Death in Autumn (9 page)

After repeating himself and hearing the same answers for a further hour, the Captain decided that a night in the cells might have more effect. Before they took Querci away he asked him, 'Do you want to telephone your wife?'

'Am I under arrest?'

'Yes.'

Querci's face became even more pallid as though he might vomit or even faint, and he wouldn't have been the first to have done so in those circumstances. But all he said was, 'No. She won't be expecting me home until morning, anyway. What's the use of waking her?'

'Take him away.'

The Captain went back to the window and rubbed wearily at his face. It was after three in the morning and the street was silent now in the yellow lamplight. Under one of the lamps a man was hovering, hands deep in his pockets, staring up at the window.

'For God's sake . . .!' He turned and picked up the telephone. 'If that's Galli down there, don't let him come up. Tell him to come back tomorrow.'

'I've already told him, sir.'

'Well, he's still out there. Tell him again. I'm going to bed.'

It wasn't that Guarnaccia ever had much to say for himself but this morning he was singularly silent. He sat beside the Captain in the back of the car with his hands planted on his knees, staring ahead behind his dark glasses. Once they were past the village of Greve he leaned forward slightly every so often to tell the driver which way to turn.

All the way up from Florence the Captain had tried to draw him out on the Mario Querci business but all he said was, 'Have you arrested him?'

'I had no choice.'

'He's not likely to come out with anything to the Substitute Prosecutor this morning?'

'I'm sure he won't.'

After which he had offered nothing more than noncommittal monosyllables and grunts. He seemed satisfied that they were going out to the villa but that was all.

'Left here.'

The car turned on to a lane that wound between vineyards where the harvest had begun and every now and then they passed two lines of men and women snipping at the heavy bunches of grapes while a tractor chugged along at the end of the rows. A white car was coming towards them in the narrow lane and their driver slowed and nosed into a grassy lay-by. The other car drew level and stopped, the driver leaning over to call out.

'Good morning!'

The Captain wound his window down. 'Galli! One of these days you'll really go too far!'

'Couldn't sleep,' said the reporter sheepishly. 'Seriously, if I were in your place I'd arrest that lad Sweeton. He's a born liar.'

'Unfortunately, I can't arrest him for that.'

'Drugs, then. Take my word for it, I know one when I see one. Cocaine. Christ, you could get drunk breathing the air round here.'

Rivulets of wine-coloured water were trickling from a nearby farmhouse into the ditch running along the lane and there was so much fermentation in the air that it really was intoxicating.

'I heard you arrested the night porter.'

'I've no doubt you did. But don't start speculating in print, not now, I'm warning you.'

'Warning taken. Even so, nobody believes he did it, I can tell you that for free. When are you giving us something we can print on this drugs case?'

'When I've got something to give you. Now get out of my way, you're blocking the road.'

'Pleasure. I'm off to bed. But I still think you should arrest that little sod or he'll skip the country.' And Galli drove away, spraying up wine-stained gravel.

The villa looked as deserted as ever when they got there, and the silence was so profound that they could hear in the distance the grape pickers calling for their full baskets to be collected. Nevertheless, this time there was a face at the first-floor window where the shutter was broken, watching their arrival. It had vanished when they got out of the car.

'Wait here,' the Captain told his driver and he approached the front door, the Marshal following behind. The rusted iron bell-pull produced a slow jangling noise. After a few moments a voice from behind the door said, 'You have to come round the back.'

When they got there John Sweeton was waiting in the kitchen doorway. 'The front door doesn't open.' He stood back to let them in. Even before he had spoken the Marshal noticed a difference in his attitude. He was very pale and he watched them nervously as they walked in.

'Just what exactly is going on? I've had a journalist here pestering me. I warn you now that my father . . .' He tailed oil as the Captain stopped and looked him in the face.

'We have a warrant to search this house.'

'Well, if that's all 'I don't know,' the Captain said quietly, 'whether that's all or not. We'll start with your room if you'd like to lead the way.'

The boy hesitated as though he were going to say something, but he must have thought better of it. He turned and led them out of the sunny kitchen and up the gloomy staircase. Once they were all three in his room he stood still, watching them warily.

'Has your friend Christian come back?' asked the Captain.

'I don't remember saying he was a friend of mine. He was staying here, that's all.'

'Was? I thought he was still staying here?'

'How should I know? His things are still here. His comings and goings are nothing to do with me.' His eyes continually strayed from the Captain to the Marshal, who was moving slowly around the room touching nothing, just looking, his sunglasses dangling from one hand.

'When did you last see him?'

