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

Chapter 11

11

WEDNESDAY EVENING

Alessia came across as charming. She told us she had spent the last few days performing in Naples and Salerno and had driven back this afternoon in her beloved old Porsche. She smiled a lot and projected a friendly personality, although it appeared to be an effort. The impression she gave was that she was still grieving for her husband but, of course, that might have been an act. My ex-wife often accused me of being too cynical, but a lifetime in the murder squad had made me loath to take any possible suspect at face value. Nevertheless, when Anna and I offered our condolences, a shadow passed over the widow’s face and her eyes dropped. If it was an act, it was a good one.

‘I still can’t believe he’s gone. It seems only yesterday he was telling me about his plans for the next few months.’ Her voice broke as she spoke and I gave her a few moments before continuing with the enquiry, keeping my tone low and respectful.

‘I understand he’d just been told that he would be singing in Venice at Christmas in front of some very illustrious company.’

‘Yes, he was very excited about that.’ She produced a tissue and wiped real tears from her eyes. As any actor will tell you, that takes a bit of doing so, I told myself, maybe she was genuinely grieving. Still, I couldn’t help querying what she had been doing since his death.

‘And you’ve been performing, so soon after his death? Couldn’t you have got out of it?’

‘My agent was all for cancelling my tour but, to be honest, performing takes my mind off things, so I was determined to carry on with the commitments rather than just mope around here on my own.’ She looked up and the pain in her eyes looked genuine to me. ‘It was just at night, alone in the hotel, that it was tough.’

I decided not to mention my reason for being here, but the grieving widow’s mind was clearly working along the same lines as my own. She looked me straight in the eye and spoke in measured, serious tones. ‘The police had a theory that Rodolfo might have tried to kill himself. That’s rubbish. Life was good for him. There’s no question about that.’

‘So if it wasn’t suicide, the only viable explanation is brake failure. Do you think that’s a possibility?’

She shook her head decisively. ‘Out of the question. That car was in perfect condition – I used to drive it myself whenever I could and it ran like clockwork. He was always working on it and there’s no way he could have overlooked something as serious as a problem with the brakes.’

I didn’t add the obvious conclusion that the car might have been tampered with. Instead, I let Anna steer the conversation back to music and we settled down to eat. Dinner was every bit as good as lunch. It started with some excellent cured ham and salami accompanied by fresh figs, and this was followed by a ham and mushroom risotto. The main course was a tasty chicken stew and I was amazed that my fellow diners weren’t all grossly overweight if they ate two meals like this every day. Presumably, their lessons kept them busy, the tennis courts kept them fit, and quite probably a certain amount of extra-curricular hanky-panky helped to burn off a few calories. The wine was as good as ever, although Anna and Alessia stuck to mineral water. After an excellent crème caramel, I decided to lay my cards on the table for her.

‘I don’t know if you’ve heard from Violetta, but she’s asked me to come up here and look into what might have been the real cause of your husband’s death – I’m a private investigator based in Florence. She’s convinced that his death was no accident and that somebody must have deliberately tampered with the Jaguar’s brakes. To that end, I wonder if you’d be able to give me a few minutes of your time. I really need to know as much as I can about Rodolfo.’

I had been keeping a careful eye on the widow as I explained what I was doing here and I observed the very positive way she reacted. ‘No, Violetta hasn’t said anything and it was Dolores who just told me now that you and Anna might be interesting to talk to – although she didn’t go into any detail. I’m very pleased to know that’s why you’re here because I totally agree with Violetta – not something I do very often. He was murdered; I have no doubt about that. Any help I can give to find the person who robbed me of the love of my life, just ask.’

I gave her a little smile, once again impressed at her apparent sincerity. ‘Thank you, that’s excellent. Are you happy to have that conversation now or would you prefer to get a good night’s sleep first? You have had a long drive, after all.’

‘I’m fine and I’m more than happy to talk to you now. Would you like a coffee first?’

After ordering coffees, I pulled out my notebook and embarked on a series of questions .

‘I couldn’t help noticing that you said you don’t often see eye to eye with Violetta. Could you tell me how you would categorise your relationship with your mother-in-law?’

She hesitated for a few moments. ‘I think “strained” would be the polite way of putting it. She and Rodolfo had a strange relationship – to my mind not a very healthy one. It was clear that she worshipped the ground he walked on and it was equally clear that she could do no wrong in his eyes.’ She looked across the table and gave me a weak smile. ‘You can probably imagine how difficult it was for me in the middle of that.’

