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

Chapter 12

12

THURSDAY MORNING

Next morning dawned bright and clear once again. Anna was still asleep and as it was early, I didn’t disturb Dolores to see whether Elektra wanted to join us, so Oscar and I went for a walk by ourselves. The temperature was delightful and we had an excellent walk down through the vineyards and back up again, passing by the copse of trees where, needless to say, Oscar found a suitable selection of sticks to retrieve.

While I watched him having a good time, I considered what my course of action for today should be. I felt confident that the brake fluid I had located the previous night was likely to prove significant in the investigation and I knew that I would have to speak to the police sooner rather than later. At nine o’clock, I was scheduled to meet up with Clarissa, the principal, and then at ten o’clock, I would have the first of my appointments with Rodolfo’s cousins. I decided to go through with these before going to the police. I was tempted for a moment to call Virgilio, my newly promoted commissario friend in Florence, to ask whether he knew anybody in the Verona force, but on reflection, I decided to leave him in peace. Hopefully, the officers here would accept my input as cooperation rather than interference.

It came as no surprise to find the dining room only half full at breakfast time. Italians don’t normally get excited about breakfast the way we Brits do. A quick coffee and a croissant are all that most opt for. I was therefore delighted to find not only fresh fruit salad and a choice of breads, jams and cakes but also slices of cheese and ham and even the offer of fried eggs or an omelette, which I declined. While Anna sipped her café latte and nibbled a croissant, I made myself a ham and cheese sandwich and followed it with a couple of buns. I had a feeling that my visit to the police later this morning might well develop into something time-consuming so I had no idea when my next meal would be coming. At least, that was the way I justified it to myself.

At nine o’clock, I made my way to the office of the principal and tapped on the door. A voice told me to enter and I found Clarissa sitting, not behind her desk, but on one of a pair of armchairs by a coffee table. She was no longer wearing her tennis kit but was elegantly dressed, her hair perfect. I kept Oscar at my side just in case he might decide to get too friendly and try to climb onto her lap – it has happened before.

She gave him a warm smile. ‘What a lovely dog. I thought it was Elektra for a moment but this one has much more expressive eyes. What’s his name?’

‘He’s Oscar.’ I sat down opposite Clarissa and pulled out my notebook. ‘I just wanted to ask you a few quick questions, if you don’t mind. The first one I’m obliged to ask everybody: where were you on the day of the accident?’

‘Here in my office, working.’ She consulted her phone. ‘Apart from eleven until twelve when I was sitting in on a rehearsal for our Midsummer Concert – that’s coming up tomorrow night. We do it every year but this year, as you can imagine, it’s going to be specially for Rodolfo. I do hope you’ll be able to attend.’

‘That sounds wonderful. I’ll tell Anna. I’m sure she’ll be very excited.’ I avoided rolling my eyes. This meant I was going to have a double helping of opera. Somehow, I had a feeling I would emerge from this week in Verona either as a convinced opera fan or the opposite. Time would tell. Returning to my questions, I did a bit of double-checking. ‘Can anybody confirm that you were in your office the rest of the time, particularly in the morning?’ I gave her my usual apologetic look. ‘Like I say, I’m asking everybody the same thing.’

‘I quite understand. No, I was on my own – apart from lunchtime, when I was in the dining room with everybody. I made a few phone calls to people so I expect if you want to check the phone records, that might provide something.’ She sounded quite genuine so I didn’t pursue it further for the moment.

‘How long have you worked here?’

‘Two and a half years. I used to be at La Scala in Milan.’

‘Another question I’m asking everybody: can you think of anybody who would have wanted to harm or kill Rodolfo Argento?’

‘No, I can’t.’ Her answer came back immediately. ‘Particularly here, he was almost revered. You can ask any of the students or staff. They loved him, as did I.’

There was something almost wistful in her final words and my suspicion that there might have been something going on between her and the victim increased.

‘When you say that everybody loved him, I’ve been hearing stories that maybe some of the women took that to extremes.’

