temptation in florence 05 - seaside in death (15 page)

Ortadella's mouth opened. “How . . . how did you know?”

Garini took a deep breath.
Finally.
“Just tell me the truth, please.”

Ortadella balled his hands into fists and stared at them. He lowered his voice until it wasn't much more than a whisper. “It was at Easter. My wife had to subject herself to a health treatment at a resort close to Rome. I . . . I got to know a lady, and I . . . I went out to dinner with her sometimes. Rosari saw us one night. He knew who I was, and he also knew my wife from pictures.” He gulped. “One day, he came here. He told me he wanted the job at the hotel. Otherwise, he would tell my wife.” He looked up with huge eyes. “I love my wife, Commissario. I really do. It was a . . . a moment of weakness. I didn't mean anything. I swear! But my wife wouldn't have understood. She's a bit . . . strict that way. So I . . . I gave in. I hated to tell Patelli that he had to go and find another job, but I didn't have a choice.”

“You could have told your wife the truth.”

“Oh, no. No,
Commissario
, I couldn't do that to her. She was still fragile and not quite back to her old health. I couldn't deal her such a blow.” He looked at Garini with the eyes of a haunted hare. “I thought Rosari would be quiet once he had the hotel to manage. I mean, that was a good job, and he got a nice salary. But then--” he broke off.

“Did he come back with more demands?”

“No.” Ortadella shook his head. “I didn't hear from him. But then, I learned that he was shot, and I was so afraid. You see, of course I have an alibi, but some people might say that my wife would be willing to lie for me. She would never do that. Antonella – my wife – she's very straightforward. She doesn't lie. She abhors telling fibs . . . or untruths . . .” His voice petered out.

Garini considered him for a moment. He was inclined to believe in Ortadella because it fit with his character. And he could very well believe that the little hummingbird of a woman had had her fights with her ultra-flexible husband of hers. He had to ask. “Did you kill Rosari?”

Ortadella jumped up. “No! Of course not! You've got to believe me!”

The door opened and his wife flitted into the room. “What's going on?” she asked with her gentle voice. “Why are you so excited?”

Ortadella was breathing as if he'd run a long distance. “I didn't kill Rosari!”

Signora
Ortadella turned to Garini. “That's true,
Commissario
. He couldn't have done it because he was with me all the time. Besides, what motive would he have had? He's lost the manager of his hotel in the middle of high season. That's a serious blow for his business.”

Garini ignored the imploring look from her husband and got up. “Well, the last time I talked to him,
Signor
Patelli was still looking for a job. You might want to contact him and ask him if he would be willing to fill the vacancy.” He nodded at Ortadella. “Thank you for your information. I might come back with more questions in the next days. Will you be in the area?”

Sweat formed on Ortadella's brow. “Oh, yes. Certainly. I won't go anywhere.”

“Great.” Garini took his leave and left the marble palace with a lighter step. He was getting somewhere. For the moment, he couldn't make up his mind if Ortadella was the murderer or not. If pushed into a corner, he could very well see Ortadella acting on a short fuse and shooting his tormentor. But had he already reached that point when the murder took place? If Rosari had continued with his demands and asked for more, Ortadella might have felt forced to act. In fact, he only had Ortadella's word that this had not happened, and from all he'd learned so far about Rosari that wasn't very likely.
I'll have to dig a little deeper.

But even if Ortadella was innocent, he saw new possibilities on the horizon. If Rosari had blackmailed Ortadella, he might have blackmailed others as well. Plus there was Rosari's wife. She was not to be underestimated, either, and she – like Ortadella – had plenty of reason to wish her husband out of the way. The question was if she had acted on it.

He really had to learn more about the gun, the gun that killed Rosari. It was good that they had found the murder weapon almost immediately, but so far, that had not gotten them anywhere – unless you believed that Ernesto was foolish enough to shoot someone with that gun and then to hide it underneath his own bed.
Drat ferragosto.
If everyone worked as normal, the research into the background of the gun would not take so long.

