Death in Springtime (9 page)

'You didn't do anything about it?'

'What should I have done if there was nobody there? To tell you the truth, I thought it was probably one of those Sardinian beggars with their bagpipes. There was one of them on the other side of the street. I wouldn't have opened up if I'd known; they're a thieving bunch and they usually work in pairs. I thought it was probably the other one who had rung, on the cadge.'

'But you never actually saw the other one?'

'No, I told you. There was nobody there when I came out.'

'What time was it?'

'Eight o'clock.'

'How long after pressing the door switch did you come outside?'

'A few minutes. I don't know. The time it took to put my coat on and pick up my keys and stuff.'

As simple as that. And he, too, had remarked on the one piper. The Marshal decided it was time to pay a visit to Headquarters. Before he left he asked: 'What's your full name?'

'Bertelli, Sergio.'

'I'll need a written statement from you later. If you didn't think of mentioning this caller to your wife, didn't it even occur to you to mention it to us when you heard what had happened?'

'Nothing happened that I know of. Why should I have told you?'

'You don't know that a tenant from your building was kidnapped that morning and that the evidence you've just given could be vital?'

'I don't know anything of the sort.'

There was no point in asking if his wife hadn't told him if they never spoke.

'Don't you read the papers?'

'Only the sports page.'

'And you didn't even notice that a tenant from the first floor is missing?'

'I know nothing about the tenants. That's my wife's job.'

'"I am not in the least racist. I don't object to these people on grounds of race and I don't believe that any other Florentine does either. All we ask of anyone coming to live in a civilized city is that they accept the code of behaviour of civilized, decent people" etcetera, etcetera . . . The ones that start off with "I'm not racist but" are always the most racially prejudiced.'

'True.' The Substitute flipped open the latest of the pile of newspapers on the Captain's desk. 'Another three letters . . . But the editor declares the correspondence closed. So much the better.'

The polemic in the newspapers had begun not over the kidnapping but over a fight that had broken out a few days previously in a bar much frequented by the young Sardinians who hung around the city and by the city gangs who sold them drugs. No one knew what the quarrel had been about and no one cared. In recent months the residents of the area around the bar had been complaining almost nightly to the police about the noise that went on until the small hours and about the hypodermics left strewn around the piazza, a serious health hazard to the children who played there during the day. The fight, in which one Sardinian had slit another's throat from ear to ear without succeeding in killing him, had been the last straw and had resulted in an unprecedented outburst of anti-Sardinian feeling that involved not just the affected area but the whole city. The 'Sardinian problem' became the chief subject of conversation in every bar, drawing-room and noble palace in the city.

What I say is, if they want to live here they should live like us,
not sleep outside on that mountain like animals.

I never realized there were any that near, I thought they were all
in the Mugello region . . .

I remember when my husband was alive and we had a Sardinian
couple with some unpronounceable name and it took me three
months to teach her to make tea properly. I don't think she ever let
the water boil.

I had an aunt who rented afield to a shepherd. The one who left
me that brooch you always liked. So
simpatico, /
thought. I was
only about ten. He used to pay with cheese . . .

Lorenzo was in Sardinia last month. He wanted to see Gari-baldi's
house. He gets so easily depressed that I'm happy if anything
will distract him.

You should suggest he visit Portugal. Italy wouldn 't have any of
the problems she has if the King were still here.

Few people mentioned the kidnapping. There had been nothing about it on the television news since the day the car was found.

'Who's the man they arrested for the throat-slitting?' The Substitute lit a cigar and began to fold the newspaper neatly and rapidly.

'Garau. A regular customer of ours. Very shifty.'

'He's not on your list of suspects?'

'Frankly, apart from Antonio Demontis, the terrible brother, who's being watched, we don't have any real suspects—though I'd very much like to know where Piladu's son and Scano's boy have got to. There's a young plain-clothes man working on it but he has to go slowly. He's infiltrated the group and is buying regular small doses but he can't start asking questions too soon.'

'Is it the same bar?'

'As the stabbing? Yes, but they all go there.'

'Not much chance of finding out what that fight was about?'

'None whatever. And still nothing from the Consulate. No contact.'

'Do you think she's dead?'

'Not yet . . .'

'What about the Nilsen girl?'

