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

Chapter 16

16

THURSDAY EVENING

I was glad to get back to our suite. From the look of him, Oscar was also delighted – even if it meant separation from his new girlfriend – as he headed straight for his basket and settled into it with a thud. Anna and I both lay down on the bed and I closed my eyes gratefully, Violetta’s words still echoing in my head: Respectable families don’t go around committing murder.

As a general rule, of course, she was quite right, but that didn’t alter the fact that time after time in my career in the police I had come across apparently respectable people who had nevertheless been able to commit atrocious crimes. As far as families were concerned, these crimes had all too often been provoked by money. I lay back and thought about the current situation in the Argento family. Violetta had no shortage of money – a share in the business, the villa in Tuscany and the villa here in Verona plus whatever else she had inherited from her son and, of course, her original, no doubt substantial fortune. What would happen if something happened to her?

Although I knew it was going to be difficult, this was a question I was going to have to ask her sooner rather than later. Could it possibly be that somebody had deliberately murdered her son, knowing that half of his fortune would revert to her, with a view to then killing her as well so as to get their hands on everything? Of course, that all depended on the terms of her will. Who would benefit from her death? It was clear from what she had said that she wasn’t a fan of Alfredo, but Agri Argento was a family business, after all, and I knew that tradition meant a lot to her. I couldn’t see her leaving it to anybody not connected with the company, and that no doubt included Alessia, so that almost certainly meant the cousins would inherit. Could they really have been behind Rodolfo’s death?

But, more significantly now, did this mean that Violetta was going to be our next murder victim?

I was roused from my deliberations by the sound of a doorbell. I hadn’t even realised that our suite had a bell and this one reproduced the chimes of Big Ben. I opened the door to find myself faced by none other than Signora Violetta.

‘I hope I’m not disturbing you, Mr Armstrong. I wondered if you and your girlfriend might like to come for an aperitivo a bit later on? Say seven o’clock? You know where my apartment is, don’t you?’

And that was that.

I went back to the bedroom and told Anna that we had been summoned. A glance at my watch told me it was already six-thirty so we hurriedly showered and changed. While getting ready, I rehearsed the best way of breaking the news to Violetta that her life might be in danger – most probably from a member of her own family – and I had a feeling it wasn’t going to go down too well.

At seven o’clock on the dot, we walked back along the corridor to Violetta’s apartment and rang the doorbell. She waved us in and led us into a delightful, airy living room with French windows that opened onto the roof terrace. It came as no surprise at all to see three bottles of Beck’s sitting on a tray by the door. Although the view from the terrace was stunning, directly down over Lake Garda, it was completely exposed to the sun and that still had a lot of warmth in it. Realising this, Violetta pointed at Oscar and shook her head.

‘It’s probably best if we stay inside. I’m sure your dog doesn’t like too much direct sunlight.’

I nodded in agreement. ‘Nor me. After all, I am English.’

We took our drinks and sat down in front of a magnificent, sculpted marble fireplace with a portrait of a man hanging above it. No prizes for guessing who this was. I had by now seen enough photos of her son to recognise the handsome chap in the dinner jacket. The mantelpiece was covered in photos of mother and son together, from him as a baby to him as a star on stage, mementoes ranging from gold medals to framed certificates – naturally for singing – and a series of cards and candles. There was even a – to my eyes – rather tacky heart-shaped silver frame with a photo of the great man in it and the words I love you written across it. I felt a pang of sympathy for the grieving mother. I read the wording on some of the cards and soon saw that they were mostly good luck cards from mother to son or congratulations on some operatic achievement. Presumably, he had saved them and now she was exhibiting them for her own sake. It was very touching – if slightly macabre.

Anna duly admired the painting. ‘What a lovely portrait of your son. How long ago was that painted?’

An expression of acute grief crossed Violetta’s face. ‘Barely three months ago. I had two of them done from a photo of him on stage at La Scala in Milan. The other one is hanging in the Montevolpone villa.’

We sat in silence and sipped our drinks for a while before Violetta returned to more practical matters. ‘I’m very concerned that the inspector doesn’t seem to be taking my accusations seriously. Surely any fool can see that Alessia has to be the murderer. Can’t you see it, Mr Armstrong?’

What I could see quite clearly was that Violetta was trying to divide and rule. It was evident that she had little or no time for Inspector Ventura, while my impression of him had been of a good, professional police officer. I did my best to reply tactfully, but firmly.

‘As we said earlier, the inspector can’t arrest somebody without proof and the problem we have at the moment is that there’s no proof against Alessia… or anybody else.’ I swallowed a quick mouthful of beer for Dutch courage. ‘And to be perfectly honest with you, I don’t share your opinion of her. From everything I’ve heard from other people and from talking to her myself, she and your son had a loving relationship and everybody agrees that he appeared to be a changed man from the moment he met her. Just as importantly, nobody has so much as hinted at any infidelity on her part either.’

I looked up and caught her eye for a moment.

‘Nobody, that is, apart from you, Signora Violetta. When I spoke to you last Sunday, you told me you were convinced Alessia had been having affairs, but the only justification you could give me was – if I remember correctly – that she was “far too good-looking for her own good”. That, as I’m sure you’re fully aware, is not the sort of allegation that would stand up in a court of law. Can you give me some kind of proof to substantiate what you said or are you prepared to accept that maybe you might be wrong about her?’

