‘Virgilio and I are going up Monte Capanne.’
‘You’re going mountain climbing?’ Anna sounded appalled at the thought.
Lina giggled. ‘You must be joking – it’s over a thousand metres up. No, we’re taking the cable car.’
Virgilio butted in. ‘I keep telling you, it’s not a cable car; it’s a fairly primitive series of metal baskets attached to a cable. They only hold a couple of people each and they’re exposed to the elements, so it’s just as well we both have a good head for heights.’ He glanced across at me and grinned. ‘I don’t think it would suit you, Dan.’
I shuddered theatrically. We all knew of my fear of heights. ‘You’re very welcome to your ride in the cable-car-metal-basket thing. Definitely not for me. And where is the mountain exactly?’
‘Over in the west of the island. On a clear day, you can see mainland Italy in one direction and Corsica in the other direction. I’m really looking forward to it.’ He glanced at Anna. ‘What about you, Anna? I assume your boyfriend will be splashing about in the sea. Do you want to come with us?’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be quite happy looking after Oscar while Dan does his thing out on the water.’
Ingrid had warned me that my final day of tuition was going to be concentrating on more advanced elements, so I had a feeling that I was going to be spending a lot of time in the water, rather than on it again. Still, I had to admit that I had enjoyed today. As long as I didn’t drown tomorrow, that would be that.
After barely having had time for a quick sandwich at lunchtime – admittedly with a massive ice-cream sundae in the afternoon – I was feeling hungry so when dinnertime came, I opted for grilled sardines and squid rings as a starter, followed by ravioli filled with asparagus and mozzarella in a crab sauce. I was delighted to see Anna eating well and there was definitely more colour in her face today. Hopefully, her bandages would be removed in the next few days and she would soon regain full movement in her wounded shoulder. All in all, she had been very lucky, and I hoped that the judge would throw the book at Fabio Morso.
After dinner, I saw her back to the room and took Oscar for his evening stroll. While we walked about, my mind returned to the book I was writing and, for the first time in weeks, a glimmer of inspiration presented itself. The killer wasn’t a man, but a woman. Up till now, I had been convinced that the murder had been committed by a man but, as I knew full well, murder is by no means the preserve of the male of the species. Of course she needed to have a powerful reason to see him dead, but what could that be? Suddenly, the thought of the alleged attempted abduction of a girl here at Santa Sabina flashed through my head and the answer came to me.
What if I borrowed that idea for my book? I could make it that years ago, the victim had assaulted and abused a young woman, ruining her life forever, and this murder was payback for that. I needed to work out how the two of them had met again and how it was he hadn’t recognised her, but I felt a shot of excitement. I had found the solution to my dilemma and I now knew how to make the story work. I glanced down at Oscar, who was trotting happily beside me with a branch in his mouth.
‘I’ve cracked it, Oscar. It was a woman and the death in San Gimignano was payback for something terrible that happened in the past.’
He looked back up at me, his eyes glowing green in the moonlight, and I swear he nodded.
Twenty minutes later, as I walked back along the clifftop path, I spotted a figure standing close to the cliff edge, staring out to the sea. Oscar trotted over to greet her and I saw that it was Rita.
‘Ciao, Rita. It’s a lovely night for a walk, isn’t it?’
She turned towards us and the moonlight glistened against moisture on her cheeks. Had she been crying? When she answered, her voice was subdued. ‘Ciao, Dan.’
‘Is everything all right? Signor Silvano’s birthday party went well. I’m sure you organised the whole thing.’ I tried to sound as cheerful as possible, although I was trying to work out what the trouble might be.
She mumbled a reply and returned her gaze to the sea. I could see she wanted to be on her own and I was about to wish her goodnight and turn away when I realised what had been staring me in the face for days. I’d been hoping that solving the murder of Ignazio Graziani might help me with my own book, and suddenly, I could see that it was the other way around. My book might just have provided the answer to the riddle of his death. We stood in silence for a minute or so while Oscar, instinctively sensing that Rita was upset, went over and leant against her leg in a show of support. Finally, keeping my voice as gentle and compassionate as possible, I brought the subject up.
‘Can I ask you a personal question, Rita? How old are you?’
If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. ‘I’m thirty-five, almost thirty-six.’
‘That’s the same age as Elvis, isn’t it?’
Again, there was just a deadpan reaction. ‘He’s two weeks older than me.’
I took a deep breath and said it. ‘You’re the girl that Ignazio tried to abduct twenty years ago, aren’t you?’
Incredibly slowly, her head turned towards me and I could see the tears once more running down her cheeks. I had to wait almost a minute before she spoke, her voice low and husky. ‘How did you know?’
‘You told me you were at university on the mainland when it happened, but that was over twenty years ago so you would only have been fifteen. You were still here, weren’t you?’ She gave the faintest nod of the head and I went on. ‘Tell me something: why didn’t you go to the police about it?’
I had a long wait before she answered, but I didn’t pressure her. When she finally spoke, her voice was clear, although her tone was subdued. ‘It was my father mainly. He told me I’d brought shame on the family – as if it had been my fault. My mother was more sympathetic, but she agreed with him that it was best not to say anything, and, as far as everybody in the village was concerned, to act like nothing had happened.’ I saw her eyes reach across the gap between us and her voice strengthened. ‘How was I supposed to carry on as if nothing had happened after what he did to me?’ Her voice almost cracked, but she rallied and continued. ‘I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it wasn’t an attempted abduction. He pulled me into his van and he kept me in there with him for an hour: the longest hour of my life.’ There was another pause before she carried on, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘I was only fifteen and he raped me. How could I forget that?’
The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, but I felt no sense of satisfaction. Up till now, I had believed that Ignazio’s victims had been four. Now I knew that the true tally was five. I was pleased to see that Oscar was still staunchly at her side and her hand was gently stroking his head. All I felt was a deep sense of pity for her and revulsion at the behaviour of this man whose actions had caused so much pain to so many. I was going to say something, anything, to try to tell her that I understood, when she carried on talking in a studiously even voice.
‘When I saw Ignazio again on Saturday night, I was determined to confront him. It was something I just knew I had to do. When my shift finished at ten o’clock, I didn’t go home; I sneaked into the trees and watched him and his brother sitting at table with that woman, drinking and arguing. When Aldo and Teresa stormed off, I waited for my chance and it came when I saw Ignazio set off towards the cliff.’ She rubbed the back of her hand across her cheeks but she didn’t stop. ‘I made my way around to head him off and you can imagine my surprise when I saw Virgilio come up the path from the beach and almost bump into Ignazio. There was a scuffle and I saw Virgilio punch him so hard, he fell back into the trees only a few paces away from me.’
She paused and I had time to reflect that the presence Virgilio claimed to have sensed in the shadows had been his own cousin.
Before I could respond, Rita picked up the story again.