'I can't remember. Some time ago.'

'How long?'

'I don't know. Why should I—'

'How long? A month? Two months?'

'Something like that. I've forgotten.'

'One month or two?'

'I suppose nearer two.'

The Marshal had come across a copy of the
Nazione
under the bed and was turning its pages slowly. The room smelled strongly of oil paint and turpentine.

The boy had placed himself in front of the easel that stood in the middle of the floor. The landscape was still propped there, the shaft of sunlight from the window falling full on it. The Marshal found the page he was looking for, folded the paper and showed it to the Captain, who glanced only at the headline before giving it back without comment.

'You haven't asked us why we're here,' the Captain observed. 'Aren't you interested?'

'It's nothing to do with me.'

'How can you be so sure of that?'

'Because I haven't done anything.'

'And you don't know anything either, I imagine.'

'That's right.'

The Marshal opened a drawer and shut it again without looking at the contents. He seemed to be wandering about the room in an entirely haphazard way. Every time he passed close to where the Captain and the boy were standing the latter exhibited a greater nervousness. He had his hands in his jacket pockets as if to look relaxed, but the hands were tightly clenched. The Marshal retreated to one corner of the room, stuffed his glasses into his pocket and stood watching.

'What have you just taken?' the Captain went on.

'I don't know what you mean.' But the Captain was staring straight into the tiny pupils of his eyes and the boy realized it.

'That journalist upset you, did he?'

'He had no right to come prying round here.'

'What did he ask you?'

'There's no reason why I should tell you. Ask him.'

'What did he ask you?' The Captain raised his voice just a little.

'The same things you're asking—about the woman who owned this villa.'

'But I haven't asked you anything about the owner of the villa. I asked you about your friend Christian.'

'He's not my friend!'

'What has he got to do with the owner?'

'Nothing. I don't know.'

'Then why did you think I was interested in the owner when I asked you about Christian? Marshal!'

Given that the Marshal had stopped looking, he must have found what he wanted.

Guarnaccia came forward, striding heavily towards the boy and the easel behind him. The boy started and his hand shot out of his pocket in an involuntary movement which knocked a tray of paints and brushes from the easel's ledge to the floor, scattering tubes and bottles.

'Leave it,' the Marshal said as the boy made to pick the things up. 'Leave it there, lad, and I'll pick them up for you.' But he only picked up the paint-stained box and began examining it carefully. It was divided into compartments of various sizes. A tiny brown paper package was stuffed into one of them. The Marshal removed it carefully and took off the brown paper to reveal a little polythene bag. It was no more than two inches square and had been rolled tightly. The Marshal unrolled it, took a few of the tiny crystals on one fingertip and tasted them. Then he rolled the bag up again and slipped it into his top pocket.

'Is there any more of it?' the Captain asked the boy.

'No. I've only ever bought it for my own use and you can't—'

'All right. You're well-informed about the laws of this country, I'm sure. But then you read the papers, don't you? We'll have a look at your friend Christian's room now.'

The boy led the way without a word but they could hear his shallow, rapid breathing.

The Marshal went straight to the other boy's bedside table and examined the shrivelled halves of lemon, the belt, a teaspoon and a cigarette lighter. Then he began searching the room, this time systematically.

'Whatever Christian did it's nothing to do with me.'

'Then let the Marshal get on with his job and mind your own business,' the Captain said. 'And meantime, you tell me just what Christian did. Bear in mind that we know about him and Signora Vogel.'

'I wasn't involved.'

'Then you've got nothing to worry about. You're just helping us with our inquiries.'

The Marshal was heaving the mattress off the bed. His face was as expressionless as ever but his movements had a ponderous sureness that determined the Captain to take a risk.

'We've found Christian's body,' he said.

The boy swallowed with some difficulty. He didn't speak and his eyes were fixed on the moving bulk of the Marshal who had uncovered two small bags that were taped to the underside of the bed's base. The Captain propelled Sweeton towards the bed and the three of them stood looking in silence, the Marshal puffing a little after his exertions. The air was full of revolving dust.

'We're not going to touch those two packets,' the Captain observed, 'until we get our technicians out here to examine them.'

'What Christian did in here is nothing to do with me.'

'Of course not. I'm interested in what you did in here. No doubt that packet there which is thickly covered in dust contains heroin and has been there since Christian left. But the other one at a guess has been there about half an hour. That journalist did give you a fright, didn't he?'

'It's nothing to do with me.'

'No? But what if that packet contains cocaine. Christian wasn't on cocaine.'

'You can't prove that.'

'Remember we've found his body.'

