‘Definitely, but what about you?’
‘If you’d asked me at lunchtime, I’d have run a mile but, all things considered, yes, I think I am looking forward to doing it again tomorrow.’ There was a movement from the floor beside me and Oscar’s nose appeared by my elbow. ‘Our four-legged friend probably needs a walk. You feel like coming?’
She shook her head. ‘You go. I’m very comfortable here and, besides, I’m prepping a whole new course for next autumn, so I really need to do a bit of reading while I’m here.’
Oscar and I went out, and I couldn’t resist taking a walk down to the beach to see if anything was going on down there. Everything appeared to have returned to normal. The body had been removed, there was no incident tape around the headland where the body had been discovered, and no sign of any members of the police force. Evidently, the investigating officer’s hunch that it had been an accident or suicide had been vindicated.
While Oscar splashed around in the shallows, I stood there for a minute or two, wondering what had happened here last night. My brief encounter with Graziani tended to make me think that the most likely explanation for the fall was an accident – caused by an excess of alcohol in his bloodstream – but I couldn’t shift the idea that somebody might have assaulted him. His body had been a real mess after the fall, but presumably, the pathologist had been able to work out the true circumstances. I tended to dismiss the idea of suicide as he hadn’t struck me as a man bearing such a terrible burden of guilt that he’d decided to end it all. Maybe too much wine, a dark night and a high cliff had been all it had taken.
Inevitably, my mind returned to my current book. Over the last few weeks, I had written and rewritten about ten thousand words without coming up with anything that satisfied me or that would have satisfied a reader. I had even reached the point of considering changing the whole thing and removing the dead body in San Gimignano completely. Now here I was, faced with a situation that didn’t differ too greatly from the scene in the book and I wondered if there might be any lessons to be learned from reality that I could incorporate into my fiction.
My literary musings were interrupted when, to my considerable surprise, I heard police sirens arriving at the hotel, and I hurried back up the path to see what was going on. Two squad cars were now parked outside the main entrance and as I approached the terrace with Oscar, a uniformed officer held up her hand and asked for my ID. I wasn’t carrying my wallet, but I gave her my name and room number and she checked me off on a clipboard.
‘I’m afraid we’re going to need fingerprints from everybody here.’ She was a young constable and she was being very polite. She pointed to a table a bit further along the terrace. ‘If you would like to go and see my colleagues over there, they’ll deal with you. It’ll only take a minute or so.’
I told her I was happy to oblige and asked the question that was now uppermost in my mind. ‘Does this mean that you’re now treating the death as suspicious?’
For a second, it looked as though she was going to answer, but then her training kicked in and she just pointed to the table along the terrace once again. ‘You can ask my colleagues over there.’
I left her and walked across to where two people were sitting behind a table. One was a uniformed officer with sergeant’s stripes on his epaulettes. Alongside him was a dark-haired man, maybe just a bit younger than me, say in his early fifties, wearing a plain, white shirt. He had a suntanned face, an aquiline nose and an air of authority. I assumed this was the investigating officer Virgilio had mentioned: Inspector Bellini. He had a copy of the guest list in front of him and when I gave him my name, he ticked it off and indicated the sergeant.
‘I don’t know if you ever had your fingerprints taken before, Signor Armstrong, but it’s very quick. Sergeant Gallo will see to it.’
I nodded in agreement and took two steps sideways until I was standing in front of the sergeant. He produced an ink pad and card and while he was pressing my fingers onto it, I looked back at the inspector. ‘Has the pathologist come up with anything? Presumably, this means you’re treating the death as suspicious now?’
I saw him take a closer look at me. ‘Can I ask you what your interest is in this matter?’
It was a fair question so I gave him an honest answer. ‘Professional curiosity. I used to be in the Metropolitan Police murder squad in London.’
Comprehension dawned on his face. ‘You must be the friend of Commissario Pisano. He told me he was here with a fellow officer.’ He was sounding polite, but I could see from his expression that he viewed me as a potential pain in the backside, so I did my best to reassure him.
‘Aformerfellow officer – I retired three years ago. I now live near Florence and I’m here for a few days’ holiday.’ I decided not to mention that I was now a private investigator. When I had been at the Met, I had always viewed PIs as potentially bad news – often interfering, and not too worried about how they got results. That wasn’t the way I operated, but Bellini had no way of knowing.
‘I see.’ He hesitated before grudgingly answering my original question. ‘The pathologist has been unable to rule out foul play.’ From his tone, he didn’t share that opinion.
‘You think he was murdered?’
Again, he hesitated before finally deciding to answer. ‘Personally, no. The cause of death was definitely severe trauma to the head, but the pathologist is bothered that there are wounds to both the front and the back of the skull. As far as I can see, these could have been caused as the victim fell or by the impact when he landed on the rocks, but she thinks it just possible he might have received a blow to the back of the head, after which, the killer pushed the victim over the edge. It’s my duty to double-check.’
I got the feeling that he was only going through the motions – maybe on the orders of a superior officer. ‘So does the fact that you’re taking fingerprints mean that you have a possible murder weapon?’
‘No, but we’re going to carry out a full search of the clifftop area and I’ll have a team of divers here in the morning, checking in case a weapon was thrown out to sea – not that I think there’s much hope of finding anything. The pathologist thinks it was a rock.’
The seabed shelved steeply and I also doubted whether the divers would spot anything, so he was probably right to sound sceptical, not least if the murder weapon had been a rock. ‘If you find proof of murder, is it your opinion that the killer is somebody at the hotel?’
He nodded. ‘If it was murder – and it’s a big if – it looks that way. The hotel grounds are protected by a high fence, so it would have been difficult for anybody to get in from outside. There are CCTV cameras inside and outside the hotel and my people are studying the footage closely.’
I glanced down at Oscar, who was sitting to attention alongside me, possibly waiting to have his paw prints taken. ‘You’ll see me and Oscar – that’s my dog – on the CCTV footage. We went for a half-hour walk with Commissario Pisano around half-past nine. Did the pathologist give a time of death?’
‘Between ten and midnight.’ He looked away and I followed the direction of his eyes to see Tatsuo, my windsurfing companion, approaching. ‘Anyway, Signor Armstrong, I’m afraid this means that all of you here are under suspicion until we can rule out foul play, and I’m asking everybody to make sure they stay in the hotel or close by.’ He glanced down at Oscar and produced a hint of a smile ‘I think we can take it that your dog is in the clear.’
‘My partner – that’s Anna Galardo – and I are supposed to be doing a windsurfing course at the academy in the next bay tomorrow and subsequent days, between ten-thirty and four-thirty. Is that going to be all right?’
He nodded and made a note on his pad. ‘That’ll be fine. Thank you for informing me.’
‘I’ll go and tell Anna to come down to get her prints taken.’
I headed back across the terrace, shooting Tatsuo a little smile of my own as I passed him. It occurred to me that having their fingerprints taken wasn’t likely to go down well with some of the less cheerful guests. I wondered what the mood would be like at dinner tonight and I had a feeling the chef was going to have his work cut out to keep everybody happy.
