The Ancient Curse (27 page)

‘News?’ asked Reggiani.

‘Bonetti has nearly completed his inventory, sir.’

‘Good. Let’s let Dr Castellani have a look.’

Fabrizio went underground and exchanged a few friendly words with Bonetti, who was busy scribbling in a notebook.

‘Do you know where this stuff comes from?’ asked Fabrizio.

‘I’d say it’s all local, except for a few objects imported from other cities, perhaps in ancient times. Like that candelabrum, which looks as if it comes from Tarquinia,’ replied Bonetti, eager to share his technical competence with someone who knew what he was talking about.

‘Yeah, I’d say so,’ said Fabrizio without enthusiasm. Then he turned to Reggiani. ‘Do you want me to call Balestra?’

The lieutenant hesitated a moment. ‘Maybe not. Not yet. I’d like to finish interrogating Ambra Reiter first. Do you feel up to joining me?’

Fabrizio nodded and the two men returned upstairs and made their way to carabiniere headquarters, which was swarming with packs of journalists and television crews. As soon as he got out of the car, Reggiani was surrounded by a forest of microphones and TV cameras. The international press was already starting to show up as well.

The same questions were shouted at him from every direction.

Was it true that a monster was roaming the fields around Volterra? How many people had died? Ten? Twenty? Why hadn’t they called in the army?

Reggiani raised his arms in a gesture of surrender and said, loudly enough to be heard by all, ‘Please, ladies and gentlemen, there’s nothing I can tell you now. In just a few hours, certainly before evening, I’ll be calling a press conference and you’ll have all the answers you want. Right now, could you please let us through? We have urgent business to attend to.’

He managed somehow to elbow his way through the crowd, followed by Fabrizio, and to enter the HQ building.

Ambra Reiter was sitting at a desk. She had her legs crossed and was smoking. She seemed perfectly calm and her only movement was an occasional shake of the cigarette over the ashtray. Reggiani had Fabrizio shown to an adjacent cubicle with an interphone, so he could hear what was going on in the interrogation room.

‘Are you going to give her the third degree?’ he asked Reggiani.

The officer shook his head with a half-smile, as he took off his cap and black leather gloves. ‘That’s only on TV. You’ve been watching too many old Clint Eastwood movies. All we’re doing here is asking questions. That may go on for hours. Even days. Only we switch off, while the person being interrogated can’t.’

‘Doesn’t she have the right to call a lawyer?’

‘She certainly does. But she doesn’t have a lawyer and the court-appointed counsel won’t be here until tomorrow. He’s just had a tooth extracted and he’ll be in the clinic until tonight, if there are no complications. Let me repeat this: we’re not doing her any harm. It’s only a few questions. Sit down and you’ll hear for yourself that no one is being tortured.’

Fabrizio approached the listening console; Reggiani entered his office and sat down on the opposite side of the desk and rested his cap and gloves on the table.

‘I’m Lieutenant Reggiani,’ he said. ‘We’ve met before, at Le Macine, if I’m not mistaken.’

Ambra Reiter nodded.

‘Your counsel will be here tomorrow. You have the right to remain silent. But I can tell you that if you collaborate with us you’ll have considerable advantages in negotiating a plea agreement. As you can see, we’re making no recording of this session and nothing you say will be held against you.’

‘Why?’ she asked. ‘I’ve committed no crime.’

‘Illegal possession of archaeological material worth millions is not a crime?’

‘I just work at the bar. How do I know what’s underground?’

‘You certainly do know. When Dr Castellani and I came calling, you appeared behind us. You’d obviously emerged from the hatch behind the bar counter.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Of course it is. I immediately noticed your shoes were caked with yellow mud, the same soil we found in the underground chamber.’

Fabrizio couldn’t help but smile at how Reggiani was taking credit for something he hadn’t noticed at all, but he obviously wanted to make an impression on the woman as far as his investigative skills were concerned.

‘In any case,’ continued the lieutenant, ‘if you are not responsible for the underground treasure trove, you’ll have to tell me who is. I doubt that people can come through your tavern carrying vases and candelabra, shields and helmets, without you ever noticing. Tell me this. How did they dig up the chamber without you knowing?’

‘Evidently it was already there, dug before I took over the tavern.’

‘You know that’s not true, Ms Reiter. We’ve already taken samples of the concrete on the walls and before evening I’ll be able to show you an expert’s technical report that demonstrates that the chamber was created no more than one year ago. What do you say to that?’

The woman gave him a hard stare. ‘I have nothing to say, and won’t say anything until I have a lawyer.’