'If anything, she's more nervous since she came out of hospital. Probably she feels more at risk. It's not easy to take up your life again when it's been so brutally interrupted. She's still in regular contact with Sub-lieutenant Bacci and I have every hope that he'll gain her confidence.'

After considering this aspect of the case for some moments the Substitute remarked: 'You chose your man well.'

'Yes. His English is excellent and he's very conscientious.'

The Substitute hid the faintest of smiles by drawing very deliberately on his cigar.

The Adjutant knocked and came in.

'Sub-lieutenant Bacci to see you, sir.'

'Send him in.'

As Bacci emerged through the blue fog that had collected near the door it occurred to the Captain that if Fusarri had been the normal sort of Substitute he would have had to go and report to him at his office, leaving his own smoke-free. But by this time the Captain had grown used to living in a blue haze. He motioned the young officer to sit down.

'You have something for me?'

'Yes. I've had to piece it together over the last three days. The information only came out bit by bit since she's still not easy in her mind about talking to us. I suppose she's afraid of anything happening to her friend as a result. I'm not even sure if what I've managed to get will be all that useful . . .'

'Go on.'

'Well, they were blindfolded before they got out of their own car that morning, as you know. Even so, I thought it was worth persisting, trying to get her to remember noises, smells, anything that would give us a clue to where they were taken. It seems that when they were made to lie down in the back of the truck and their hands were tied behind them, Katrine remembers there being rags underneath her. Some of them smelt of oil or grease of a kind she didn't recognize. I gave her a few samples from the labs without telling her what they were and she picked out gun oil as being the nearest. It was almost sure to be, of course, out in the country and at this time of year. Almost everyone hunts. But there were also some other rags, a sort of muslin, she thought, very soft but with stiff patches and it stank of bad meat. So much so that she remembers trying to wriggle her face away from it without success. I still thought it meant the truck was used for hunting but I asked the labs to check her clothing just in case. They had already found what I was looking for, traces of gun oil, some brown dog hairs and minute traces of dead flesh.'

'It's what you'd find in the back of any van out in the country, as you said.'

'Except that they say it's certainly not game but butcher's meat. They'll be able to tell us for certain later. They think it's lamb.'

'That sounds too obvious to be true.'

'Nevertheless, that's what they say.'

'And anything on where they were taken?'

'Definitely not up the mountain. They went all the way by car and she doesn't think they were on the road very long. Maybe about a quarter of an hour. They seemed to keep up a fairly regular speed and, although it was bumpy, she's sure they didn't climb any steep hills in a low gear. When they got out they were taken inside a building and made to sit on a stone floor that was gritty and unswept. They hadn't negotiated any furniture to get to the far side of the room and sit against the opposite wall and she had the impression, either because of that or because of the resonance of voices, that the room was empty. Once they were on the floor their feet were bound and somebody was left on guard beside them. Somebody who prodded them occas'oiially, she thinks with a rifle as he wasn't right up close, to make sure they realized he was there. They weren't hurt or threatened verbally—in fact, apart from the message she was given they weren't spoken to at all. There were two men apart from the one with the rifle and she heard them quarrelling for a long time in another room.'

'Does she have any idea what the quarrel was about?'

'She couldn't understand or even hear them all that well. Even so, she felt sure that it was something to do with her, that there should only have been the Maxwell girl there. One of the men sounded furious, the other frightened—the one who'd been in their car. It was only guesswork on her part, naturally, but it's more than probable that she's right. She didn't normally stay the night with her friend. She had no reason to since her own flat is within walking distance. Whoever did the planning on this job couldn't have expected to find a second person getting into the car.'

'And just why did she stay the night in Piazza Pitti?'

'I still haven't been able to find out for sure. She's quite vague, even evasive about it. I keep on asking but she's given me three different answers up to now; that Deborah felt a bit depressed, that they'd been out very late to the last show at the cinema in Via Romana which is very near to Piazza Pitti.'

'That's also true, we have the tickets. And the third reason?'

'Even vaguer. She'd heard stories about people being attacked and their handbags stolen and so decided not to walk across town alone. Not that that's unreasonable in itself but it never seems to have bothered her before since she says herself she didn't normally stay the night, even if they'd been out late.'

'They're not contradictory stories, of course,' said the Captain slowly.

'I know, and they're probably all true in their way, but I'm sure there's something else that she's not telling me . . .'

