temptation in florence 05 - seaside in death (4 page)

“Buona sera,”
the fat man wheezed. “Are you Stefano Garini who called the police?”

“Yes, sir.” Garini waited patiently. It felt good to be a bystander for once. He decided to be a perfect witness. Succinct, to the point, showing no curiosity. He wondered how soon he could return to Carlina.

“You say you found a murdered man? Shot?”

Seeing that the fat man was almost standing on top of the victim, the question was superfluous, but Garini nodded. “That's right.”

The fat man looked for a fleeting instant at the victim and murmured under his breath, “Unfortunate. Very unfortunate.” Then, with an abrupt gesture, he turned back to Garini and gave him a sharp glance. “Did you kill him?”

Garini was taken aback. “No, I didn't.”

“Ninety percent of the people who find the victim are the murderer.” This was said with a sense of finality and in utter sincerity.

“What?” Garini's jaw dropped. “Excuse me, but I happen to know that that is completely wrong.”

The fat man stared into space, and an expression that looked very much like regret flitted over his face. “A pity.”

Garini had the impression that he was having a surreal dream. On a subconscious level, he noted that the thin policeman had started to wander around and was flashing his light into the shrubbery around the pool. Before he could stop himself, he barked at him, “You, there! Stop running around in the middle of the crime scene! Don't you know that you can destroy important clues?”

The thin policeman jumped and dropped the flashlight. It spun around in a half circle and ended up illuminating the victim's face.

The fat policeman shuddered and averted his face.

Garini blinked. He was having a very strange dream indeed. When would he wake up? “Where's your forensic team?” His voice came out sharper than he'd intended.

His colleague – if you could call him that; maybe someone was having a sick joke at his expense – waved a languid hand. “They'll be here presently.” His sharp gaze once again focused on Garini's face. “Tell me how you found the victim.”

Garini realized that he was strangely reluctant to tell the truth. Being on the other side had some unpleasant side effects. Then again, he knew how lies to protect someone who was innocent could hamper a case. How often had he been exasperated by a case that was completely muddled up by well-meaning people. He overcame his reticence and plunged in. “Actually, I didn't find the victim. I only reported the murder.”

“Then who found the victim?”

Really, this policeman had a strange way of conducting an investigation. He seemed to make a bee line for the one who found the victim, discarding all other facts left and right. Garini wished he could conceal Ernesto's role, but his training took over. He had to tell the truth. “His name is Ernesto Santorini.”

“Ah.” The fat man nodded until all his chins wobbled. “Then he's the murderer.”

Garini shook his head in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”

“Ninety percent of the people who find the victim are the murderer,” the policeman repeated his mantra.

“One hundred percent of the policemen who believe that are wrong.” Garini made sure his voice sounded icy.

The fat man reared back. “Who are you?”

“My name is Stefano Garini.” Garini waited, and when nothing came, he added, “And yours?”

“Me?”

“Yes. What's your name?”

“I'm
Commissario
Pucci.”

Garini nodded and made a move with his head toward the thin man who had picked up the flashlight and was checking it for possible damage. At least he had stopped trampling around. “And what's his name?”

“This is my assistant Ambrosiano.”

Garini choked. He could hardly imagine anything less ambrosia like than this bony bundle of a man.

“This Ernesto you mentioned,”
Commissario
Pucci said. “Where is he?”

“He's at the hotel. He's had a shock.”

“A shock, eh? Well, it affects some murderers this way.”

Garini opened his mouth, but before he could say something, Pucci turned to his assistant. “Ambrosiano! Come with me. We're going to the hotel. We'll talk to this Ernesto.”

“You haven't secured the crime scene,” Garini said. He couldn't believe his ears. This was the worst police investigation he'd ever seen. They didn't even cover the basics, something you learned in your first month on the job.

“Ah, yes.” Pucci stopped and looked around. “Well, Ambrosiano, I suggest you stay here, then. The forensic team will arrive in a minute, and they can take the body to the morgue.”

Ambrosiano clutched the light to his chest and threw a scared look at the shadowy shrubbery. “All right.” He had a throaty voice that sounded as if he had a severe cold.

