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

Chapter 14

14

THURSDAY AFTERNOON

The clothes of our fellow diners at lunch were less colourful than the previous day but the food still of a very high standard: seafood risotto followed by roast chicken and roast potatoes. There were no more costumes and no bursts of song and we found ourselves sharing the table with Dolores, while Elektra sprawled at our feet with Oscar resting his head on her back. He was clearly delighted to meet his new friend again, while I was glad to have the opportunity of speaking to Dolores. I started by giving her my news. If she was the killer, this would do no harm, and if she was innocent, I felt sure I could trust her to keep her mouth shut for the moment until the results of the fingerprints came back.

‘It could be that I’ve found proof that Rodolfo was murdered. It seems increasingly likely that somebody tampered with the brakes of his car. I’ve spoken to the police inspector in charge of the case and he agrees with me. This of course brings us back to the question of who might have done it. Do you have any thoughts?’

She stared at me in disbelief. ‘Rodolfo, really murdered? Are you sure?’ As a reaction, it struck me as genuine.

‘I’m afraid that’s the way it looks.’ At that moment, my phone bleeped and I saw that it was a text message from Inspector Ventura. It was brief and to the point.

One clear set of prints on the oil can apart from yours and the victim’s. Going to Agri Argento offices and then coming to the villa to take prints from everyone this afternoon. Please inform them.

I looked up at Dolores. ‘Are you sure you can’t think of anybody with a grudge against Rodolfo, anybody who previously threatened him? Maybe a woman or a jealous man?’ I was clutching at straws but I knew I had to try.

‘I honestly can’t.’ She looked around the room and lowered her voice. ‘Before he got married, it’s true that he did have a few romantic involvements with women here. At the time, I know there was quite a lot of bad blood between him and one or two of the people here but ever since his marriage, I’m pretty sure all that had stopped. If it was somebody with a grudge, I can’t see why they would have waited so long to take action.’

‘Can you give me any names? I promise I won’t mention you when I interview the people.’

‘I’d really rather not but if you insist, the most obvious is Romeo – he’s been coming every summer for three years now. He had a thing for a girl called Rosanna two years ago but it was quite clear to most of us that Rodolfo was carrying on with her. We could all see that Romeo was very unhappy with the way things worked out but, like I say, that was ages ago.’

I sat back and considered what I’d just been told. Could it be that Romeo had waited until now to exact his revenge – and if so, why? There remained the question of whether he would have had the expertise to drain the brake fluid from the Jaguar, but I made a mental note to look into that.

‘I believe that on the day of the accident, Romeo and Rodolfo had an argument after Romeo made a sexist comment about Alessia’s blouse. Does that ring a bell?’

‘Not that particular incident, but it doesn’t surprise me. Romeo loves being outrageous. I heard him tell Clarissa the other day that her bottom looked like a Roman statue. He really doesn’t care what he says.’

‘And how did Clarissa respond to that?’

‘She did her best to laugh it off and told him to keep his comments to himself. She knows him well by now. This is his third summer here but, to be honest, he seems to be getting more outrageous every year, so this might be the last time he gets a place on the course.’

I glanced around and, seeing as we weren’t being overheard, I asked a more delicate question.

‘I promise I won’t quote you on this and I apologise if the question makes you feel awkward, but when I interviewed Clarissa this morning, I very much got the impression that she liked Rodolfo… a lot.’

Dolores blushed red and, just as I had done, took a careful look around before answering. ‘I don’t know who initiated it or how far it went, but I’m sure there was something going on between them the winter before last. They were very circumspect, but I could tell.’

‘Thank you and I promise I won’t mention your name in connection with this. The winter before last, you say? Have you any idea what brought the relationship to an end?’

‘That’s easy – the appearance of Alessia on the scene. Rodolfo first met Alessia around Easter of last year and from the moment he first saw her, it was clear to everybody that he was completely hooked.’

‘How did Clarissa take that? I presume she wasn’t very happy about it. ’

Dolores took another quick look around. ‘Like I say, they had been very careful to hide the relationship, but obviously it broke her heart. She was in a terrible state for months.’

‘Do you think she might have borne a grudge until now?’

‘And then decided to kill him?’ Dolores looked at me wide-eyed. ‘Absolutely not. Clarissa hasn’t got a violent bone in her body. No, I think she just nursed her broken heart and gradually got over it, though she never stopped loving him. Certainly since hearing the news of his death, she’s been distraught. She does her best to hide it, but I can tell she’s bleeding inside. I’m sure it came as a terrible blow to her, just as it did to the rest of us.’

I filed this information away for further consideration, making a mental note that Dolores’s comments had pointed a finger of suspicion at the principal. Was she telling the truth or was this maybe an attempt at disinformation to deviate attention from herself? I left it at that for now and informed Dolores that everybody was going to have their fingerprints taken this afternoon. She looked shocked and immediately stood up.

‘I think I’d better make an announcement now so that everybody’s prepared. Some people might be quite frightened when they see the police descending on the villa. I suppose I’d better break the news at the same time that the police are treating Rodolfo’s death as suspicious. That will come as a major shock, I’m sure. Is it all right for me to do that?’