'You think there may have been something wrong with the Maxwell girl? My men have questioned everyone in her class at the school. Nothing came out, but then she seems to have been very secretive. Nobody got very close to her.'

'Katrine was closer to her than anybody and very fond of her. I'm sure that if there is anything she'll tell me once she gets her confidence back.'

'Then keep questioning her. At the moment she's our only hope.'

'Should I go tomorrow as usual. . .?' The young man's eyes kept involuntarily catching those of the Substitute, who was staring at him pleasantly.

'Why do you ask?' The significance of the Substitute's earlier remark was gradually dawning on the Captain. 'If you mean because it's your day off, there are no days off during this case unless I decide I can spare you.'

'It wasn't that. . . only that it's Palm Sunday ... I was just wondering if I could change the timetable of my visit but it isn't important . . .' He couldn't say what he wanted to say in front of the Substitute.

'Any change in routine could be enough to undermine Signorina Nilsen's confidence.' He emphasized the surname slightly, knowing he was being unfair because they hadn't known it during those first days when Bacci had sat by her bedside. He let the young man go and was relieved that the telephone rang before the Substitute could speak.

'Yes?'

'Sentry room, sir. Visitors for you. The American Consul General and a Mr Maxwell.'

CHAPTER 8

There was also a Mrs Maxwell. Beside her tall, plump husband she looked even smaller than she was. Her perfume immediately overpowered the tobacco fumes, her coat was of pale chamois leather and the silk scarf knotted over it bore a conspicuous signature.

It was significant that it was the Consul General who spoke first. There was no outburst of parental panic. It meant that they had already discussed the problem at length and decided what line to take. It was evidently to be a very reserved one. The Consul General addressed himself exclusively to the Substitute in slow, accurate Italian, pronounced with his native accent.

'It took us some time to trace Mr Maxwell since his business interests take him all over the States. Fortunately, it happens that we have a common friend and both he and Mr Maxwell were to be at a board meeting in New York on Monday.'

'On Monday . . .' repeated the Substitute, as if wanting to take this piece of information in very particularly. He leaned forward with a sudden movement, politely offered round cigarettes and cigars, and then sat back as though retiring from the proceedings to his usual position of observer. 'Captain Maestrangelo,' he said, filling his pipe rapidly and efficiently, 'needs to know something about the family, everything about the family, in fact, and quickly.' He didn't look at any of them.

The Captain filled the space provided for him, speaking first to the Consul General.

'Perhaps you would tell Mr Maxwell that you will translate my questions for him and that he may speak directly to me in English. We'll waste less time that way. I'd like to know the condition of the family, where and how they live, what his relations with his daughter were like and whether she had any particular problems.'

Maxwell's voice was rather high-pitched and soft, but despite this he spoke with the authority of someone accustomed to getting his own way.

'I have a number of houses in various parts of the United States. We spend time in all of them, depending on the season and on where we feel like being.'

'These properties are investments? Or do you need them because of working in various parts of the country?'

The Consul General translated. Maxwell evaded the first part of the question. 'They're well away from the places my work takes me to. They're not anything extravagant, don't get me wrong. Some of them, like for instance the farm in Connecticut, are quite small. If I like a place I buy it. I guess you could say it's a hobby. We like to lend them to friends of ours.'

'But not to sell them?'

'If I feel like a change, I don't see what this has to do with my daughter.'

'A friend of your daughter's gave us to understand that you lived in Michigan.'

'Debbie was born there and we still have a place there, but not the same one that she grew up in. I sold that when I remarried.'

'Is your first wife dead?'

'We're divorced. She remarried more or less at the same time as I did. She married a banker from Charles-town, West Virginia, and that's where they live.'

'How old was your daughter when you divorced?'

'She'd be about fifteen.'

'Does she still keep in touch with her mother?'

'Not an awful lot. They wrote one another at first but then my ex-wife had another child, you know how it is . . .'

'Your ex-wife is somewhat younger than you are?'

'Eight years.'

'Do you think it's possible that your daughter may be very unhappy?'

'I'm perfectly sure she's not.'

'The divorce didn't upset her?'

'She's gotten over all that. She's almost twenty.'

'Would it not have been more usual for your daughter to have stayed with her mother?'

'Jean didn't give me much warning. I came back from a business trip
to
find her gone.'