Pucci looked at Garini. “You – what's your name again?”

“Garini.”

“Yes. Garini. Show me the way to this Ernesto.”

Garini swallowed his pride and inclined his head with hauteur. “Certainly.” He led the man back into the hotel but stopped in front of the door of his room. “One moment, please. I'll just have to alert my--”

Commissario
Pucci pulled himself up to his full height. It looked as if a pear tried to become a sausage. “You can't go in there and discuss things with a suspect. I have to be present.”

Enough was enough. Garini blazed him a look. “If you had taken one moment to learn more facts, you would have found out that I'm sharing this room with my girlfriend who happens to be the cousin of Ernesto Santorini. I'm only going in to make sure that she's properly dressed before admitting you. And that's already a huge favor,
Commissario
Pucci.” He spat out the title of the policeman. “It would be by far more professional if you'd arranged for a room somewhere in the hotel to conduct your interviews there.”

The
Commissario
shook his head. “Not necessary. This will soon be cleared up.”

Before Garini could throttle him, the door opened and Carlina slipped out. She was dressed in a sweater and a pair of shorts. “Shush. Do be quiet. You don't want to wake the whole family, do you?”

Garini winced. How right she was. Adding Carlina's mother, Fabbiola, to the mix or even worse – Ernesto's mother, Benedetta - would certainly not help.

Carlina looked at the fat man. “Are you the investigating officer?”

Pucci squared his shoulders. “I am. And I demand to see this Ernesto right away.”

Carlina nodded. “Certainly. He's been expecting you.” She opened the door wide and let Pucci enter.

As soon as Pucci's back was turned, Stefano lifted both hands in an apologetic gesture.

Carlina smiled at him and followed Pucci into the room, then sat next to Ernesto on the bed. She was so close to him that their shoulders touched. “Here's the police, Ernesto. Best tell him everything at once, so you can put this terrible experience behind you as soon as possible.”

Ernesto balled both hands into fists and placed them with military precision onto his legs. Then he looked at the fat man in front of him.

Pucci crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared down at Ernesto with no expression whatsoever on his face.

Garini looked around and discovered a notepad and pen on the hotel desk. He grabbed a chair and the cheap plastic ball pen and prepared to take down Ernesto's statement. It was much better if he did it instead of leaving it to the prejudiced
Commissario
who did not seem to take any measures at all to record the interview.

Ernesto drew a deep breath and plunged into the story like a five year old who has learned a poem for Christmas and wants to get it over with as soon as possible. The sentences came out in staccato with no pause between them. “I came back to the hotel by way of the pool. I saw the dead man lying there. I saw the blood. I didn't touch anything. I ran up here and woke up Stefano and Carlina.”

“Did you kill the victim?”

Ernesto's mouth dropped open. “No! No, I didn't.”

“Did you know him?”

“Barely. He is – I mean, he was – the hotel manager. I only got to know him yesterday, no, the day before yesterday, when we arrived.”

“Did you like him?”

“I didn't know him!”

“Sometimes, you dislike people on sight.”

Carlina turned her head and looked at Stefano, her eyes wide, her mouth slack with surprise.

He gave an apologetic shrug and continued taking notes. For the moment, he couldn't do anything. But he would find out more about this
Commissario
Pucci as soon as the night was over.

“I didn't dislike him on sight.” Ernesto's face turned redder by the minute.

“Maybe later?”

“No!”

“Are you sure you didn't kill him?”

Ernesto looked like a haunted fox. “Yes! I mean, no, of course I didn't kill him.”

“What about the gun?”

“What gun?”

“The gun that was used to kill him. Do you still have it?”

“No!”

“But you had it before?”

“No! I never had a gun!”

Carlina clutched Ernesto's arm. “Stay calm, Ernesto,” she said. “It'll be all right.”

Pucci looked at her with a cold expression in his eyes. “If he's the murderer, nothing will be all right.”

“I'm not the murderer.” Ernesto's voice broke. “I'm not!”

Garini got up. “I suggest we stop the interview at this point and ask for a lawyer to be present.”

Carlina's eyes widened. She knew how much he hated to have lawyers meddling in his cases.

