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

Chapter 15

15

THURSDAY AFTERNOON

I spent the afternoon wandering around Verona with Oscar. Leaving the car where it was, we walked back to the river and followed it for a mile or so as it curled around the old town before we crossed over a bridge and headed into the narrow streets. One thing I soon discovered was that for anybody riding a bike in Verona – and there were lots of them – the older the bike, the better. Because the streets are mainly paved with square cobbles or flagstones, the battered old bikes bump around on the uneven surfaces, creak, squeak and generally provide advanced warning of their arrival. I kept Oscar on the lead all the same but he seemed quite happy to walk at my side and take in the view just as I did. We ended up in the beautiful Piazza delle Erbe with its statues, ancient frescoes and fountains, and I had no hesitation in heading for a gelateria where we sat down at a table shaded by an umbrella.

I sent a message to Anna giving her our location and to my surprise, only about five minutes later, just as my strawberry, apricot and peach ice cream arrived, so did Anna. She was quick to order an ice-cream selection for herself and then she told me all about her afternoon of historical investigation. She had started at the Castelvecchio museum and then had taken in the cathedral with its painting of the Assumption, allegedly by Titian, followed by the Basilica of San Zeno, which has been in existence for over a thousand years. This church is also the legendary site of the marriage of Romeo and Juliet, but for Anna who only believes in facts, this was of little interest. I’ve often thought that in many ways she would make an excellent detective – facts are the only things that count for us, too.

When she brought the conversation around to my investigation, I gave her a quick rundown of my visit to Rodolfo’s agent and added my impression that he might have been the perpetrator. Interestingly, she was fascinated to hear of the showy blonde receptionist and queried whether I thought there might have been something going on between her and the opera singer in spite of the age difference between them. I shrugged my shoulders, but it occurred to me that there had been a wedding ring on her finger, and I wondered whether maybe she was actually married to the agent. If so, and if she had been carrying on with Rodolfo, this served to push the agent even further up my list of suspects. But without clear proof, all I could do for now was shrug my shoulders once more and hold my hands up helplessly.

‘Maybe she and Rodolfo were an item once upon a time, but everybody seems to agree that from when Rodolfo met Alessia last year, he was a changed man.’

‘And you believe that?’

I nodded but she didn’t look convinced – and neither was I. She reinforced her point.

‘In my experience, the leopard doesn’t always change his spots as easily as that.’

I nodded again. I couldn’t have said it better myself.

It was half past five by the time we got back to the villa, and the first things I saw were a pair of blue and white police squad cars parked outside the front door. I was just letting Oscar out of the van when Beppe the groundsman appeared on the steps, wiping his fingers on a cloth. He looked up and walked over to me with a smile.

‘Well, that’s a first. I’ve never had my fingerprints taken before. In fairness, the police are being very respectful and none of the residents seem to be too worried.’

‘Did you see the police inspector in there: black beard and a shaved head?’

‘Yes, he’s in the hall talking to Dolores. Any progress?’

‘It’s looking more and more like murder, but we still aren’t sure. That’s what the fingerprints are for.’

‘Well, good luck and remember, if I can help in any way, just ask.’

I thanked him and went inside. Sure enough, Massimo Ventura was standing there accompanied by Dolores, Elektra the Labrador and a young constable. While Oscar hurried over to renew his friendship with the other Lab, we humans shook hands and I introduced Anna. Dolores tactfully withdrew – but, interestingly, Elektra stayed here with Oscar – and I was able to talk to Ventura without fear of being overheard. The inspector told us that they had almost finished taking prints here, and that one of his men was at the home of Alfredo Argento at this very moment taking prints from his decidedly recalcitrant wife. He gave me a little wink. ‘It would be so good if we could get a match.’

I told him what Dolores had told me about Romeo, as well as what she had said about Rodolfo getting together with Clarissa, only for the relationship to come to an end when he met Alessia. I also gave him the gist of my conversation with the theatrical agent and his receptionist and he immediately gave orders for a car to be sent to take their prints as well. After thanking me, he changed the subject. ‘By the way, Dolores told me that you have a key to the garage. I wonder if you could show me exactly where you found the oil can and so on.’

Anna opted to go up to the room so the inspector and I went out, accompanied by the two dogs and the constable. We walked around the side of the villa and I opened the garage door. Both men gave appreciative grunts when they saw the amazing line-up of classic cars. Inspector Ventura stared around in awe.

‘This is what I call a hobby! He was a lucky man: so much money, an amazing collection like this, a beautiful, talented wife, and this unbelievable villa. If I’d still been harbouring any thoughts of him having taken his own life, I’m certainly not now.’

