Italy to Die For (22 page)

Chapter 36

Retributions

By the time I returned to our room, Margo had
put her suitcases in order and had mine stretched across the bed, ready for me to fill, which didn’t take long, one of the benefits of traveling light.

“Before you close your suitcase, check out the side pocket,” she said. “There’s a little something to cheer you up.”

The amber earrings from that shop in Monterosso, I almost cried. “You shouldn’t have.”

“You’
re so right but I’ve never let a silly
shouldn’t have
stop me before.”

It was the wrong time to give
Margo the silk scarf from Florence, a silly
shouldn’t have
that would’ve paled alongside her gift. Better to wait until a ho-hum day back in the States.

After I closed my suitcase, s
he slid onto the bed beside it, and asked the inevitable, “Are you okay?”

“Never felt better. How’s your head?”

“Getting better by the hour,” she said. “Did I tell you I’m sorry about this mess between you and Lorenzo?”

“No worse than the one between you and Giorgio.”

“Oh, yeah, yours was ten times worse. I saw the love in your eyes—his too.”

“Lorenzo’s was flee
ting.”

“Yeah, can’t argue with you there.
”

A knock came to the
door, Zia Octavio calling out Commissario Dante Novaro’s name. After bumping fists, Margo and I left our bedroom. We followed Zia to the living room where Lorenzo was seated with Dante Novaro, Nicco Rizzi, and another man. They all stood and during a round of greetings, the commissioner introduced the new guy as one of his detectives, Sergio Pedrotti—big, burly, and balding, a thick fold of skin wedged between eyes the color of market fish on the verge of going bad.

Da
nte gestured for us to sit where he wanted us to sit: Margo and me on the sofa; Lorenzo in his leather chair; Nicco and Sergio in the straight-back chairs they pulled up along with one for Dante himself, all forming a circle to encompass our group of six. No refreshments were offered; Zia brought none from the kitchen. I tried not to think about the earlier commotion that had originated from there.

“Thank you for meeting with us one more time,” the commissioner sa
id. He nodded to Margo and to me, although I sensed this was her show more than mine, a feeling that didn’t bother me one bit. “Lorenzo tells me the two of you are planning to leave,” he said, “not only La Spezia but also Cinque Terre.”

“As soon as you’re finished with us,” I said.

“That soon, hmm … had I known Signorina Margo was feeling well enough to travel, we would’ve conducted this interview at the station instead of inconveniencing my friend.”

Lorenzo gestured a no probl
em but Margo couldn’t leave it alone.

“
Had you asked me to report to the station, I would have,” she said. “As it is, I’m still not feeling up to par; however, our circumstances have changed and we must move on. Right, El.”

“Yes.” Forget
the gypsies; forget Mama Molina. Leave it to Margo. Her bringing up the changing circumstances would probably send up a red flag as to what circumstances, which was nobody’s business except mine and Lorenzo’s. And our business had nothing to do with the murder of two Roma women. To my knowledge, a crime still unsolved. I focused my attention back onto Dante, his demeanor here far more carabinieri-like than it had been in Monterosso, perhaps because he was nearer to his own turf although not directly on it.

“B
ut in the event of a trial,” Dante said, “you will return from America in case we need your testimony.”

Margo gave him her sweet smile, one that never failed to deliver
. “I’m sure we can arrange something—one or both of us.”

“Good, the La Spezia carabinieri as well as those in Monterosso appreciate your willingness to c
ooperate—both of you.” He turned to Sergio. “You have the recorder?”

“Si, ready to go.”
Sergio held up the device, its light a steady green. He spoke into it, his voice an unexpected yet pleasant tenor as he announced the date, time, location, and names of all present. Meanwhile, Nicco sat back, crossed one ankle onto the opposite knee, and scrolled through his cell phone, I figured to locate his notes from our earlier discussions.

“Tell me about yesterday morning,” Dante sai
d. “From the beginning, since neither my detectives nor I have heard any of this before.”

Considering
the bump on her head, Margo showed amazing recall, at least from the bits and pieces she’d already told me, plus new details I hadn’t heard. “You know, Jonathan from Iowa,” she said. “I can’t imagine him falling off the face of the earth.”

“Nor can I,” Lorenzo said
in a voice more droll than concerned.

She
went over the initial plans she’d made with Jonathan, to meet at the train station and eventually taking a boat to Portofino. And now he’s gone,” Margo said. “For all we know, my American friend could be dead.”

“He’s only be
en gone twenty-four hours or so,” the commissioner said. “Perhaps he had second thoughts. Not every man can handle the commotion of the carabinieri and our penchant for inducing hysteria when none is warranted.”

“You’re suggesting I was hysterical?”

“I did not mean you, signorina, only my observation of similar circumstances.”

“Nicco,” I said, prompting him to lift his head. “It was Jonathan who notified the police when Margo got into the taxi with those horrible people, wasn’t it?”

He made a few scrolls through his screen, “That is correct, and we in turn contacted Lorenzo among others. The subsequent report of a taxi crashing brought all of us to the scene of the accident.”

A loud clanging at the
main door sent everyone into silent mode and made me think of Anita. I envisioned another traumatic encounter and braced myself. Zia Octavio came hurrying through the open living area and down the stairs to the entryway. She soon returned with Fonso, the Roma who would forever be entrenched in my brain as Anita’s brother, more to the point, Lorenzo’s brother-in-law. Lorenzo stood and the two men hugged, as only men can when they’ve shared years of happiness mixed with sorrow.

“I came as soon as I got your mess
age,” Fonso told Lorenzo. “We must put an end to this madness before it goes any further.” After acknowledging the rest of us, including Sergio who evidently was no stranger, Fonso selected a chair he’d probably sat on before, dragged it into the circle, and plopped down.