'You still can't prove it. The paper said that the head was—'

'The paper said? The papers don't know anything about Christian.'

'You two were just looking at the article in my room.'

'The boy we found up near the fort? But the paper didn't say who it was. They don't know. How do you know that was Christian?'

'Because you said so before, that you'd found his body.'

'I didn't say it was that body. I wonder if we'll find your fingerprints on that packet.'

'You won't. And this is not my room. Anything you find in here—'

'That's true. Of course there's nothing to prevent us from finding both those packets in your room.'

'You try anything like that and I'll call my father. I warn you! My father's a judge. You won't get away with anything like that.'

'Your father's not a judge in this country, fortunately for him. I'm afraid he would be embarrassed to have his son in a situation like this if he were.'

'I'm not in any situation. Christian—'

'Christian is dead,' said the Captain quietly, 'and the owner of this villa is dead, and the only person who had any connection with them is you. You are in a situation all right but perhaps you haven't realized yet that we're not talking about drugs but about murder. So it might be as well to call your father anyway.'

If Galli had told him about the arrest of the night porter the Captain would put him inside! But the boy's pale face had reddened in panic and his eyes began darting about the room as if he might make a run for it. The Marshal moved one step closer so that he was practically touching him. Galli hadn't told about the porter.

'I think you'd better come with us,' the Captain went on, 'and we'll talk about it in my office.'

'You can't arrest me without evidence.'

'I'm not arresting you. According to you, only Christian was involved. But Christian's dead and can't tell us about it. Nor can anyone else. If you know anything you'd be well advised to tell us all about it because otherwise we're going to think it was you, aren't we?'

'I'm calling my father.'

'I've already told you that you'd better call your father. You can do that from my office. I'd like to talk to him, too. I shall need to ask him how much money he's been sending you all year for one thing. Shall we go?'

The boy was put in the back of the car with the Marshal. They travelled along the ochre lanes between vineyards, through the tranquil bustle of the piazza at Greve and down to the city where a snarl of traffic was righting to get in at the Roman gates. Throughout the journey the boy didn't open his mouth.

When they reached Borgo Ognissanti one of the guards came out to the car to tell the Captain there was someone waiting for him.

'I'm not seeing any journalists.'

'It's a woman, sir.' The guard consulted a slip of paper. 'A Signora Vogel. She's here in the waiting-room if you want her to go up with you.'

CHAPTER 9

'There's somebody with her,' the guard added, 'a lawyer. Do you want me to . . .'

But the Captain had jumped out of the car, waving it on, and was hurrying round to the waiting-room entrance on the right. Unreasonably, he was half expecting to see the thin, blonde woman, to meet that ironic blue-eyed glance. But when he stopped in the entrance he saw a woman of well over sixty years, sitting stiffly on the worn wooden bench with a big, thick-set man beside her. It was the man who got up to introduce himself.

'Captain Maestrangelo? Avvocato Heer. I think we spoke on the telephone. This is Signora Vogel, my client's mother-in-law.'

'We'd better talk in my office.' The Captain led the way along the cloister and up the stairs without further comment. He was trying to decide rapidly whether to make them wait while he went on questioning Sweeton or whether this woman could tell him anything useful that would help him put pressure on the boy. By the time they had reached his office where the Marshal and Sweeton were waiting at the door he had made his decision.

He signed to Guarnaccia to take the boy next door and showed the two visitors inside.

'Please sit down.'

The lawyer spoke to the woman in German and she sat down without answering, holding tightly on to the large handbag placed squarely on her knees. The Captain realized that she was probably much older than he had first thought but the mass of tiny wrinkles covering her whole face was thickly coated with face powder. Her bright little eyes were observing him coldly.

'You are Hilde Vogel's mother-in-law?' he began.

She turned to the lawyer who translated the question for her. She answered him with a one word affirmative.

She maintained this attitude throughout the interview, never troubling again to look the Captain in the face and staring out of the window if he and the lawyer spoke in Italian, as if a foreign language could have no relevance for her. After giving her name as Hannah Kiefer Vogel, and her place of residence as Mainz, she suddenly interrupted and began to speak for herself, pausing occasionally, with evident irritation, to let Avvocato Heer translate.