I showed them where the Jaguar had usually been parked and pointed out how it looked very much to me as if somebody had run a mop over the concrete fairly recently. After that, I took them to the workbench and pointed out the rubbish bag where I had found the oil can. The inspector gave instructions to the constable, who pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and began to empty the bag piece by piece onto the worktop. All the other containers in there were empty but he did find one piece of interesting evidence. This was a dirty rag, still slightly damp, clearly having been soaked with something viscous. When I leant down to smell it, I was in little doubt.

‘For my money, this is brake fluid. Might this be the cloth that was used to clean up underneath the Jaguar?’

The inspector nodded. ‘Could well be. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could find some DNA on here? If so, then we’re going to have to come back and swab everybody for DNA but let’s see if there’s anything to be found first. ’

While the constable bagged the evidence, the inspector and I wandered around accompanied by the two sniffing dogs, checking door and window locks, but without finding anything untoward. It looked very likely that if somebody had tampered with the brakes they must have got in either with the key or during a brief interval while the door had been left open while Rodolfo had gone out. But who?

We were just leaving the garage when another police officer arrived, looking uneasy. He spoke quietly to the inspector, who glanced across at me and raised his eyebrows. ‘Now, why doesn’t this come as a surprise? Signora Violetta Argento has just arrived and she’s objecting violently to being asked to provide fingerprints. I wonder if you’d mind accompanying me, Mr Armstrong. You know her better than I do. I think I’m going to need backup.’

I waited until the garage door was once again securely locked before following the inspector around to the villa entrance. We found Violetta in the hall with a face like thunder. Fortunately, the arrival of the two dogs appeared to cheer her, at least briefly, and I decided to help the inspector by getting a few words in first.

‘Good evening, Signora Violetta, I hope you’ve had a good journey. As you’ve probably realised, it’s looking increasingly likely that your son was indeed murdered as you thought and, in consequence, the police are taking fingerprints from everybody here at the villa for exclusion purposes.’

She shot me a suspicious look. ‘And just what exactly does “exclusion purposes” mean?’

I was impressed to hear the inspector bravely join in. ‘Exactly what it says, Signora Argento. We believe we might have found some meaningful prints that could lead us to the identity of the murderer, and so it’s vitally important that we take prints from everybody here so they can be excluded from the investigation. This doesn’t necessarily mean that we consider anybody here to be a suspect. Certainly, there’s no question of me considering you as a suspect.’

She appeared at least partially mollified by this and, although still under protest, she allowed the sergeant to take her prints. As this took place, I gave her a quick summary of my enquiries so far, just saying that the brakes appeared to have been tampered with but without specifically mentioning the container of brake fluid. From the expression on her face, I could see that she was struggling. On the one hand, she was evidently pleased that her hunch looked as though it had been proved right but now, as it sank in, she found herself having to confront the fact that her precious son really had been murdered. I did my best to keep her talking and suggested that we go for a cold beer. This suggestion was met with approval not only from her but also from the inspector, and we walked through to the bar area. There were very few people here at this time of day and we sat down at a table to one side where we could talk freely. Oscar stretched out on the floor alongside Elektra with his head once more on her shoulder in a picture of domestic bliss. Violetta gradually relaxed as well and by the time the beers arrived, she was actually able to propose a little toast.

‘Thank you, gentlemen, for your efforts. When are you planning on making the arrest?’

I let the inspector answer this one. ‘Our main problem has been one of motive. Although it’s clear that your son almost certainly made himself unpopular in the past because of his treatment of women, people seem to agree that, since getting married, all that had finally stopped. So, if this wasn’t a crime of passion, what other motive might be behind it?’

Violetta took a sip of beer before addressing me, rather than the inspector. ‘I already told you, Mr Armstrong. I have no doubt at all who the murderer was. Didn’t you tell the inspector? Why haven’t you arrested her yet? ’

I did my best to reply tactfully. ‘The inspector needs evidence before he can arrest anybody.’

But Violetta wasn’t giving up without a fight. ‘Alessia was here that day and she could easily have tampered with his car. She knows about old cars. She knew that by killing Rodolfo, she would become very rich and she could be with all the men she wanted. Surely that’s all the motive you need.’

The inspector, to his credit, demonstrated that he wasn’t afraid to raise his head above the parapet. ‘But she wasn’t the only one to gain from your son’s death, was she? The same argument about money could be applied to his cousins – even if they were ultimately to be disappointed – his agent, and even you, Signora.’

A stony silence fell on the table for almost a minute before Violetta looked up at him in disbelief.

‘One of us? Are you seriously suggesting that one of the family might have killed Rodolfo? It’s unthinkable and it’s insulting. We are a respectable family, and respectable families don’t go around committing murder.’

Tell that to Hamlet , I wisely decided not to say out loud.