temptation in florence 05 - seaside in death (16 page)

The last person on his list was the young girl from the coffee shop who was supposedly now on vacation. Ambrosiano should check if that was the truth. He wasn't willing to believe anything from anybody anymore without corroboration by at least one other reliable person. Not a Mantoni.

He printed everything out, then leaned back and looked at the pages. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, but he forced himself to read everything once again. It always helped him to write everything down and to organize the facts in chronological order. Something might jump out at him, even if it was only his next line of inquiry.

He ruffled through the pages and realized that he had missed one suspect completely: Patelli, the ex-manager of the hotel. He sighed. Patelli's motive wasn't very strong. If anything, it would have made more sense for him to take his revenge on Ortadella than on Rosari. He would have to talk to him tomorrow. Now, it was time to go home – or rather, to the hotel. Surely Carlina would be asleep by now. How he hated to be at odds with her.

When he came into the room, Carlina was fast asleep. He undressed quietly, took yet another quick shower to wash off all the dust, then went to bed and fell asleep within minutes.

The next morning, Stefano got up before Carlina was awake. He debated if he should leave a note. But no, what should he write? “Sorry to suspect your family” or better yet “Don't mess with my case”? It wouldn't do. She shouldn't have tried to mess up the facts. She should have known that this kind of thing never helped. He suppressed the burning feeling of injustice deep inside his gut and drove to the police station.

In the office, he met with Ambrosiano and gave him the long list of jobs to do for the day. The boy hardly said a word, but when Garini asked him to repeat his tasks, he did it well enough. Maybe there was hope yet. Stefano left the station and took the hot tin box on wheels to see Patelli, the ex-manager of the
Albergo Giardino
, at his home on the outskirts of town, far removed from the coast. However, he didn't get any further than the home's front door.

The lady blocking his entrance was so tiny that he could have mistaken her for a child if it wasn't for the myriad of wrinkles on her face and the typical black dress that old peasant women wore. She barred the entrance to the rickety house with the grim determination of a much larger woman. “You want to see my son?” she asked. “Why?”

So the ex-manager of the hotel was not all alone in the world as they had thought. “I'd like to discuss something with your son in person,” Garini said. “Is he at home?”

She lifted her chin. “He may or he may not be. Who knows?”

“
You
know,
Signora
Patelli,” Garini's voice was calm.

A hand fell onto the bony shoulder of the tiny lady, and then the ex-hotel manager appeared behind his mother. “I'm here,” Patelli said. “You're Carlina's boyfriend, aren't you? You're also in charge of the murder investigation now.”

His mother gave a hiss.

Garini nodded. “You're well informed.”

Patelli gave him a travesty of a smile. “I've been living in Forte dei Marmi ever since I was born.”

“May I come in?”

Patelli gave him a resigned nod and gently pushed his mother to the side. It was done with an ease that spoke of much practice.

Garini came into the sparkling clean home, however, any feeling of well-being evaporated when his gaze fell onto the heavy rustic oak furniture, the over-sized Jesus on a cross above the door, and the lace doilies on the sideboards that lined every wall. There was enough furniture for three living rooms crammed into the small space, and it was already warm enough to make Garini sweat.

Patelli invited him to sit on a dark green sofa that had seen better days and then took the place in front of him.

Signora
Patelli remained standing next to the chair her son occupied.

“What do you need to know,
Commissario
?” Patelli's voice was calm, but his trembling hands betrayed him.

“First of all, I'd like to ask your permission to document our conversation.” Garini took out the tape recorder.

Signora
Patelli burst into a passionate speech, but she was impossible to understand because she spoke a dialect that Garini was not familiar with.

Her son reached over, patted her hand, and said something soothing, but at the same time he nodded at Garini. “Go ahead.”

When they had established the name and address, both Patellis calmed down for the moment.

Garini decided to jump straight to the hub of the matter. “I'd like to know where you were at the time of the murder.”

Patelli flinched. “The time of the murder?”

Garini watched him. If Patelli professed to know nothing about it, it would look fishy because by now, the whole town knew exactly when the murder had taken place.