'Leaving your daughter alone?'

'Debbie was in boarding-school.'

'And in the holidays?'

'She had a choice of houses to go to in those days.'

'But no home?'

'Excuse me?'

'Did you spend the holidays with her?'

'I spent time with her, sure I spent time with her. Just where is all this leading us? You seem to me to be wasting an awful lot of time.'

'I'm sorry if my questions disturb you. I'm trying to find out what sort of emotional state your daughter has been in over the past six months. You don't live in this country and don't do business here. Your daughter doesn't live extravagantly enough for it to be noticed that she has more money than the average student. Whoever decided she was worth kidnapping got their information from your daughter herself.'

'What would Debbie be doing mixing with criminals?'

'That's what I would like to know. Did she ever use drugs?'

'She did not!'

Maxwell's face had darkened and his wife was looking at him anxiously as if she would like to interfere. She even murmured, almost inaudibly: 'Don't you think . . .'

But her husband interrupted her.

'I do the talking, Dorothy. Debbie is my daughter.'

The Captain continued mildly: 'I understand your daughter is here to study?'

'That is correct.'

'Why isn't she at college in America?'

'She wanted to come to Italy.'

'Over twenty American colleges have branches here in Florence.'

'There doesn't seem to me to be anything wrong with the school she's in now.'

'Most of the students are postgraduates.'

'Debbie . . . Debbie dropped out of college after the first year.'

'Why? Did something go wrong?'

'Nothing went wrong! She just changed her mind.'

'In which of your many houses did you spend Christmas, Mr Maxwell?'

'My wife and I spent Christmas in the Bahamas.'

'Did your daughter go with you?'

'We invited Debbie.'

'But she didn't go?'

'No, she didn't.'

'Her friends were under the impression that she was to spend Christmas with you in America.'

'We talked about it, but then at the last minute we thought of the Bahamas. My wife and I like to travel. We invited Debbie to join us but she'd had an invitation from a girlfriend to spend Christmas in Norway and she decided to take that invitation up. So I guess it worked out OK. She had a wonderful time.'

'Did you meet this friend when you came over here after Christmas?'

'We did not. Of course, we were here for only a short time and what time we had we spent with Debbie. Dorothy had a lot of shopping to do and my daughter took a little time off school to take us around.'

'Did you ever worry about your daughter's living alone in a city?'

'Come on now, this isn't New York.'

'Your daughter was kidnapped at gunpoint.'

'And apparently she wasn't alone. Debbie knew how to defend herself, I saw to that, but a kidnapping's something else.'

'What exactly do you mean by "defend herself"?'

'In America the police in major cities run courses that teach women to defend themselves, particularly against rape.'

'Your daughter followed one of these courses?'

'She most certainly did. I insisted on it.'

'Why?'

'Why . . .? Because she intended to come over here was one reason. She took the course last summer before leaving the States.'

'But, as you yourself said, this is not New York.'

'You seem to have your share of crime. And those instructors aren't joking, believe me. They really teach them how to hurt.'

'So I've heard.' Though he'd never really believed that any woman would behave that coldly and that violently in response to an attack. Experience told him that a woman's natural instinct was to defend herself rather than to hurt the attacker. And in the recent article he had read on the subject, even the sergeant in charge of the course had not believed that any woman would take his one piece of infallible advice. They preferred their little aerosols of teargas which gave them a false sense of security. He let the matter drop.

'Do you own any property in this country, Mr Maxwell?'

'I do not.'

'How many times have you been over here?'

'Our visit to Debbie this year was only my second time in Italy.'

'When was the first time?'

'Before Debbie was born. I brought my first wife to Naples as part of our honeymoon.'

'What exactly is your business, Mr Maxwell?'

'I'm a major shareholder in a number of companies and consequently a director of them. They're spread all over the country, which is why I have to travel so much and why the Consulate had difficulty tracing me.'

'Do you consider yourself a rich man?'

'Not as rich as some.'

'But you would be able to pay the ransom without difficulty, assuming the money was allowed into the country?'

'I think you can let me worry about that.'

'Unfortunately I have to worry about it too. Strictly speaking, you would be aiding and abetting—'

'Now listen, you can't stop me from rescuing my own daughter!'

The Consul General would have given a great deal to stop this exchange going any further but he could hardly say anything without worsening the situation for himself.