Pucci shook his head. “It will only make extra work and prolong this case,” he said in a sad tone. “But if you insist, I'll go back to bed now. Just as well. I don't like to be up and about at all times.” He turned on his heel and went to the door, but just before he left, he said over his shoulder, “You're not allowed to leave the hotel. None of you.” Then the door closed with a soft sound behind him.

Carlina gave Stefano a wild look. “What kind of caricature is that?”

Stefano swallowed. “Unfortunately, he's the investigating officer in this case.”

Ernesto stared at them, his face stark white. “He thinks I did it.”

“Don't worry,” Stefano said with more confidence than he felt. “At first, he was convinced that it was me.”

“You?” Carlina jumped up. “Why should he think that
you
killed the hotel manager?”

“Oh, merely because I was there. He seems to prefer the easiest solution.”

Ernesto dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “Oh, what can I do?”

Garini pulled up a chair, turned it around and sat on it, then bent forward and asked the question that had been troubling him all along. “Why were you in the garden in the middle of the night, Ernesto?”

Ernesto didn't look up. “I met some friends down at the beach.”

“What friends?”

He shrugged. “I can't recall their names. One was called Beppo, I think.”

Half the male population of Italy was called Beppo. “Do you know where they're staying?”

Ernesto shook his red head from side to side. “No. They're leaving tomorrow. I mean, today. It was their last night at the beach.”

“How did you meet them?”

Ernesto looked up and shrugged. “How do you meet guys at the beach? You walk into them, you drink a beer or two . . . you know how it goes.”

Yes, he knew how it went. But it was unfortunate that Ernesto could not produce a single one of his newly found friends when he needed an alibi. “Do you recall when you found the body?”

“I left the beach twenty-five minutes past midnight.” Ernesto said without hesitation. “It only takes five minutes from the beach to the hotel, so I got to the pool at half past.”

“But why did you go to the pool at all? The front door is on the other side of the building.”

Ernesto's color deepened again. “I'd left the door of my room open.”

“The door to your room? But you're on the first floor with Omar.”

“No. Remember that Aunt Violetta made us all change round? We swapped rooms with the tired couple, and I was able to get back to my usual number five.”

Carlina stared at her cousin. “Do you like that room so much because it has a door that opens to the garden?”

Ernesto swallowed visibly. “Maybe.”

She frowned. “But you can come and go through the front door at any time.”

He gave her a glance that spoke volumes. “But then I risk running into
Mamma
. It's safer if I come in through the garden. I can always say that I only wanted to get some fresh air for an instant.”

“I see.” Carlina fell silent.

Garini lifted his eyebrows. “Do you often go away at night when you're here during the summer?”

Ernesto clenched his teeth so hard that the muscles at his jaw bulged. “Sometimes I do. I'm eighteen. I can do what I want, can't I?”

“Yes, you can.” Garini gave him a smile. “I'm sorry. Just the policeman taking over.”

Ernesto pursed his lips. “Are you telling me you're suspecting me, too?”

“No.” Garini shook his head. “You see, I have an advantage over
Commissario
Pucci. I happen to know you.”

Ernesto lowered his head and blushed again. “Thank you.”

Carlina straightened. “I suggest we all go to bed. Tomorrow – I mean later today - won't be fun, I'm afraid.” She hesitated and looked at Ernesto. “Are you up to staying in your room on your own?”

He nodded. “Sure. I'm better now. Thanks for your help.” He gave Carlina a quick hug and disappeared through the door.

Carlina turned to Stefano, her eyes wide. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

Stefano sighed. “He's hiding something.”

“Yes.” Carlina pulled up her knees and hugged them close to her chest. “But what can it be? Do you think he's going to an Internet café?”

“He wouldn't have to lie about that.”

“That's right. We're used to that.” She stared straight ahead. “Or maybe . . . maybe he's started to gamble? Maybe that's what he did? I can imagine that he would refuse to admit that.”

Stefano shrugged. “I don't know. We'll have to keep an eye on him.”

“I have a really bad feeling about this, Stefano.” Carlina lifted her head. “Something is off, and I have an inkling that this is only the beginning.”