told me it had been ‘Sempre Libera’, one of the most famous of all of Verdi’s works and it came from La Traviata . It had been sung to perfection by the soprano although I felt that the attempted intervention by my dog probably hadn’t helped. Anna told me she had apologised to the young singer on Oscar’s behalf and had been given an indulgent smile in return. Even so, I knew I was going to have to keep an eye on him while we were here.

Anna told me she had some work to finish so Oscar and I went for a walk on our own – but only after I’d changed back into normal clothes again. I wanted to see exactly where the accident had taken place and I didn’t fancy wandering down a country road dressed as a character out of a Thomas Hardy novel. I checked with Dolores before leaving so as to be sure exactly where I could and should go. She told me that the estate extended as far as a clump of woodland to the north of the villa and I decided to start there and then curl back around so as to take in the vineyards on the west-facing hillside above Lake Garda and the scene of the crash. Elektra seemed remarkably happy with Oscar so I offered to take both dogs with me, and Dolores was only too happy to accept.

‘She needs a good walk. I’ve been particularly busy this week so she hasn’t been out as much as usual. Don’t worry about a lead. She’ll trot along with you quite happily and she’s good with cars.’

Shortly after setting out, I came across a man sitting on a tractor, about to start mowing the lawns beyond the villa, and I stopped to say hello. He looked as though he was around my age, with a weather-beaten face, and he seemed only too willing to talk. After a brief discussion about what sounded like a very comprehensive irrigation system up here to keep the grass looking so good, I gradually managed to bring him around to the subject of the recent tragedy and he shook his head sadly.

‘Signor Rodolfo was a good man, a very good man. Such a pity.’

I decided to be as tactful as possible in my approach. ‘I’ve been hearing that some people think it might not have been an accident.’

He shot me a sceptical look. ‘Well, I can tell you this: it certainly wasn’t suicide. I was helping him work on the engine of his lovely old Ferrari Dino only the day before the accident and he was as happy and cheerful as ever. He was telling me something about going to Venice at Christmas to perform in front of kings and queens.’

‘He used to work on the cars himself?’

‘Yes, for the fairly straightforward stuff, but when it came to major work, he always used Maurizio down in Verona.’

‘Maurizio?’

‘Maurizio Tamburo, he has a garage specialising in classic cars.’

‘What time of day was it when the accident happened? Was there good visibility? ’

‘It was just after lunch and the sun was out – like today. He told me he was going down to the lake for a walk after lunch.’

‘Was that something he often did?’

‘To be honest, no, not really. Only when he needed to clear his head – like after an argument.’

‘Had he had an argument with anybody that lunchtime?’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve no idea. He didn’t say anything to me, although he wasn’t smiling.’

This fact went straight into my mental notebook as worthy of further investigation. Had there been an argument and, if so, with whom and about what? ‘Where did the accident happen?’ By now I could see him eyeing me suspiciously. It was clear he thought I was asking far too many questions but, at least for now, he didn’t query why.

He swivelled on the tractor seat and pointed downhill in the direction of the lake. ‘Less than a kilometre down there. There’s a long, straight bit of road with a nasty right-hand bend at the end. Giacomo – he farms that land – saw the whole thing. He said the E-type came down the road like a rocket and just ploughed into the big old cypress tree and caught fire. I went down to take a look that afternoon before they took it away and the car was almost unrecognisable. You could hardly tell that it had once been a car at all. I shudder to think what state his body must have been in.’

‘You say Giacomo is the farmer who works the land down there?’

‘Yes, you can see his farm from here.’ He pointed and I could just see the red tiled roof of a farmhouse alongside two huge trees. That should be easy to find. I tried a more direct question.

‘Do you think it’s possible that somebody tried to murder him?’

He looked across and shrugged helplessly. ‘Don’t think I haven’t been asking myself the exact same question. The thing is, how could it have happened? That Jaguar was almost sixty years old, but it was in beautiful condition and he was always fiddling with it or just polishing it. Maurizio gave it a full service only a couple of months ago so there can’t have been anything seriously wrong with it. Besides, if somebody had been tampering with the brakes, surely the police would have noticed when they investigated the accident – although, like I say, there wasn’t much left to examine after the crash and the fire.’ He was still looking closely at me and a hint of a smile appeared on his face. ‘So what are you: police, secret service, insurance investigator?’