'I came here as soon as my bank manager informed me about what had happened. I may as well say immediately that my daughter-in-law has caused nothing but trouble in our family since the day my son was foolish enough to marry her. Consequently, the way she died comes as no surprise to me. You will understand when I say that she wasn't our sort, not our sort at all. The Vogel family is much respected in Mainz. Both my husband and my father-in-law were mayors of the city. My own father was a lawyer of some considerable repute. I can safely say that if my husband had been alive my son's marriage would never have taken place. Unfortunately, my husband left his entire estate to our son, giving me nothing more than a moderate income from the capital and the right to reside in the house for my lifetime. The result was that I was obliged to share my home with a shopgirl. Please understand that I am not simply being abusive, this woman worked in a shop owned by a friend of my son's. That was how they met, and in my opinion there was something going on between her and Becker even then. If I tell you that my son hadn't been dead six months when Becker started coming to the house—you can imagine my feelings. I wasn't going to accept that sort of thing under my own roof and I made myself plain on that from the beginning. Nevertheless—'

After listening patiently for some five minutes the Captain made a sign to Heer that he should stop her. If there was anything worse than this woman's vicious respectability it was her assumption that he naturally must agree with her, with her constant 'you will understand'. Besides which, he had no time to waste listening to her respectable lies and abuse. It was information he needed.

She was none too pleased to be silenced and tightened her lips which trembled very slightly, though this was evidently a sign of age rather than emotion for she was very cool and sure of herself.

The Captain took the Vogel file from his drawer and extracted Mario Querci's statement, addressing himself to the lawyer.

'Perhaps you would ask the Signora to be so good as to answer a few questions which might help us with our inquiries.'

Heer translated. He showed no embarrassment or special interest in what he had to translate, apparently having no objection to anything he had to do or say provided it was paid for. The woman stared at the window until the first question should be referred to her in German.

'Did you know your daughter-in-law's parents?'

'Certainly not.'

'They weren't at the wedding?'

'The mother had died some months before.'

'And her father?'

'The father had made himself scarce long before that, leaving them penniless.'

'And isn't that why Hilde Vogel was obliged to stop studying and find work?'

'It may have been.'

'Hadn't they, in lact, been quite well-to-do up till then?'

'Quite possibly. The father was an architect. All I know is that that girl didn't bring a penny with her when she married my son. She knew what she was about, all right. I saw through her from the start and said so.'

'I imagine that until her mother died the daughter attempted to keep her in the style to which she was accustomed.'

'They tried to keep up appearances, if that's what you mean. In my opinion people should live within their income and content themselves with the lifestyle they can afford.'

'Even so, it seems to me odd that the daughter should have taken a job as a shopgirl if she had been well educated, whether she was obliged to interrupt her studies or not.'

'If you want to split hairs I suppose you could say that she managed Becker's business since he travelled a lot, but if you ask me she only got a position like that because there was something going on between those two.'

'Do you know where the father went when he left?'

'He came here, of course, as I'm sure you know since she followed him in the end.'

'Followed him in what sense?'

'She came out here to live with him since my home wasn't good enough for her, or rather, my standards were too high for her.'

'She told you she was coming to live with her father?'

'Certainly. And I can't say I was surprised. In my opinion they were two of a kind. I understand he dabbled in painting and no doubt thought of himself as another Gauguin, running off like that. Needless to say nothing came of it.'

'Does it seem likely to you that her father would have wanted her living with him if, as you say, he had abandoned his family and left them penniless for all those years?'

'It must be so, given that that's what happened.'

'It isn't what happened, Signora. Hilde Vogel never lived with her father but in a hotel, alone.'

'I'm afraid you must be mistaken. She hadn't the money.'

'It seems she had plenty of money.'

'Then she was up to no good.'

And the Captain, though he found himself automatically defending Hilde Vogel against this vicious woman, was obliged to remember that he had said the same himself.

'Is your son still alive, Signora?'

'No, he isn't. He died very young, of a brain haemorrhage.'

'What was his occupation?'

'He lectured in law at the University of Mainz.'

'Leaving you and your daughter-in-law together in the house?'

'Yes.'

'What were her financial circumstances at that point? Your son provided for her?'

'The estate is entailed on the male heir as it always has been. She had a small income, as I have, until such time as she might marry again, and she had the right to live in the house for her lifetime.'

'Would such income as she had have permitted her to live elsewhere?'

'In my opinion, no. The upkeep of the house was paid for from the estate. The income was for her personal expenses only.'

Sooner or later they must come to the question of the male heir. By this time the Captain was convinced that Guarnaccia had been right and that this interview could only be concluded at the Medico-Legal Institute. He decided it was best to get all the other information he needed before dealing with that problem. Nevertheless, he noted before going on that the woman was volunteering no information about there being a child and he was going to want to know why.

'Tell me about this man . . . Becker, you said his name was, with whom you think your daughter-in-law was involved.'