‘People say such terrible things about him, but they’re wrong.’ There was a note of real regret in her voice. ‘He was a beautiful man, such a talented man and, oh so generous. I do wish these people who spread malicious rumours would stop. Yes, I know he had a poor reputation in the past, but I can tell you most clearly that in all the time I knew him, he always behaved like a perfect gentleman.’

‘I’ve been told that ever since he got married last autumn, he was a changed man. Would you agree with that?’

‘I would certainly agree that he and Alessia seemed to have a solid relationship. I’m sure he believed he loved her very dearly.’ I couldn’t miss the vague way she had phrased her answers. Hardly a ringing endorsement. I found myself wondering whether Clarissa might have wished for a closer relationship with her boss. Had she maybe even hooked up with him only to find herself discarded in favour of his new wife? What was that old expression about hell having no fury?

By the time I finished interviewing her, I had added her to my list of possibles, although I had to admit that she had answered my questions willingly and apparently sincerely. I applied the MOM test to her, as I had been taught many years ago. The acronym stood for motive, opportunity and means. Jealousy might have provided her with a motive, she had access to the garage key in the safe so she had opportunity but, as far as I could tell, she lacked the means. She would appear to have no experience of car mechanics, which would make it less likely – but not impossible – that she would have known how to tamper with the brakes of the Jaguar.

I collected Anna, went over to the garage, slipped the oil container into a clean plastic bag, and stowed it carefully in the van before driving down to Verona. I dropped Anna and Oscar off at the entrance to Piazza Bra, promising to call her when my interviews had finished. From there, I drove back to the Agri Argento site and rolled up to the barrier at the main gate. A burly man in uniform came out of a cabin and I explained who I was and why I was here. After consulting a clipboard and speaking on the phone, he waved me through and indicated that I should park alongside a lurid-green supercar – presumably Alfredo’s new Lamborghini. ‘Go up the steps to the main entrance and somebody will meet you in the lobby and accompany you to the top floor. Have a nice day, sir.’

I did as instructed and found a smart young man waiting in the large, marble-clad lobby. He came forward and held out his hand. ‘Mr Armstrong, good morning. My name is Matteo. If you’d like to follow me…’

He spoke to me in good English and he and I had a little chat in the lift as it hummed up to the sixth floor. He told me he had worked for the company for seven years and sounded as though he enjoyed his work. When we reached the top floor, he handed me over to a young woman sitting behind a glass desk directly opposite the lift. She looked up at me over the rims of her glasses.

‘Signor Armstrong, if you’d like to take a seat, I’ll tell Signor Alfredo that you’ve arrived.’ Unlike the young man, she addressed me in Italian, and I recognised her voice from our brief telephone conversation the previous day when I had made the appointments. She picked up the phone and I had barely sat down when one of the doors behind her opened and an auburn-haired man appeared. He looked about forty or so, suntanned and fit, and he was wearing a light-blue polo shirt with Verona Golf and Country Club on his left breast. Clearly, this was Alfredo. He strode across to greet me, hand extended.

‘Signor Armstrong, I’m very pleased to meet you. Do come in.’

He waved me into his office, which was very much as I’d been expecting: large, luxurious and imposing. There was a closed laptop on his desk but otherwise there was remarkably little clutter. Ignoring the businesslike conference table and chairs, he led me across to a fine pair of leather sofas by one of the big windows and indicated that I should sit down.

‘Can I offer you anything? A coffee maybe?’

I thanked him and declined, waiting until he had sat down opposite me before launching into my story. I told him how I’d been approached by Violetta to investigate the circumstances of her son’s death and asked him if he minded answering a few questions. He gave me a broad smile and sat back in preparation, although to an old cynic like me, that gave the impression he was maybe trying a bit too hard to be affable. ‘Fire away. Any help I can give, I’ll be only too happy.’

‘Thank you, Signor Argento. I’ve been asking everybody this, but can you tell me whether Rodolfo might have had any enemies?’