I smiled back and decided not to prevaricate. ‘All right, you’ve got me. I have a private investigation agency and Rodolfo’s mother is convinced that his death was suspicious. She’s asked me to look into it and so far, the only people who know why I’m here are Dolores, Clarissa the principal, and now you. Could I ask you to keep it to yourself for a day or two?’

‘Of course.’ He seemed pleased to be included in the secret. ‘If somebody really did murder Signor Rodolfo, you can count on my 100 per cent cooperation.’

‘Thank you very much. By the way, my name’s Dan Armstrong.’ I pulled out my notebook and started to take notes. ‘Could I have your name, please?’

‘Giuseppe Pavese, but everybody calls me Beppe.’

‘Thanks, Beppe. Have you worked here long?’

‘Thirty-three, no, thirty-four years. I started looking after the grounds when the villa was still just a private house. My father worked for the Argento family for forty years before me.’

This sounded promising. He’d obviously been here since before the villa had changed to its current use and so he probably knew as much about this place as anybody. Also, if he had worked here so long, it made it less likely that he would suddenly have decided to murder his boss. Not impossible, but unlikely .

I decided to find out more about Rodolfo’s classic car collection. ‘You could maybe start by telling me where Rodolfo kept his cars. Presumably under lock and key?’

He pointed towards the rear of the villa. ‘Some years ago, he converted the old stables into the garage for the cars. It’s like a museum in there, the cars all lined up side by side.’

‘How many cars are there in the collection?’

‘Twelve… eleven now. One more beautiful than the next.’

‘What happened to the wreck of the Jaguar? Is it still with the police?’

He shook his head. ‘I saw Maurizio the other day and he told me he’d been asked to pick it up from the police pound and take a look at it for them – presumably checking for signs of tampering. It’s in his garage now and he’s also been asked to see if there’s any chance of rebuilding it, although I’d be amazed if there’s anything worth saving.’

‘Surely the police wouldn’t have asked him to do that?’

‘No, that was Alfredo, Signor Rodolfo’s cousin. Have you met him?’

‘Not yet, what’s he like?’

He glanced around before answering. ‘To be honest, he’s a bit of a pain. Don’t quote me on that. Let’s just say that the most important person in Alfredo’s life is Alfredo. Not like his sister – she’s always got a friendly word for everybody and she’s definitely got her head screwed on, that one.’

‘That would be Rosina? She’s more clued up than he is?’

‘Without her, he’d be lost. He only seems to be interested in golf and fast cars.’ He shook his head ruefully.

This confirmed what Violetta had told me, but I stuck with cars for now. ‘How do I get access to Rodolfo’s garage with all his cars?’

‘I have a key. I can let you in any time. ’

‘Does anybody else have a key?’

‘Dolores has duplicates of all keys in the safe, and of course Signor Rodolfo had one, but I don’t know who’s got that one now.’ He looked up and shook his head. ‘I very much doubt whether it survived the crash and the fire. I think his mother, Signora Violetta, also had a copy because she sometimes drove some of his cars.’

‘Who else has access to the safe apart from Dolores?’

He shook his head. ‘Clarissa might have, I imagine, but otherwise I’m afraid I don’t know. You’d have to ask Dolores that.’

I glanced at my watch. It was just after two. ‘I’m going to take Oscar and Elektra for their walk now and check out the scene of the accident while I’m at it. If I see the farmer, I’ll stop and have a chat to him but I should be back here by half past three or so. What time do you go off?’

‘I’m normally here until five but I can stay longer if you like.’

‘Thanks, but I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Maybe when I come back, you could let me into the garage so I can have a look around.’