I certainly could. I had already gained the impression that Violetta’s relationship with her son had been very close and I could sympathise with the new wife caught up in the middle of some fairly tight apron strings. Whether that could have led to such frustration that murder had appeared the best solution remained to be seen. I left that subject for now and stuck to generalities.

‘You were married last September?’

She nodded.

‘How would you describe your relationship with your husband?’

She didn’t hesitate. ‘Warm, loving, trusting.’

‘I’m interested that you use the word “trusting”. A lot of the people I’ve been speaking to seem to think that your husband was an inveterate womaniser. What do you say to them?’

Her expression soured. ‘I would tell them to mind their own business. Of course I knew when I met Rodolfo that he had a reputation, but I can honestly say that, since getting married, I have absolutely no doubt that he was ever unfaithful to me once. Nor I to him.’

This last remark was in stark contrast to the allegations levelled against her by Violetta, but I decided not to rake them up for now. After all, Dolores had had no doubts about Alessia’s probity, so maybe this was all the work of the octogenarian’s malicious imagination.

‘If we consider for a moment that your husband might have been murdered, can you think of any enemies he might have had? Is there anybody who stood to win or lose as a result of his death?’

‘I suppose the only winner is Violetta, who’s inherited half of his considerable wealth – much to the chagrin of his cousins, I’m sure, but I can’t see a mother murdering her son, can you? In an opera maybe, but not in real life. Not least a mother who so clearly doted on her son and he on her. Their relationship was so close, I felt almost jealous sometimes.’ She deliberately looked me straight in the eye. ‘And of course the other person to benefit is me. I’m many millions of euros richer than I was before his death, but I would give it all away in an instant just to have him here with me.’ I couldn’t miss the tears back in her eyes and I couldn’t detect any hint of insincerity in her voice. If it was a performance, it was a very convincing one. Interestingly, this provoked a movement from under the table and Oscar emerged, stretched, and wandered over to Alessia’s side, where he sat down and laid a heavy black paw on her knee in a sign of solidarity. He always seems to know when somebody needs the canine equivalent of a hug. She smiled at him and fondled his ears.

I carried on with my questions. ‘How do you get on with Rodolfo’s cousins? Do you see much of them?’

She paused for a few seconds’ reflection. ‘I like Rosina and I think she likes me. I see her every now and then. Her brother, Alfredo, keeps himself to himself and I rarely speak to him or Ingrid, his wife. I’m afraid I’ve never really got on with her. I think she made up her mind at an early stage that I was just a gold- digger and she’s never been able to give me the benefit of the doubt.’

‘And Violetta? She’s a very self-opinionated old lady. How difficult were things between the two of you?’

Alessia shook her head sadly. ‘It’s a shame. I’m sure I could really have got to like her if it hadn’t been for her suffocating influence on her son. She has so much character, but I’m afraid her opinion of me is probably the same as Ingrid’s.’

‘She thinks you’re a gold-digger?’

‘I’m not sure if she thought I was after his money, but she and I have never seen eye to eye. Like I told you, her relationship with Rodolfo was intense and I suppose no woman was ever going to match up to her expectations for her beloved son.’

‘Can you think of anybody outside the family who might have wished harm to your husband?’

‘A few years ago, quite possibly. Like I told you, I knew his reputation and it wasn’t pretty. I’m sure there were numerous cuckolded husbands and discarded lovers with a burning hatred of him, but that was before I came along. He was still a terrible flirt after I met him, but it no longer led anywhere. I can genuinely confirm that what we had was real love and I trusted him implicitly.’

After this unswerving vote of confidence I saw little point in continuing the questioning. Unless Alessia was a remarkably good actress, it seemed clear that she utterly denied the accusations I had been hearing – and Oscar appeared convinced of her sincerity. If her assertion that her husband had changed his ways was indeed the truth, then it neatly removed a whole heap of jilted lovers and brought me back to his immediate family. Still, even if it was just for the record, there was one question I knew I had to ask.

‘Would you mind telling me where you were on the day of the accident? I’m asking everybody.’ Even though I wasn’t .

‘I was here with Rodolfo. At least, we were here for part of the morning but then we both went down to the Porsche dealer in Verona to pick up a new tailpipe and a few other bits for my car. We were probably away for an hour or so.’

‘And that was in your Porsche?’

‘That’s correct, yes.’

‘And for the rest of the morning?’

‘We were together. We went upstairs but then came down for lunch in the dining room with the other residents. I was only really separated from him when he went off after lunch and of course then…’ Her voice tailed off.