I buried my nose in my glass and waited for the explosion but, in fact, I had to wait almost a minute for a response from her. When it came, it was unexpectedly mild and I listened in fascination.

‘People say that there’s a special relationship between a mother and her son and that’s certainly what I had with Rodolfo. He was an amazing boy.’ There was a wistful note in her voice that must have got through to my four-legged friend because Oscar got up and wandered across to sit alongside her with his nose on her lap. She looked down and stroked his ears distractedly as she picked up her story again. ‘He started singing and playing the piano when he was four – and I don’t just mean sitting at the keyboard and randomly striking the keys – and even from that early age, it was clear that he had the voice of an angel. Only a year later, my husband died and my whole world became centred on Rodolfo. I hardly let him out of my sight until he was well into his teens and I did everything I could to nurture his talent and give him every chance to become the greatest opera singer of all time.’ She looked up with tears in her eyes ‘And he would have been, you know. He just needed a few more years of experience and he would have been the greatest of the greats.’

Anna made a few encouraging noises but I stayed out of it for now and just waited for Violetta to pick up again. It didn’t take long.

‘We had a wonderful close relationship right up until he first developed an interest in the opposite sex.’ There was frustration and anger in her voice now. ‘Those girls almost ruined him completely, and from then on, I found myself constantly fighting to keep him away from unsuitable women who would only lead him astray.’

I caught Anna’s eye for a moment and it was immediately clear that she was thinking along the same lines as I was: unpicking the relationship between Rodolfo Argento and his mum would have been a psychotherapist’s dream – or nightmare. Hopefully unaware of the thoughts going through my head, Violetta continued.

‘I guided him, I nurtured him, I ensured that he had the best tuition money could buy and I loved him; I loved him deeply and sincerely as only a mother can. Coming back to what you were just saying, if I’m being totally honest, I would have to admit that I didn’t really mind all the affairs he was having because I knew that was just a physical urge he needed to satisfy. When Alessia came along, everything changed and I knew that I’d lost him.’ The forlorn note in her voice had now been replaced by something more feral. ‘She took him away from me. How do you expect me to feel about her?’

Her voice tailed off into silence. I gave it a few moments before adding my own comments. ‘It was easier for you to think of her as an evil monster than to accept the fact that your son could love somebody else as intensely, or even more intensely, than he had his own mother. I can understand how that might have made you feel.’

As I said it, I couldn’t help wondering whether maybe this change of heart in her son might have engendered a sense of such bitter disappointment in her that I might be looking at his murderer now. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than I discounted it. After all, this was the woman who had deliberately brought me into the case because she had felt sure he had been murdered. Certainly, that would hardly have been logical behaviour for the real murderer. She relapsed into silence and I waited some time for her to speak again before deciding that now was as good a time as any to ask about her will.

‘I’d like to ask you a very personal question, Signora Violetta, but I want you to know that the only reason I’m asking it is because this could potentially be very important in solving the mystery of who killed your son. I guarantee you that this information will go no further than myself or, with your permission, the police inspector. Please could you tell me if you have made a will?’

She looked up sharply. ‘Of course I have. What kind of idiot do you take me for?’

‘I was sure you would have done, but I’d be very grateful if you could tell me the terms of your will. What would happen if you passed away tomorrow?’

I had to wait almost a minute before she gave me her answer and I was just beginning to think that she was going to refuse my request when she started speaking. ‘That question has been exercising me a lot over the past few years and, of course, since Rodolfo’s death, even more so.’ She looked up from her hands and gave me a hard stare. ‘I trust you, Mr Armstrong. Don’t betray my trust. This is highly confidential.’

Anna, taking the hint, stood up. ‘I think I’ll just go out on the terrace and have a look at the view for a few minutes. It’s too beautiful an evening for staying inside. Oscar, feel like coming with me?’

I gave her a grateful smile and watched as she and Oscar went out into the evening sunshine. No sooner had they done so than Violetta started speaking again.

‘I saw my lawyer and changed the terms of my will only a week ago. This villa here already belongs to the AOA Foundation but I intend to leave the foundation sufficient funds for them to keep operating and perpetuating Rodolfo’s memory. I see absolutely no reason why I should give anything to Alfredo and Rosina so, as far as the rest is concerned, I have no alternative but to leave everything to Tosca.’

‘Tosca?’

There was silence for a couple of seconds before she broke the news to me.

‘My daughter. ’

This was so unexpected that I probably sounded quite gormless. ‘You have a daughter? I didn’t know.’ I very nearly snapped at her that it would have been nice to have known about this before but I controlled myself and waited for her to respond. What was going through my head was that a very strong new suspect had appeared out of the blue. Had one sibling killed the other, either out of jealousy or so as to get hands on the family fortune when their mother died?

There was another long pause before Violetta spoke. ‘Tosca and I don’t have a close relationship. In fact, apart from a glimpse of her at Rodolfo’s wedding and then again at his funeral, I haven’t seen her for seven years, not since my brother’s funeral.’

‘You aren’t in touch with each other?’

She shook her head, but I couldn’t work out whether this was with regret or just acknowledging the status quo. ‘She left home when she was eighteen and I’ve probably seen her no more than four or five times in the intervening eighteen years and spoken to her two or three times at most. And that was fine by me.’

There was a stubborn edge to her voice and I realised, not for the first time, that Violetta had a tough, unforgiving streak.