‘What sort of questions?’ That hard look was back in her eyes again. ‘I only worked with him. If it was anything of a personal nature, he would never have confided in me.’ She must have spotted scepticism on my face. ‘I imagine you’ve been talking to people who say that Aldo and I were an item. Well, I can categorically tell you what I told the police earlier today: we weren’t. Yes, I spent quite a lot of time with him, but only as far as my job demanded.’
I remained not totally convinced but left it at that for now. ‘My questions are mostly about his brother. Could you tell me how relations were between Aldo and Ignazio? I’ve been staying at the Augustus and I’m pretty sure I saw you there the other night having dinner with both brothers. Did that mean that they were close?’
She shook her head. ‘Anything but – Ignazio’s return to the island was the last thing Aldo wanted. Take a look around. This is a good business, and he’s built it up almost from scratch. The arrival of his brother fresh out of jail came as a most unwelcome shock.’
‘But Aldo gave him a bed and even took him out for dinner. Surely that means there was still a degree of brotherly love there?’
‘I’ve already told this to the police. Last Saturday night was supposed to be their farewell dinner. I don’t know the details but, as I understand it, Aldo promised his brother money on condition that he left the island and never came back.’ She bent down and opened a drawer, sifted through a few papers, before producing a ticket. ‘Look, here’s the ferry ticket that Aldo asked me to book for Ignazio.’ She pointed to it. ‘See the date? Sunday morning.’
It occurred to me that this carefully preserved ticket was a convenient piece of evidence in support of Aldo’s alibi – if he had indeed killed his brother. Little details like this go down well in a court of law. Of course, there was no proof that Teresa had bought the ticket on Aldo’s orders. What if she had arranged the alibi for herself, and I was talking to Ignazio’s murderer – and maybe a double murderer at that? Small and dainty she might be, but she couldn’t hide that hard expression in her eyes.
I chose my words carefully when I asked the next question. ‘Can I take it that when you and Aldo left the Augustus on Saturday night, you both returned here?’
She shook her head. ‘We both came back in this direction, but I went to my chalet while he returned to his villa.’ She looked up and caught my eye for a moment. ‘And, before you ask, no, I didn’t join him in his villa. I hope I’ve made myself clear as far as my relationship with him was concerned.’
If she was telling the truth, this opened the door to Aldo easily having had time to sneak back and murder his brother on Saturday night. But who then murderedhimtwo days later? And, of course, there was always the possibility that Teresa had been the one to sneak back and push Ignazio to his death – although a ready motive still didn’t occur to me. I tried another question. ‘As far as Aldo’s death is concerned, can you think of anybody who might have had a grudge against him?’
‘It depends what you mean by grudge. If the stories about him were true – and I have no reason to believe they weren’t – there were probably quite a few local women and their partners who disliked him. Whether this dislike was strong enough to translate itself into murder though, I seriously doubt.’
‘And professionally? Did he have any arguments with staff, suppliers, neighbours?’
‘Nothing I can think of. There were a few grumbles from staff – mainly about pay – and he had a row with the wine merchant the other day, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing that leads to murder.’
I asked her if she had heard the name Ernesto Morso, the farmer who had allegedly been inveigled into selling his land to Aldo, but she just shook her head. ‘That would all have been before my time. I’ve worked here for three years and the land had already been bought and developed by then. Sorry I can’t help.’
She didn’t look particularly sorry and as I left the office, I heard the volume of the music return to its former high pitch. I closed the door behind me and looked down at Oscar.
‘She’s a tough cookie, that one.’
The end of his tail started wagging. I had used the word ‘cookie’, after all.
15
TUESDAY EVENING
Back at the hotel, after a shower and a change of clothes, I went down to the terrace and found Virgilio and Inspector Fontana sitting at a table. Virgilio waved to me to join them, so I followed Oscar across and sat down.
‘Ciao, Dan. What’s new?’
‘I’ve just been talking to Aldo Graziani’s PA – or whatever she was. I must confess that I had been expecting at least some sort of display of emotion from her, but she seemed not just unmoved, but positively happy at the news of his death.’ I glanced across at the inspector. ‘I understand that you’ve already interviewed her. Was that your impression as well?’
Inspector Fontana nodded. ‘Exactly the same. Of course, it might have been simply an attempt to quash the rumours of her and her boss carrying on, but if it was an act, she’s a lot better than most of the people you see on the TV these days.’ He produced a little smile. ‘I understand from Virgilio that you’re one of us – or at least you were. Chief Inspector makes you my superior officer, doesn’t it?’
I heard that same note of regret beneath the good humour in his voice. Now that I knew about the effect of his injury on his career, I felt considerable sympathy for him. One of the reasons I’d taken early retirement at fifty-five had been because of rumours in the force that the powers that be were going to start moving frontline officers to desk work when they hit sixty, and I knew I would never have been able to put up with that. I smiled back at him.
‘As Virgilio will have told you, I’m anex-DCI now and I’m in the private sector. By the way, I don’t want to butt into your investigation so I’m more than happy to go off and let you two talk shop if you prefer. I used to hate it when outsiders tried to horn in on my cases.’
‘No, do stay and join us if you can spare the time. To be quite honest, I thought I recognised your name, so I had a word with a couple of colleagues in Pisa, and it seems you were very helpful in a case there not so long ago.’ The waitress appeared and he waved to her. ‘I’d like a cold beer, please.’ He glanced at the two of us. ‘Either of you feel like joining me?’
We did.
I asked him if he had received the pathologist’s report, and his answer was interesting. ‘It sounds very much like the same MO as his brother – a blow to the back of the head and then a push into the sea. His lungs weren’t full of seawater, so there’s no way he died of drowning. He was dead before he went in.’
‘And presumably no sign of a murder weapon?’ He shook his head and I asked him something else that had been preying on my mind. ‘Do you have any information on the victim’s will? Who inherits now that he’s died?’
‘As far as we can tell so far, he didn’t have one. We’ve contacted his lawyer, who disclaims any knowledge of a will, and my people are searching his villa as we speak. I was there this afternoon and I couldn’t see anything, but I’ve given orders that they have to check every scrap of paper they find. If he died intestate, it could take months or even years to decide on the settlement. Certainly, this hasn’t thrown up any potential beneficiaries.’
This was disappointing. I’d been hoping to find somebody with a lot to gain from Aldo’s death, but it looked as though this wasn’t the case after all. ‘Did he have any close relatives?’