I continued with our walk as far as the little piece of woodland, where Oscar was able to find a host of sticks for me to throw for him to fetch. Elektra, on the other hand, just selected a suitably appealing branch and carried it with her, refusing my offers to take it from her and throw it. Unfortunately, her chosen branch was almost four feet long and she appeared blissfully unaware that every time she turned her head, she risked tripping me up. The breeze up here on the hillside was very welcome and in the shade of the trees, the temperature was perfect. From the woods, we headed down through a well-tended vineyard in the direction of the lake. There were already well-formed bunches of grapes on the vines that would, no doubt, produce next year’s supply of Valpolicella for the villa .

We carried on downhill until we came to a road. From the direction of it, this was pretty evidently the continuation of the one we had taken to get to the main gates of the villa and I could see what Beppe had meant about a long straight ending in a sharp bend. I could well imagine the opera singer gunning the Jaguar down here without a care in the world.

Until he reached the bend.

We walked down the quiet country road without meeting a single vehicle and finally reached the scene of the accident. Even without the extensive damage to an old timber fence and the burn marks on the massive trunk and lower branches of an ancient cypress tree on the edge of another vineyard, I could see quite clearly that this was the scene of the crash. I estimated there to be well over a hundred faded floral tributes stacked around the tree where grieving fans had come to pay their last respects. It was a touching scene but the detective in me was far more interested by what I couldn’t see. Looking back up the road, I couldn’t see even the slightest hint of a skid mark and the E-type had been built years before anti-lock braking had been invented. The farmer who’d seen the crash had been dead right. Either Rodolfo hadn’t tried to brake, or his brakes had failed.

My attention was then drawn to the sound of a vehicle coming up through the vines and I spotted one of those funny little narrow tractors that pop up in vineyards all over Italy. Driving it was an elderly man, and I took a chance. I flagged him down and climbed through the gap in the fence to speak to him, accompanied by the two dogs.

‘Good afternoon, are you Giacomo by any chance?’

He reached forward and switched off the noisy engine. ‘I am indeed. How can I help you?’

I decided that, just like with Beppe, I was going to have to take him into my confidence. ‘My name is Armstrong. I’ve been asked to investigate the circumstances surrounding Rodolfo Argento’s death and I believe you witnessed the crash.’

To my relief, he didn’t question my presence and appeared keen to help. ‘Like I told the police, the Jaguar just came roaring down the road, straight into the tree, and exploded. I bet he was doing ninety or a hundred. He never touched the brakes or, if he did try them, they weren’t working.’

‘Could you see the driver’s face?’

He shook his head. ‘I only caught sight of the car at the very last moment, I’m afraid.’ He shuddered. ‘You should have seen it after it hit the tree. Awful!’

‘Did he hit the tree straight on?’

‘Not quite. He must have turned the wheel because the front left-hand wing took the worst of the impact and, of course, that’s where he was sitting.’

‘And were the police the first people to arrive?’

‘Yes, along with the ambulance and the fire engine. I phoned the emergency services immediately after the crash and I suppose it took them about twenty minutes to reach the scene. Luckily by that time, I’d managed to beat the worst of the flames out but there was nothing I could do for Rodolfo.’

‘He was killed in the impact?’

He just nodded grimly. ‘No doubt about it. His body was in a terrible state.’ His bleak expression said it all.

We chatted a little more but it was clear that he had told me all he knew. Finally, I thanked him and set off up the road again with my two canine companions. As we made our way back through the vineyard towards the villa, I reflected on what I’d just heard. It was clear to me that the most likely explanation for the accident had to be brake failure. The fact that the Jaguar hadn’t hit the tree straight on indicated that Rodolfo had been trying to steer into the bend or, at the very least, had been doing his best to avoid hitting the massive tree. To my mind, this made it clear that he’d been trying to take avoiding action, and so Dolores’s theory of a seizure didn’t stand up unless it had been a fleeting attack of some kind from which he’d awakened at the very last moment. It would be interesting to see whether he had a history of epilepsy or similar but, if not, it still looked like brake failure to me. The attempt at avoiding action would also indicate that it hadn’t been suicide unless, of course, that had been his plan but he’d lost his nerve at the last moment and spun the wheel in a vain attempt to avert the inevitable.

I added an urgent trip to Maurizio’s garage to my to-do list. Maybe the mangled remains of the Jaguar might still provide a clue.