I told her to go ahead and a few seconds later, she was tapping a spoon against a glass to get the attention of everybody. While she explained what would be happening, I did my best to study the faces around me, particularly that of Romeo. I read shock, apprehension and disbelief on many faces but I couldn’t see any immediate signs of guilt on his or any of the others’. While I still intended to keep Romeo on my list of suspects, the lack of guilty faces made it more likely that Rodolfo Argento’s killer was one of our far smaller pool of suspects.

When Dolores returned to the table, I changed the subject to keys. ‘I know I’ve asked you this before, but can you think of any way anybody else could have got hold of the key to the garage? You’ve already told me that your master key was firmly locked in the safe. Are you sure you didn’t leave that open at any time?’

She shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I always keep it locked and the combination is only known to me and Clarissa.’

‘What about the other keys? Might Beppe have left his key in his jacket unattended, do you think?’

‘I doubt it; I know he’s very careful about that sort of thing. I suppose, to be honest, the most likely person to have left the key hanging around was Rodolfo himself. When he worked in the garage, I often saw him take off his jacket and hang it up while he pulled on his overalls. I suppose somebody could have got hold of the key then.’

This thought had already occurred to me but there was a potential problem. ‘But a remote control isn’t like an ordinary key. It isn’t so easy to make a copy… or is it?’

Dolores knew the answer. ‘In fact, it is. There are numerous places in Verona where they can do it on the spot in a matter of minutes. I got a copy done last year when Beppe ran over his with the tractor.’ This was news to me and it simplified things for a would-be killer.

‘Might Rodolfo have left the garage unattended at any time?’

‘You’d better ask Beppe, but the answer is probably yes. When he was fiddling with the cars, Rodolfo often took them for short test drives and I’m pretty sure he didn’t always bother to lock the garage door while he was out. I suppose somebody might have been able to sneak in while he was away and tamper with the Jaguar’s brakes. ’

I listened with interest. By the sound of it, almost anybody here could have seized the opportunity to take the remote control, copy it, and return it to Rodolfo’s pocket without him being any the wiser. I did a quick calculation. Depending where the killer took the remote to be copied, he or she would have needed half an hour to get there and back plus however long the job took. So, realistically, the murderer would only have needed forty minutes or so. If Rodolfo had been working on one of his cars, it was very likely that his jacket would have been hanging up for at least an hour, if not more, so it was very feasible. What this meant was that the would-be killer could have stolen Rodolfo’s key and copied it days, weeks before. Needless to say, this didn’t help in narrowing down the list of suspects.

Dolores looked across at me helplessly. ‘But who could have done it?’

Who indeed?

That afternoon, I dropped Anna back down to the centre of Verona and while I was there, I decided to check out Paolo Ruggieri, Rodolfo’s theatrical agent. With the help of Google, I located his office in a smart apartment block in the more modern part of town where, thankfully, parking was a lot easier than in the old town. I had Oscar with me and we had a little walk around first, enjoying the shade of some lovely old trees lining the sides of the wide boulevard. When we got to the apartment block, I checked the names alongside the bells by the front door. Sure enough, one of these was marked Ruggieri, prefixed by the words Agente Teatrale so I pressed it and waited. A quick check of my watch told me that it was barely half past two so maybe he was having a long lunch or a siesta. I was just about to try a second time when a metallic voice croaked at me out of the speaker.

‘Yes, who is it?’ It was a woman’s voice and she sounded half asleep. Maybe I had interrupted her lunch break.

‘Hello, my name is Armstrong. I’m investigating the murder of Rodolfo Argento and I’d like to speak to Mr Ruggieri, Paolo Ruggieri, please.’

‘I’m sorry, did you say “murder”? I thought Rodolfo’s death was an accident.’ She certainly sounded wide awake now.

‘Apparently not. Is Mr Ruggieri there?’

‘No, but I’m expecting him back any time now. Would you like to come up and wait? We’re on the fourth floor.’

There was a buzzing noise and the front door sprang open. I took the lift up to the fourth floor and when Oscar and I stepped out of it, we found ourselves directly opposite a door emblazoned with the name of the agent in gold letters. I knocked and we went inside.

We were greeted by a woman, probably only a few years younger than me, but who had obviously been striving a lot harder than I had to put off the ageing process for as long as possible. Her dazzling blonde hair looked too good to be true – and probably was. Her face was plastered with a thick coating of make-up and her bright-red lipstick highlighted recently overfilled lips. It wouldn’t have been a look I would have chosen, but I couldn’t blame her for wanting to hold back the ravages of time. I gave her a friendly smile and her eyes lit up when she spotted Oscar.

‘Oh, what a beautiful dog. What’s her name?’

For a moment, he exchanged glances with me and I hastened to introduce him properly. ‘Good afternoon. This is Oscar, he’s only three and he’s a bit excitable so he’ll probably try to climb on your lap if you let him.’

She didn’t seem to mind and he wandered over willingly so she could make a fuss of him. Fortunately, he didn’t try and climb on her lap, which was probably just as well because, from what I could see of the skirt she was wearing, it was little wider than a belt and I feared she could have got scratched if he had tried. She waved me into a seat on one of a pair of armchairs at the side of the room and reached for the phone.