‘I believe I heard that he was going down to the lake for a walk. I’m surprised you didn’t go with him. Why was that?’

‘He was upset. Not with me but with one of the students who annoyed him.’

‘Really? I thought everybody here loved him.’

‘Most of them did but not all…’ There was a pause before she carried on. ‘To tell the truth, one of the students made a comment about my dress and Rodolfo took exception to what he said.’

‘What did the student say?’

‘I can’t remember the exact words but he was commenting on my cleavage. It was a hot day and I was wearing a very loose blouse – but I certainly wasn’t indecent.’

‘Can you remember the name of the student?’ I had a premonition that I would recognise the name when I heard it – and I was right.

‘He’s a man called Romeo. He’s okay but he’s just a bit too full of himself. You know the type – he reckons he’s God’s gift to women. Anyway, Rodolfo sent him off with a flea in his ear, but it put him in a bad mood so he told me he was going off to clear his head. I remember asking him to make sure he brought the car back before half past two as I needed it to go down to the hairdressers in Verona for a three o’clock appointment. I couldn’t drive my Porsche as it was making a terrible racket.’ She looked up at me. ‘That was the last thing I ever said to him.’ There was a catch in her voice and I gave her a minute to collect herself before I carried on with the questions.

‘And while you went into Verona that morning to buy the new exhaust for your vehicle, was the garage here locked or open?’

‘Definitely locked. I don’t think he went into the garage that morning. My car was parked outside the main entrance. The idea was to put it up on the ramp next morning and fix the exhaust.’

A thought occurred to me, and I changed the subject. ‘Do you know your husband’s agent…’ I consulted my notepad, ‘…Paolo Ruggieri? Can you tell me anything about him?’

She shrugged. ‘What can I say? Paolo’s an agent, and we all know what they’re like.’

I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry, but I have limited experience of theatrical agents. What are they like?’

She even managed a little grin. ‘Devious, honey-tongued and only too happy to promise the earth.’

‘And did he deliver the goods? Was he an effective agent?’

‘Yes, I suppose so, but you could argue that it was Rodolfo’s reputation that made things so easy for Paolo.’

‘Did you ever hear your husband complain about him? Was there ever any bad blood between them?’

‘Rodolfo sometimes moaned about the fact that Paolo did very little, but I never heard them argue seriously.’ She paused for thought. ‘Apart from just a few days before the accident. They had a major argument on the phone. I didn’t hear what it was all about, but it was clear that Rodolfo was furious about something that Paolo had said.’

‘And you can’t remember what the argument was about?’

She shook her head. ‘No, when the call finished, I asked Rodolfo, but he was so angry, he just went out to his car and drove down to the lake again. That’s what he did when he was upset. He would park by Antonio’s café down there, walk along the lakeside until he calmed down and then he’d stop off for a coffee on his way back. According to Rodolfo, they make the best coffee in the area. By the time he came back again an hour after the argument with Paolo, he had settled down and when I asked him what it had been about, he just said, “Business.” I didn’t ask him again.’

‘I don’t suppose you have a contact number for Paolo Ruggieri, have you?’

She pulled out her phone and gave me the number. I thanked her very much for her help and we chatted a bit longer before she bade us goodnight and went off to her apartment.

After she’d left, I looked across at Anna. ‘What did you think of the mourning widow?’

‘I liked her and I definitely got the impression she loved her husband deeply. I’d be amazed if she were involved in his death. When you told her why you were here, she looked genuinely pleased. What about you? Did she make the same impression on you?’

‘To be honest, yes. Of course, she’s used to performing on stage so she might have been acting, but it was a very convincing act. I’m interested in what she said about the argument her husband had with his agent, only days before his death. I’d love to know what that was about and he’s going on my list of people I need to interview.’

Before I could say any more, there was the sound of a chair being pushed back and a young man, probably just into his twenties, stood up and launched into song. He had a fine voice and he sang for about three or four minutes, interestingly accompanied by about half the room by the end – mercifully not including Oscar. When they stopped, I joined in the applause before returning my attention to Anna.

‘The spirit of Verdi Wednesday lives on. Was that a piece by Verdi as well? I recognised the tune, even if I couldn’t make head or tail of the words.’

She beamed at me. ‘We’ll make an opera connoisseur out of you yet, Dan. That was probably one of the most famous pieces of opera in the world – “La donna è mobile” – and, yes, it’s by Verdi. It comes from Rigoletto and it’s sung by the Duke of Mantua. That young tenor has a fine voice.’ Her expression became more serious. ‘So you don’t think Alessia did it?’