'I don't think so, I know so. I have a pair of eyes in my head. What's more, he was a bad lot, in my opinion. The whole town knew that he was having an affair with his secretary who used to travel around with him on the pretext of work.'

'Was this before or after his supposed affair with your daughter-in-law?'

'Before or after?' The woman almost spat with disgust. 'He was playing around with both of them. It may have been just my daughter-in-law when she first went to work for him, but he soon took up with the other one again when she and my son married. As for afterwards—'

'Just a moment. Are you saying this affair went on when your son and daughter-in-law were newly married?'

'I'm not saying anything of the sort! Do you imagine I would have allowed a scandal like that in the family? I watched her every minute, I can assure you. And I did everything in my power to get my son to break with Becker. Marriage and family are more important than friendship.'

'Did you quarrel over it.'

'I simply tried to make him see reason.'

'So she was Becker's mistress before she met your son? There needn't be anything extraordinary in that. She presumably broke with Becker and decided to marry your son.'

'She knew which side her bread was buttered. Becker would never have married her.'

The Captain paused to leaf through Mario Querci's statement. When he found the page he wanted he looked up and asked: 'Becker's secretary, was she older than your daughter-in-law?'

'Some years older. No doubt that's why he—'

'Her name?'

'Ursula Janz.'

'Is she still living in Mainz?'

'No.'

'Where is she living?'

'I can't imagine why you expect me to know that. I've no idea.'

'When did she leave the town?'

'When Becker sold his business and left.'

'How long ago was that?'

'At least fourteen years.'

'Did they go off together?'

'I wouldn't know. He left first but that doesn't mean anything.'

'And your daughter-in-law?'

'She had already left, almost a year earlier.'

'Because you quarrelled about her receiving Becker?'

'I don't stoop to quarrelling with that sort of person. I merely made my feelings known. I'm sure you understand that under my own roof, in my son's home . . .'

'Who ran the household after your son's death?'

'I did, naturally, before and after. My son was accustomed to an orderly household.'

The Captain remembered the face in the passport photograph. Had she managed to regard her mother-in-law with that detached irony? He strongly suspected not. She had been so much younger then and left a widow under this grim woman's rule without sufficient means to escape, or even anywhere to go. She may have invented the story of joining her father out of pride. Or was it to cover up the fact that she expected Becker to join her? In any case he hadn't. So what had she lived on? Where did the money from Geneva come from? And where was Becker now?

'Since you say this man Becker was a friend of your son's, do you happen to have a photograph of him?'

'No.'

'Your son and he were never photographed together? What about the wedding, wasn't he there?'

'He was, despite my wishes.'

'Then he must have appeared on one or two of the photographs, surely?'

'He did. But after my son's death I had no desire to keep anything that would remind me of his unfortunate marriage.'

'You destroyed the photographs?'

'I did.'

Had Hilde Vogel done the same? They had found no trace of her former life among her belongings.

'How old would Becker be now?'

'I suppose in his mid-fifties.'

'Leaving aside his relationships with women, what sort ofmanishe?'

'Arrogant. If I tell you that his favourite phrase was "ninety-nine point nine per cent of people are fools . . ." He liked to manipulate people.'

'Including your son?'

'My son was a very intelligent man but a rigidly honest one. Becker used to say he was his only worthy chess opponent, they had played chess together ever since their University days. But in my opinion Becker just liked having him around as an audience.'

'An audience for what?'

'You might say for his practical jokes, except that there was nothing amusing about them. He liked to make fools of people and then point out to them how gullible they had been.'

'Did he ever do anything illegal?'

'Not strictly speaking but my son often warned him that he was playing with fire.'

'Did he heed the warning?'

'I doubt it. He was utterly contemptuous of other people.'

'Was he ever seen again in Mainz after he left?'

'Never, I'm glad to say.'

'I see. Would you excuse me for a moment?'

When he went into the anteroom next door he found the Marshal blocking the doorway with his broad back. Sweeton was slumped in a chair with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, his face pale and sullen. The two men stepped outside and closed the door on him.

'I think,' the Captain said, 'that we now know who Hilde VogePs grey-haired visitor was.' And he explained briefly about Becker. 'It ties in with Querci's account of her having a lover with another woman in his life.'

'You're not thinking of a crime of passion?' The Marshal looked dubious.

'Anything but. I'm thinking she may have been blackmailing him, though without knowing what he was up to I'm going to have trouble proving it. . .'

The Marshal still looked dubious.

'What do you want me to do with the boy?'

'Let him telephone his father and then get him something to eat. After that we're going to the Medico-Legal Institute.'