But Patelli wasn't stupid. “I know when the murder took place – in the night before
ferragosto
. I also remember that we talked about it at the Caffè Stretto early the next morning, but you didn't even mention the murder.” His tone made clear what he thought about his reticence.

“That's right,” Garini refused to add any explanation. “Would you please answer my question now? Where were you during that night?”

“I don't know the exact time,” Patelli said.

“Never mind the exact time. Just tell me what you did that night.”

Patelli took a deep breath, but his hands remained clenched. “I was in the neighborhood. At least, earlier in the day. I usually go and have cup of coffee with Agatha, the owner of the Caffè Stretto around five in the afternoon.”

Oh, no.
Garini suppressed a groan but made sure his face didn't betray his thoughts. He could already see Agatha and the Mantonis cooking up the perfect alibi for Patelli.

“That day, I was later than usual. I arrived around six and stayed until six thirty or so, then I went home on foot.”

“On foot?”

The tiny house was in Strettoia, a small district inland. It had not taken Garini long to get there by car – fifteen minutes at most, but it had been uphill, and they were now at the furthest tip of a narrow street with broken pavement. In front of the house, a vineyard soaked up the early morning sun in well-ordered terraces that were in stark contrast to the dilapidated state of the street, and on the other side, a row of lemon trees with fat yellow fruit lined the street. Garini wondered if the property belonged to the Patelli family.

Patelli glared at him. “Yes, on foot, Commissario. I had to sell my car when I lost my job. Besides, I don't have much to do, so I can just as well walk. It helps to pass the time. I arrived here around eight. I'm a slow walker. Later, I had dinner with my mother here. Then we went to bed. So I don't have an alibi.” The lines from his nose to the corners of his mouth deepened.

Garini felt a twinge of compassion. Here was a man who had lived for his job, and when it had been taken away from him, he had nothing left. What a sad summary for a life full of diligence and hard work. He realized that he wouldn't get anywhere if he continued to talk along the standard lines with Patelli, so he leaned back into the uncomfortable sofa and spread his hands. “Look,
Signor
Patelli, I'm going to be quite frank with you. From all the information I have gathered so far, few people will miss the victim. He was universally disliked, and with good reason.”

Patelli leaned forward, his eyes burning in his gaunt face. “I knew it! I knew he had some hold over
Signor
Ortadella, the owner of the hotel. There was no other way he could have gotten my job.”

Garini continued as if Patelli hadn't spoken. “But in spite of that, we have to find the murderer and have to punish him. It's not right to take justice into your own hands and execute people because they've done wrong. If we ignore those basic rules, our society will end up in utter chaos.” He pushed aside the thought about all the people in Italy who didn't stick to the basic rules of their society. Now was not the time to discuss politics and crime in general. He had a murderer to catch.

Patelli's thin mouth turned into a mutinous shape. “
I'm
not interested in finding the murderer. But if I ever should meet him, I'm going to shake his hand.”

Patelli's mother crossed herself and threw an apologetic glance at Jesus above the door.

“You've not thought this through,
Signor
Patelli,” Garini said. “I'm sure that in the course of your professional life, you've had guests you refused to take into the hotel because you knew they would create trouble.”

“Why, of course. You have no idea what the wrong kind of people can--”

“Quite. Now, if one of those people had decided that you were superfluous and an obstacle, they could easily have eliminated you.”

Signora
Patelli murmured something under her breath.

“But they didn't. Now please cast your mind back and help me find the murderer. I take it you didn't do it?”

Patelli stared at him. “No,
Commissario
. I didn't kill Rosari.”

“Why not?” He shot the sentence out like a bullet.

Patelli flushed. “Why . . . I . . . I may have talked wildly but . . .”

“But?” Garini pushed him on. Patelli didn't know it, but his stammering and confusion was quite convincing. So far, he was making a good impression.

“But I . . . I mean . . . after all . . . you can't walk around killing people, can you?”