‘Can I get you a coffee?’

I thanked her and asked for an espresso. She phoned the local bar and placed the order before returning her attention to me. ‘Are you with the police?’

‘I’m working alongside the local police but I’m actually a private investigator engaged by Signora Violetta Argento to discover the truth of what happened.’

‘So what makes you think it was murder?’

I had only just started my explanation when there was a noise at the door and a man appeared. Although I had never met a theatrical agent in my life, one look at this character told me that I had to be in the presence of Paolo Ruggieri. In spite of the hot weather outside, he was wearing a long, dark-blue, velvet jacket, not dissimilar to the kind of thing Teddy boys used to wear back in the fifties. Instead of a tie, he was sporting a cravat in a bold paisley pattern principally consisting of pinks and greys. There was a matching handkerchief in his top pocket that spilled out halfway down his front. He was certainly memorable and even Oscar stared at him in amazement.

The blonde bombshell was quick to introduce me.

‘Paolo, this gentleman is Mr Armstrong. He’s a private investigator and he says that Rodolfo Argento was murdered. It wasn’t an accident at all.’

The air of bonhomie on the face of the theatrical agent disappeared in a flash, to be replaced by a pasty look. As he tottered over and slumped into the other armchair opposite me, I heard his secretary make another call to the café. ‘And a double espresso with a large shot of brandy in it.’

Ruggieri sat there for a few moments, studying his hands, before looking up at me, his expression almost beseeching. ‘That can’t be right, surely. Who on earth would have wanted to murder Rodolfo?’

‘That’s what I’ve been engaged to discover, Mr Ruggieri. Can you think of anybody who might have wished him harm? Did he have any enemies? I’ve already been told that a year or two ago, he had a reputation as a womaniser, but I’ve also been told that since his marriage, he appeared to have calmed right down again. Does that sound right to you?’

The answer came from the blonde and I was immediately interested that she appeared to know the opera singer so intimately. ‘He used to be a terror, ask anybody. But whoever told you he calmed down when he married Alessia was dead right. He was a changed man after he met her.’

‘So if his murder wasn’t as a result of his philandering, who could it have been?’

The theatrical agent shook his head slowly. ‘I have no idea. I’m sorry, but I just can’t believe it. He was a national treasure. Why would anybody wish him dead?’

‘You can’t think of any enemies, jealous rivals, other singers he might have eclipsed and who bore a grudge?’

He just kept shaking his head.

‘I’ve been told that a day or two before his death, you and he had a furious argument on the phone. Can you tell me what that was all about, please?’

He and his receptionist exchanged glances and I felt sure I could see her give him a little nod, as much as to say, You might as well .

His shoulders slumped and he kept his attention on his hands as he spoke. ‘We were arguing about money.’ I made no comment and waited for him to continue. ‘For the last ten years, he’s been paying me twelve and a half per cent commission on bookings that I get for him. You know what it’s like trying to make ends meet these days. Everything’s been shooting up in price so I decided I had to ask him if he could increase it to at least 15 per cent. Most other agents routinely charge 20 per cent.’ He gave me a beseeching look. ‘Surely fifteen’s not too much to ask?’

‘And he said no?’

To my surprise, he shook his head. ‘No, he told me he needed to speak to his mother first. He always consulted her about everything. I’m afraid I knew from experience how that would have ended. There would have been as much chance of getting a pay rise out of her as of me appearing on stage singing a duet alongside Rodolfo. I couldn’t help myself and I just lost it. I told him in no uncertain terms that I was fed up with her interference. I’m afraid I said some pretty harsh things about her being too old, too mean and past it. I should have known better, I did know better, but, stupidly, I didn’t stop and think. Rodolfo went ballistic.’ Ruggieri looked across at me and offered a few words of explanation that didn’t come as a surprise to me. ‘He and his mother had an unbelievably close relationship – some might say it was far too close – and he wouldn’t hear a bad word about her.’

‘How did the conversation end?’

‘He slammed the phone down on me and that was the last I heard of it. Two days later, he was dead. You can imagine how awful I felt later when I heard that he’d left me a million euros in his will. A million euros! I should have known that he was a generous man and I shouldn’t have doubted him.’

‘The money came as a surprise to you? He had never mentioned this before? ’

‘Never. I didn’t think for one moment I would get a mention of any kind in his will.’

He sounded convincing enough, but I couldn’t help thinking to myself that this telephone argument might have been a whole lot more acrimonious than he was saying. What if Rodolfo had told his agent about the bequest and then, as a result of the man’s outburst, had threatened to change the terms of his will to cut him out? Knowing he was about to lose a million euros might have stimulated the flamboyant Paolo Ruggieri to take radical action.

A few seconds later, there was a tap at the door and our coffees arrived. I was still reaching for mine when Ruggieri grabbed hold of his cup and upended it into his mouth. He looked dejected and bewildered, but the fact remained that he had just catapulted himself up my list of suspects. Whether this would result in my being able to prove his involvement in the singer’s death was another matter completely, but the agent had certainly managed to get himself top billing on my list.