He jumped back into the car and drove downhill. The air was still stale and hot, but fat clouds had built up. The birds had stopped twittering, and all the leaves hung limply on the trees. It was as if nature was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. There was an indefinable tension in the air. Something was about to break. He felt the hair at the back of his neck standing up. At that instant, his cell phone beeped. It was a text message from Carlina.

Chapter 10

“Important news. Come to Caffè Stretto at once.”

Garini looked at the text, then frowned and accelerated the car. What on earth could have happened during his short absence?

The phone binged again. “Please come.”

Now he was seriously worried. The trip down to Forte dei Marmi suddenly felt much longer than when he'd driven up. He was still several kilometers away when the thunderstorm broke. The rain came down as if someone was emptying out buckets right over his car. He put the windshield wipers to full speed, but though they whirred with a high whining noise that sounded desperate, he could hardly see a thing. He swore and slowed down to a crawl. The road demanded his full concentration; he couldn't call Carlina back, and he couldn't bring himself to stop because he felt that every minute might count. Why did she want to see him so urgently?

After what felt like a lifetime, he arrived at the coffee shop and parked right in front of the entrance without any regard to the no-parking sign. The second he jumped out of the car, he got drenched. He bowed his head and ran to the entrance, jumping across big puddles, then he barreled inside.

The coffee shop was packed full, and every head turned at his appearance. Conversation stopped all around as everyone stared at him.

He wiped the rain from his face, feeling like a fool. A wet fool.
“Buona sera.” Where the heck is Carlina?
He looked around with something akin to panic rising inside him. The atmosphere inside the coffee shop seemed relaxed, but where was she?

He discovered the Mantoni clan sitting toward the back, behind a Pepsi machine. They waved and called him over. And there she was, hidden behind the Pepsi machine and Aunt Violetta's bulk. He squeezed through the chairs, took her face in both hands and looked at her while a huge wave of relief swept over him. “Are you all right?”

She seemed confused. “Yes, of course.”

He closed his eyes for an instant.
Thank God.

“Hey, hey,” Uncle Teo waved a spoon and grinned at them. “Look at the sweet romance here. He can't even be away for half a day without worrying about her.”

Stefano ignored him and lowered his voice. “You sent me a message.”

“Yes.” Carlina got up. “Come with me.”

She drew him toward the back of the coffee shop and lowered her voice. “When the weather got bad, we all went to the coffee shop for shelter and started to chat with Agatha. She told me you'd been here for a brief stop and that you'd talked to her about the murder.”

“Yes.”

“You didn't eat anything, though, she said. Did you have any time for lunch at all?”

He shook his head with rising impatience. “Never mind that. What happened?”

“Well, Agatha told me about your questions, and suddenly she stopped in the middle of a sentence and said that maybe she'd forgotten to tell you something after all. She asked me to send you a text message.”

A weight fell from his shoulders, and with the relief came a flash of fury. “The next time please don't send me a text message that sounds as if you're on the brink of death.”

She opened her green eyes wide. “On the brink of death? But I didn't. I just said you should come to the coffee shop.”

“Yeah. And then you added a desperate plea.”

“A plea?” She frowned. “I didn't . . .”

“Oh yeah, you did.” He wanted to strangle her. “Or how would you interpret that second message?
Please come
. Is that a plea or isn't it, right after the first message, which already sounded urgent?”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “I'm sorry. I . . . I just thought that maybe the first message had sounded too demanding and impolite, so I added a please to it.”

“Great.” He controlled himself with an effort. “The next time, don't be polite.”

She gave him half a smile. “All right. I won't. But don't you dare to complain about my manners.”

He nodded, his bad feeling gone. “Now where's Agatha?”

She looked over his shoulder. “She's serving the customers by the entrance. I'm not sure if she'll have time right now. She looks real busy.”

But Agatha had barely set her eyes on him when she already came over to them. “Thanks for coming back,
Commissario
,” she said. “I feel very bad for not having told you right away.”

“No problem,” he said automatically, but if he had stopped to think, his exasperation would have shown. His job would be so much easier if only people would get right to the point and not waste time on preliminaries.