“Exactly.” Garini's voice was dry. “Yet someone did. And we have to find him to stop him from continuing. Who knows, you might be the murderer's next intended victim.”

“I?” Patelli's eyes widened.

“Yes. You. If you should return to your old job at the hotel, you'll take Rosari's place. Maybe the job had something to do with it.” That was unlikely, but he had to get Patelli talking.

Patelli's mother placed her thin hands onto her hips and shot a volley of incomprehensible words at her son. He lifted both hands in surrender and turned back to Garini. “All right, all right, I'll tell you all I know. But it's not much.”

“Well?”

“They say there were voices on the night of the murder.”

“Who's they?”

Patelli shrugged. “I don't know. It's the talk on the street.”

Garini gave him a hard look.

Patelli moved in his seat with an agitated expression on his face. “Truly, I don't know. But people whisper that they heard shouting before the shot. They heard raised voices.”

“The voices of men fighting?”

“Yes.”

“Or a man and a woman?”

“Yes.”

“It can't be both,
Signor
Patelli.”

“I'm telling you, I don't know!” Patelli sounded exasperated now, but not nervous any longer. “That's what they say. Voices shouting, then the shot. Then nothing.”

“That's not much to go on.”

“I know.” Patelli shrugged. “But it's all I know. If I hear more, I'll tell you.” He cocked his head to the side. “How are things at the hotel going?”

“The staff is trying to keep up.” Garini got up. “If I can give you one piece of advice – and this has nothing to do with this interview – go and apply for another job. I agree with Carlina that you should move on and that you're likely to find something soon with your good qualification.”

Patelli stared at him. “Ortadella would never give me a good recommendation.”

Garini switched off the tape recorder. “I wouldn't be too sure of that. Why don't you ask him?” The words were out before he could take them back, but at that instant, he realized that he might have put Patelli into danger.
Darn.
If Ortadella had been blackmailed by Rosari and had killed him in order to free himself of the blackmail, then Patelli's sudden approach might lead Ortadella to believe that Garini had leaked the information to him. Having killed one blackmailer successfully was excellent preparation for another murder. He liked Patelli, and that had led him to stray onto dangerous territory. It would never do. “On second thoughts,” he said, “I take that back. Don't approach Ortadella at the moment.”

Patelli looked confused. “Why not?”

“Because we're still in the middle of a murder investigation and anything you do might muddle the investigation. You can start to apply for other jobs but don't approach anyone who's involved in the case, all right?”

Patelli shrugged with a sullen look on his face.

“
Signor
Patelli,” Garini put his hand onto the thin man's shoulder. “Listen. I like you, and I don't want you to be in danger. Will you promise not to contact anybody who's involved in the case for the moment?”

Patelli pressed his mouth into one thin line.

His mother threw him a furious glance, then she stepped forward and drew herself up to her full height so that the top of her head reached Garini's ribs. “I promise,” she said.

Garini nodded at her.
“Grazie.”
He wanted to kick himself when he left the house. Under no circumstances should he have allowed his emotions to muddle the case. Giving advice, my foot. Who was he, God on earth? He had just endangered a man who'd had enough to suffer already. As soon as this case was over, he was going to call his friend Peter from the luxurious Garibaldi Hotel in Florence. Peter would know where a good hotel manager was needed. But he couldn't do that yet. First, he had to solve this case and make sure to arrest the right person. Maybe Patelli was the murderer after all. He had to keep a clear head onto his shoulders, no matter how much sympathy he felt for anybody involved. With a victim as hateful as Rosari, it was hard to keep on looking with due diligence. The temptation to look away became bigger with every new fact he learned about the dead man.

He looked over the gently sloping hills down toward the coast. The sun was already high in the sky, heating up the summer landscape. On the horizon, the Ligurian sea beckoned to him – blue and beautiful. He missed Carlina's presence. Oh, how he hated to be separated from her after they had quarreled. He had to make up with her as soon as possible, but first, he had to return to the police station. Lampone was waiting for him. But when Garini came into the police station, Lampone's news blew away any other thoughts he'd had.