His expression became more serious. ‘You seriously think it might not have been an accident?’

‘I’m afraid so. It’s looking increasingly as though the brakes of his Jaguar might have been tampered with.’

He looked genuinely appalled. ‘Really? But who could have done such a thing?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to establish. I ask again, did your cousin have any enemies?’

He shook his head. ‘Very much the opposite; he was widely loved and respected.’ He paused before qualifying his statement. ‘A few years ago, I dare say there would have been any number of unhappy women he had wronged or their partners out for his blood, but not now. Although I confess that I don’t have a lot of time for Alessia, since they married last year, I very much got the impression that Rodolfo had finally become more settled.’ He looked up from his hands. ‘So, I honestly can’t think of anybody who might have been his enemy and certainly nobody who could possibly have considered committing murder. ’

‘Might there be any other reason for somebody to want him dead? I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but I understand from Violetta that he was a very wealthy man and a number of people stood to inherit considerable sums of money upon his death.’

He looked up at me in disbelief. ‘Are you trying to say that somebody in the family might have killed him? I’m sorry but I won’t dignify that with a reply. It’s absolutely beyond belief.’ He sounded genuinely outraged and I found myself tending to believe him. Nevertheless, I tried one more little push.

‘Not necessarily in the family. I understand that his agent inherited a million euros. That’s not an insignificant sum.’

‘Ruggieri a murderer?’ He scoffed. ‘I question whether he could bring himself to kill a fly and if, as you say, the murderer tampered with the brakes of Rodolfo’s car, then you can definitely exclude Paolo Ruggieri. I’ve never met anybody less practical. I had to help him take the top off his pen last time I saw him.’ And this coming from the man Beppe had described as severely impractical himself.

‘I understand that, according to the terms of the will, it’s now Violetta who takes over Rodolfo’s share. Is that going to be a problem for you and your sister?’

To my surprise, he smiled. ‘I’ll know more tomorrow. We have a board meeting at three and Violetta will be there. I’m sure we’ll be discussing the structure of the company in the wake of Rodolfo’s death. I can’t see how it will change very much. She’s always been pretty hands-on.’

We continued chatting but it soon became clear that there was little more he could offer me – apart from a glowing review of the local golf course. By the time ten-thirty came around, I had learned nothing that advanced my enquiries but I had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that I tended to think that it was unlikely that he’d had anything to do with his cousin’s death. We shook hands and he repeated his willingness to offer any help he could before leading me out and handing me over to the woman at the glass desk. She immediately picked up the phone. ‘I’ll call Signora Rosina.’

While I sat and waited, I reflected on the conversation I had just had with her boss. The one question I would have liked to put to him, but I’d felt sure would have led to an eruption of indignation, would have been to ask about his wife’s relations with the dead man. According to Violetta, she had been furious when she had heard the terms of the will. How had relations been between her and Rodolfo before the singer’s death? I decided that I would try to find answers to these questions when I spoke to Alfredo’s sister. At that moment, the woman herself emerged from a door a bit further along from where I was sitting.

‘Signor Armstrong, I gather you’re here to help. Do come in.’ We shook hands and I followed her into her office. With her auburn hair, the resemblance to her brother was immediately evident, and her office was a carbon copy of her brother’s, but with one major difference. Almost every horizontal surface here appeared to be covered with files and papers. There were no fewer than three computers on or near her desk and the contrast with the barren nature of her brother’s office was striking. Violetta appeared to have been right – it certainly looked as though Rosina did the lion’s share of the work around here. She sat down at her desk and waved me into a seat opposite her. She was a friendly looking woman, probably fifteen years younger than me, and I felt sure Oscar would have given her his seal of approval. She didn’t waste time with small talk.

‘I understand from Violetta that you and she believe that Rodolfo was murdered. Can you prove that?’

I nodded slowly. ‘I believe I might be able to now. Once I’ve finished my interviews with you and your brother, my next destination is the police station to pass on to them what I’ve uncovered. I’m afraid it could well be that your cousin was murdered.’