“I now remember that I did wake up on the night of the murder.” Agatha said. “It was rather unusual, and I fell asleep almost immediately again, so it slipped my mind.”

He pricked his ears. “Yes?”

“I got up to get a glass of water, and while I drank, I looked out of the window, and I saw Signora Rosari walking by on the street, pushing the baby stroller.”

Stefano didn't take his gaze off her for one second. “Are you sure you recognized her?”

“Positive. I remember thinking that it was rather late for her to be running around with the baby.”

“And what time was it?”

“Close to midnight.”

He looked at her and tried to gauge her character. How likely was it that she would first firmly refuse to remember anything about the night of the murder and then conveniently remember a highly incriminating circumstance a few hours later?

Over her shoulder, he caught a glimpse of the Mantoni clan. They had all turned around in their seats and were watching the conversation with avid faces. Had they put Agatha up to it, feeling that a little outside help was needed in order to clear Ernesto?

He could feel his temper rising. “All right. Thank you for your statement. I see that you're very busy at the moment, but I would appreciate if you could go down to the police station at your earliest convenience to officially repeat this statement, so that it can be taken down in writing and be signed by you. You needn't wait for me when you're at the station – anybody can take your statement. I'll let them know you're coming.”

Agatha seemed taken aback, but she nodded. “All right. I'll go later tonight.”

“Good. If – for whatever reason – you should feel unable to go down, let me know immediately.” His voice was stern.

Agatha nodded, turned on her heels and hurried back to her customers.

He had managed to shake a rather formidable lady.

“Why were you so harsh with her?” Carlina looked at him with her mouth pursed in reproach.

He turned to her. “Because, my dear, I have a distinct feeling that this sudden memory was very much prodded – if not created – by the Mantoni family.”

Her eyes flashed. “How dare you say so!”

“I've seen enough of your family to know they're capable of it!”

She hesitated.

He knew she was honest enough to acknowledge the truth. The Mantonis were indeed capable of creating any number of lurid tales in order to protect one of their own.

“And do you believe that I would be part of that?” Her voice was low.

He was tired and hungry and exhausted. The day had been long and full of information he still had to process. He'd first been fried, then drenched, had worried himself half sick for nothing, and in return, all he got was some half-cooked story that any child could see through. “Yes, I believe that you would adapt the facts to make them fit. You'd do anything for your family!”

“Fine.” Her eyes flashed. “Then you'd better stop talking to me. The risk of being corrupted is way too big.” She turned on her heels in a perfect copy of Agatha's previous movement and went to the table where her family waited for her.

He looked after her with a sinking feeling, but he wasn't going to give in now, with the full family as audience. With clenched jaws, he marched out of the coffee shop and drove over to the hotel. Still filled with wrath, he took a shower and got himself something to eat. It was nowhere near the leisurely dinner he'd been looking forward to with Carlina, and his mood was at the lowest possible point.

He then went to the police station and typed his reports until late into the night. Though the thunderstorm had cleared the air somewhat and it was easier to breathe, the air inside the office still felt stuffy. The dust and grime all around him made his skin crawl. Lampone was nowhere to be seen, and the office was deserted. With an effort, he focused on his papers and organized all the facts in a row.

He had way too many suspects. First, there was Ernesto, who was hiding something. Then came Rosari's wife – probably suspect number one. He wrote out a list of things to check. Ambrosiano could cover that once he could speak again. He had found a note on his desk that Ambrosiano was expected back tomorrow. First, he had to confirm the story of the life insurance; second, he had to try to find another eye witness who would hopefully confirm
Signora
Rosari's presence near the hotel. He still didn't believe in the convenient appearance of Maria Rosari at the scene of crime, but they had to look into it.

He returned to his list of suspects. Number three was the hotel owner Ortadella, who had reason enough to kill Rosari. Ambrosiano would have to talk to the owner of the restaurant where Ortadella had dined with his wife on the night of the murder. He was quite sure that the restaurant owner would confirm every word – Ortadella would have made sure of that – but it wouldn't do to neglect that little bit of evidence.