‘Anything’s possible but, like I said, I tended to believe her and I definitely got the feeling she was a loving wife.’ I glanced down at my feet and saw Oscar surveying me closely. ‘And Oscar reckoned she was on the level as well. Yes, dog, you need your evening stroll, don’t you?’ I returned my attention to Anna. ‘Feel like coming with me?’

Anna shook her head. ‘To be quite honest, I don’t really. I’m absolutely full after that meal and all I want to do is go and sit down quietly and watch the news while I summon up the energy to take a shower and go to bed.’

I glanced down at Oscar. ‘Looks like it’s just you and me, buddy, or shall we see if your girlfriend wants to come with us?’

I swear he nodded.

I checked with the waitress, who explained to me where Dolores had her apartment, and I easily located this at the rear of the villa near the kitchens. I tapped on the door and Dolores appeared almost immediately with Elektra at her side. Oscar’s tail immediately started wagging furiously.

‘Hi, Dolores, I’m just taking Oscar for a walk and I wondered if you wanted me to take Elektra as well?’

She smiled gratefully. ‘That would be terrific, thanks. ’

I was just turning to leave with the two Labradors when a thought occurred to me. ‘I’m trying to work out exactly who had access to the keys to the garage. Am I right in thinking there was only Rodolfo, Alessia, Beppe and maybe Violetta? Anybody else you can think of?’

She shook her head. ‘No, just the four of them – and my master key in the safe to which Clarissa and I both have access, not that we ever use it. Of course, Rodolfo’s key was lost in the accident along with all his possessions, but if you want to get into the garage, I can give you the master key if you want it. Would you like it?’

‘Thank you, that could be very useful.’

She quickly retrieved the remote control from the safe and I slipped it into my pocket before going out into the night accompanied by the two happy Labradors. It was just after nine and, although the sun had disappeared behind the mountains, there was still light in the sky and it was easy to see where we were going. I headed back along the drive towards the main gate, stopping off in the big field to let the dogs have a run around. Oscar wasted no time in finding a huge pine cone, which I kicked around for him to retrieve while Elektra looked on in bewilderment. Clearly, she hadn’t inherited the Labrador retriever gene the same way as Oscar.

It was a delightful evening and as I wandered around, I realised that I was humming to myself and I was impressed to note that it was none other than ‘La donna è mobile’. As I hummed ‘dum-dum-dum-diddly-dum’, I reflected that there was maybe something to this opera business after all – either that or I was being brainwashed.

After a half-hour walk in the pleasantly cooler evening air, we returned to the villa and I remembered the remote control in my pocket. Heading around to the side of the villa, I opened the garage door and switched on the lights to reveal the lovely old cars.

While Elektra wandered around sniffing, I kept a careful eye on Oscar in case he decided to start peeing on the tyres, but he seemed more interested in his female companion. I also did a bit of sniffing around. I started with the spot where the Jaguar had lived before the accident. I wasn’t really sure what I was looking for, although a pool of brake fluid on the floor would have been handy, but I saw little of interest. In fact, if anything, it looked as though somebody had even run a mop over the space, as it was remarkably clean. Needless to say, to my suspicious mind, this raised a number of questions. Who had cleaned the floor and why? Had this been simply a matter of tidying up or had it been designed to remove potentially incriminating evidence?

I followed the dogs down between the cars until I reached the workbench. On top of this were a number of tools with a whole rack of others hanging on the wall behind it. At the foot of the bench was a fire extinguisher and a rubbish bin, mostly containing empty motor-oil containers. Out of idle curiosity, I flicked through them with my fingers until I came to one that was clearly still full. This was unexpected so I removed a tissue from my pocket, used it as I pulled the container out and unscrewed the top. I may not be the world’s best mechanic but I am familiar with the smell of brake fluid and my nose immediately identified the contents of the container, in spite of it being marked 20W50 Motor Oil . I set the can down on the workbench and stared at it. Did this contain the brake fluid from the Jaguar that somebody had removed? Was this the proof that his crash had been no accident?

I opened a cupboard door and managed to make a space at the back of a shelf where I could put this container before hiding it behind a barrier of other bits and pieces. I felt sure it would be safe here and there would be no question of Beppe throwing it out with the rubbish. I closed the cupboard door and looked down at Oscar.

‘Wouldn’t it be nice if there was a nice set of fingerprints on that container?’

Glad to be included in the conversation, he looked for a moment as though he nodded, before returning his attention to his new girlfriend.