She looked shocked, but not excessively so. Certainly, in comparison to her brother, it appeared to have come as less of a surprise to her. ‘And do you have any idea who might have done it?’

I shook my head. ‘For now, nothing, but the police might be able to discover some clues when I pass on the information I have to them. Can you think of anybody who would have wished to harm your cousin?’

She then told me pretty much the same as the others had about him having been a womaniser in the past but she, like her brother, indicated that she felt sure he had calmed down since last autumn. ‘Marrying Alessia was the very best thing that could have happened to him. She finally managed to get him to settle down and we were all very relieved about that.’

‘Tell me about Alessia. Do you and she get on well together?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I have a lot of time for her. She works hard, she’s very talented and she’s done well for herself. I also believe she genuinely loved Rodolfo. I know Violetta and Ingrid didn’t approve of her, but I think that’s more a reflection on their lack of tolerance than on Alessia.’

‘So you can’t imagine her having been involved in her husband’s death?’

‘Good Lord above, no. Absolutely not. Like I told you, she genuinely loved him and he loved her. I’m quite sure of that.’ Yet another person contradicting what Violetta had told me. It certainly sounded as if it had been a match made in heaven – to all but the mother-in-law. ‘You mentioned your sister-in-law, Ingrid, and that relations between her and Alessia might not have been that close. Can you tell me a bit more?’

‘Ingrid made no secret of the fact that she believed Alessia had only got together with Rodolfo for his money. This is patently ridiculous because Alessia is very well off in her own right and, besides, it was perfectly clear to me and to most people that it was a love match between them.’

‘So why do you think Ingrid was so hard on her?’

Rosina’s answer raised my eyebrows.

‘Can I tell you something in confidence, Mr Armstrong?’ I nodded and she continued. ‘Strictly between the two of us, and I mean just the two of us, I think it takes one to know one.’

‘You’re saying that you think Ingrid married your brother for his money?’ Could it be that Rodolfo’s success had made Ingrid begin to think she might have married the wrong cousin? The ramifications of this were fascinating and I listened attentively to what Rosina had to say about her sister-in-law.

‘I’ve always thought that. All right, they’ve been married now for ten years and I suppose if she had just been into Alfredo for his money, she could have divorced him by now, but I have little doubt that his wealth was the main stimulus driving her when she first met and then married him. Have you met her?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Well, you’ll see that she’s a very beautiful woman, and she’s always known it. Ten years ago, she played the field until she found herself her very own millionaire.’

My mind was racing. Might the beautiful Ingrid have developed an illicit relationship with her husband’s womanising cousin? Had that ended with the arrival of Alessia and might this have stirred her into an outburst of jealous rage? I tried to dig a bit deeper into Ingrid’s relationship with her husband. ‘Would you say that she and your brother have a happy marriage?’

She shrugged. ‘I suppose so, although I know he would have wanted children.’

‘And Ingrid doesn’t? ’

Rosina’s expression became more disapproving. ‘The way she put it to me once was that she had no intention of ruining her body for the sake of producing a little leech. Ingrid has a very clear sense of priorities, and number one on the list is herself.’

I sat in silence for a few seconds while I considered what I’d just been told. Could it be that Ingrid’s interest in money had stimulated her to commit murder in the hope of seeing her husband take over Rodolfo’s share of the business? Alternatively, had the ‘very beautiful woman’ fallen for the charms of her husband’s cousin, only to be dumped when he met and married Alessia? Desertion can be a powerful motivator for murder. Something was for sure: I knew I wanted to sit down and talk to Ingrid sooner rather than later.

My conversation with Rosina continued and she told me more about her role in the business. From what she said, it was clear that she had been running the company, not her brother, and I felt sure she was a very capable woman. I also tended to believe what she said and I certainly came away from the meeting less likely to include her in a list of potential murder suspects.

But the same could not be said about Ingrid.