'We, too, have every intention of rescuing your daughter,' the Captain said mildly, 'but we would also like to catch the people who kidnapped her. Kidnapping is a business and a very profitable one. The more profitable you help to make it, the more people will be kidnapped in the future.'

'I don't care about other people being kidnapped, that's your problem. I want my daughter back alive and if the price is one and a—'

The Captain relaxed and the Substitute sat up again. It was the latter who, ignoring the red-faced Maxwell whose wife was holding on to his arm, asked the Consul General:

'When did you receive the message?'

'Eight days ago.' The Consul shot an annoyed glance at Maxwell for making a fool of him.

'Eight days ago,' repeated the Substitute in the same way as he had repeated "On Monday". He didn't even ask the next question but went on looking at the Consul General expectantly.

'It was a personal message for Mr Maxwell. You surely must realize that I couldn't take the responsibility . . . if anything should have happened to his daughter . . .'

'Something might well have happened to her after eight days. When did you miss your daughter, Mr Maxwell?'

'Naturally, when the call came from the Consulate.'

'In other words, you didn't miss her. We have been looking for her for three weeks. Captain . . .' He selected a fresh cigar and sat back.

'What was the exact wording of the message?'

'Mr Maxwell, we have Deborah. The price is one and a half
milliardi.
We couldn't make any decision on Mr Maxwell's behalf.'

'I understand. Were you told where to leave the money?'

'No, nothing else.'

The Captain believed him. Until the kidnappers knew that Maxwell had the money ready they wouldn't name a place. At any rate, they had known that the Nilsen girl hadn't delivered her message unless they were guessing, word having got around that she had been picked up unconscious. He turned to Maxwell.

'You could still cooperate with us.'

'I just want my daughter.'

'I see. We shall, of course, cooperate with you.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'How do you know these people really have your daughter?'

'She is missing, isn't she? And there's the message, not to mention the other girl who was a witness!'

'To her having been kidnapped, yes. But that was three weeks ago, as the Substitute Prosecutor has already pointed out to you. Where she is now, in whose hands, whether she's still alive, these are the questions you need to have answered before paying a ransom.'

The colour left Maxwell's face. Was the reality of the situation only just getting through to him?

'I've no way of knowing that,' he said more quietly. 'I can't take the risk . . .'

'We have ways of finding out, and we will cooperate with you as I said, regardless of whether you choose to help us. When the next phone call comes, which it will very shortly, you will ask for a copy of that day's newspaper signed by your daughter. You will also ask for the answers to three questions.'

'What questions?' By now he was quite subdued.

'Any questions you like provided that you know only your daughter can answer them; the nickname of a childhood friend, for example, or the description of some pet she used to have, anything that she will know and her captors can't know. Think it over. When you have the newspaper and the three answers you will at least know that your daughter is still alive and in a fit state to respond. In the meantime . . .' He drew the folded note from the file on his desk. 'This letter was given to the girl who was released. We don't know for certain but it was probably to be given to you on your arrival.'

Maxwell examined the letter in silence, let the Consul General read it and then put it back into the Captain's open hand. He still showed little emotional reaction though he was evidently angry with himself for letting his natural arrogance be so easily quashed.

The Captain turned to Mrs Maxwell: 'Do you get on well with your stepdaughter.'

'We get along just fine. Of course, we've never seen all that much of each other . . .'

'When you went shopping together here, did she ever say anything about the way in which she usually spent her allowance?'

'Why, no ... I suppose she bought clothes like other girls, and went out and enjoyed herself. I'm sure she has lots of friends.'

'She has no health problem that you know of?'

'None at all, she's a strong girl. . . Back home she used to love riding. She couldn't ride here, of course, being in town, that's why John . . .'

'Yes?'

'I think he would have liked her to come home.' She looked anxiously at her husband.

It was she who, just before they left, showed signs of being seriously upset.

'They won't harm her . . . you understand what I mean . . . they won't touch her . . .?' Her face had become blotchy under her make-up and her eyes were suddenly filling up.

'It's very unlikely. Kidnapping is a business, as I told your husband. These people have nothing personal against the victim. It's in their interests to keep her safe. She won't be comfortable but she'll be properly fed and cared for. Before you go, would you mind telling me where you're staying?'