“Please continue, Signorina Margo,” the commissioner said.

She cleared her throat, rubbed the back of her head. “Now, where was I?”

“The taxi ride, those horrible people.”

“Oh, yeah, can’t forget Driver and Dumpy.”

“You mean Tas and Lila,” I said.

“No, that’s who you mean. I never saw them before in my life … well, unless you count that first time in the alley but I didn’t really see Driver. I only felt his arms pinning me down, his knife at my throat.”

“Si, si, signorina,” Nicco said.
“All those details have already been filed in our report for that evening. Now we want the details of yesterday, what happened in the taxi before it crashed.”

Margo
lifted her head and gave some thought to her answer. “I told Driver to step on it, to get me to the train on time. But then he went the wrong way so I ordered him to stop but he refused. Dumpy the cross-eyed gypsy came at me with a knife, for which I sacrificed the leather of my Florentine handbag to save my own skin. Do you remember how much I paid for that, El?”

I thought fast.
“Maybe five hundred euros.”

“And how much is that in U.S. dollars?”

“It does not matter,” Nicco said. “Get on with your story, signorina. The Roma, the knife.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Now let’s see.
I was all alone, on my own. No weapon, no one to hear me scream. That’s when I redialed the last person I’d spoken to—Jonathan from Iowa.”

“You mean Jonathan Ballister.”

“So, now you care? Well, it’s about time. You should be searching for him as we speak. Anyway, I now know he heard my desperate screams and called the police. Had I waited for them to save me, I wouldn’t be here now. Instead, I wound up hitting Dumpy with my phone. She in turn kicked Driver and that’s all I remember until Fonso pulled me from the wreck. Oh yeah, and him yelling at Dumpy, and Dumpy yelling at him. What they were saying I have no idea.”

“You mean she wasn’t dead?”

“Hardly, although her face was bloody and banged up. She was leaning over to one side, maybe a broken collarbone, which I recognize from when El broke hers.”

“
Excuse me, Margo.
You
broke my collar bone during that silly trampoline flip in the air.”

“Was it
my fault you were in the way when I came down?”

“Was it my fault you didn’
t give a shout-out?”

“Anyway, end of
story,” Margo said. “Either Fonso or one of his disciples got me out of the taxi.”

“Disciples?”
Nicco asked.

“Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John—
don’t ask me which one.”

“It’s complicated,” I said.
“Go on, Margo.”

“
I could hear Fonso and Dumpy talking. There might’ve been another guy, but I can’t say for sure. After that I don’t remember much. Later, El said Dumpy died, I guess she must’ve bled to death. Or, died from shock … or internal injuries, I don’t know.”

All heads turned to Fonso.

I guess it was up to me to get the ball rolling. “But, Fonso, I thought you got there after Nicco and me.”

“More like before and after. My first mission was to remove Signorina Margo from the wreckage and to have one of my men take her to a safe place. Did I not tell yo
u we Roma honor our commitments?”

“And for that Margo and I thank you. So, y
ou came back a second time?”

“Si, with some of my men, in the event of trouble I had not anticipated.
As it turned out, my only task was to drag that bum Tas from the vehicle. He was already dead, so my kicking him caused no additional pain but gave me great satisfaction. Did I tell you the two murdered women were from my tribe?”

“So you did,” Margo said.

“But what I did not know then, nor did I suspect but should have, was that it was Lila who slit Tania’s throat.”

“Lila slit Tania’s throat?” the commissioner a
sked. “What makes you think this?”

“Is simple,” Fonso said, “b
ecause it was Tania who slit Nadya’s throat.”

Lorenzo had contributed nothing to the discussion, not that I expected otherwise. But now he leaned forward, as did the rest of us.

“Nadya, the woman found dead on the beach,” Commissioner Dante said. “And Tania dead in the tunnel, even I find this hard to believe.”

Fonso opened his arms half-way.
“This Lila told me as she lay dying.”

“A
confession difficult to prove,” the commissioner said.

“Ah, but I
have a witness.” Fonso got up and almost bowed. “Please excuse while I get him.”

He l
eft the room to the murmurs of Commissioner Dante and his men while Lorenzo tapped the arm of his chair and wouldn’t take his eyes off of me. Speaking of eyes, Margo’s were getting heavy. I poked her and she straightened up.

“Can we go yet?” she asked.
“All I can think about is Diet Coke poured over lots of ice.

“
No to going, no to the Diet Coke, and don’t even think about taking a nap.”

A nap, no way, not after seeing what Fonso
had dragged in—more like escorted into the living room—who else but Margo’s Jonathan.

S
quealing worse than a love-struck teenager, she jumped up and hurried to where Jonathan stood, a stubble of whiskers sprouting from his face. She locked her lips onto his, nearly bowling him over in the process. Awkward for me, you bet, but an everyday scene for the Italians; those masters of uninhibited behavior some Americans abhor, myself included.

After releasing her lips from Jonathan’s, Margo said,
“Dear heart, I’m been half-crazed with worry. Where have you been?”

“With Fonso and his men, they gave me no choice.”

“For his protection, signorina, and mine,” Fonso said. “To ensure he would back up Lila’s deathbed—make that backseat—conversation with me. Tell them, Jonathan from Iowa.”

“It’s t
rue, I was there. After Margo called and I notified the police, I ran from the train station, having no idea if or where I’d find you. Some gypsies—”

“
Roma, please.”

“Scuzi,
I keep forgetting. Some Roma came by in a van, said they were on their way to rescue you, and told me to hop in. I did and nearly lost my leg, given their literal translation of
hop in.
” Jonathan set his eyes on Fonso before he added, “How they knew where the taxi had crashed, I have no idea.”