‘As you prefer, ma’am, but you must know you’re running a great risk . . .’

The woman did not seem to acknowledge his threat and lit another cigarette.

Reggiani took a packet from his inside jacket pocket. ‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked.

But Ambra Reiter had withdrawn completely and gave no answer.

‘As I was saying . . . you’re putting yourself in grave danger,’ Reggiani continued, lighting his own cigarette. ‘You are aware, I’m sure, of how Pietro Montanari died.’

‘Yeah. I heard about it,’ said the woman after a few moments of silence.

‘Yes, you must have been quite upset, seeing that you knew him so well. Unfortunately, you were the last person to have seen him before he was found murdered.’

Reggiani’s suggestion seemed to startle her. ‘You’re making things up to frighten me and trick me into saying things that aren’t true. Your tactics won’t work with me.’

‘They won’t?’ Reggiani pressed a button on the interphone and said, ‘Massaro, can you bring me the La Casaccia file please?’

The sergeant came in and laid a file on the table. It contained several black-and-white photographs as well as some transparencies developed from digital images.

‘Here you are,’ said Reggiani, showing them to the woman. ‘These are your tyre tracks. And we have a witness who saw you enter and then exit from Montanari’s house at ten thirty p.m. The cadaver was found, in horrific condition I may add, shortly thereafter. Moreover, your fingerprints were present in multiple locations throughout the house, as were footprints that match shoes found in your home. Fortunately for us, and unfortunately for you, Montanari’s courtyard was quite muddy . . . And that’s not all. Tracks left by the tyres of your vehicle were also found at La Motola, not far from where Santocchi was murdered.’

Ambra Reiter seemed shaken.

‘What’s more,’ Reggiani added, ‘both Montanari and Santocchi were found with their throats ripped out, exactly like the other victims who died both before and after they did. Which would suggest a serial killer. No judge would believe the cock-and-bull story the papers are putting out about a werewolf prowling around the fields of Volterra. They will find the evidence I’ve produced much more convincing. It all adds up against you, doesn’t it? If my past experience is any indication, you can be reasonably certain of spending the rest of your days in prison. I’d guess that you’ll be serving hard time in one of those maximum-security prisons, obviously, since you seem to be in perfect mental health. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy actually . . .’

Fabrizio, who was following the conversation word by word, found it hard to believe that this bewildered, uncertain creature was the same woman who had haunted his nightmares, the voice that had sent his heart racing in the middle of the night, the mother who had bullied her child into running away from home. In this context, divested of her aura of mystery and power, she seemed quite harmless, fearful only of ending up in prison. How was that possible? Could she have some kind of personality disorder? He could perfectly call to mind the disturbing, imperious tone her voice took on when she warned him to ‘leave the boy in peace’. And he remembered all too well the anxiety and trepidation in Montanari’s gaze after she’d left his house that night of blood, chaos and gunfire.

He found himself wishing he could stare into her eyes. Maybe something there would reveal how such a dreadful witch could transform herself into someone so totally different, someone who perhaps somehow had truly forgotten everything.

He heard her voice saying, ‘What do you want from me?’

‘First of all, I want to know where that stuff we found underground comes from. In particular, the bronze slab with the inscription.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘OK, so we’re starting off on the wrong foot. I’m talking about a bronze slab that was cut into seven parts and stored for at least several weeks on the ground in the left-hand corner of the room underneath your bar.’

The precise nature of his reference seemed once again to shock the woman into silence.

‘Well?’

‘You know I didn’t kill Montanari.’

‘That remains to be seen. All I can say is that all of the evidence points in your direction and that a lot will depend on how you answer my questions.’

‘How do I know that, if I talk, you won’t find new things to accuse me of?’

‘Actually, you can’t be sure. You’ll have to take my word for it. My word as a carabiniere officer and honest man. If you answer my questions I will not charge you with homicide . . . I’ll look for another cause. A werewolf, I guess.’

He stared fixedly at Ambra Reiter as his friend Fabrizio Castellani would have done if he’d been sitting there opposite her, searching in her eyes for the merest shadow of the monster that was terrorizing the city, but her gaze was absent, unemotional.

He sighed and said, ‘Let’s start from the beginning. When did you first arrive in Volterra?’

‘Five years ago . . . in the autumn.’

‘Where were you coming from?’

‘Croatia.’

‘Why did you choose Volterra?’

‘I was looking for a tranquil place to start a new life. Things were terrible after the war back home . . .’

‘And you found work with Count Ghirardini.’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you become his mistress?’

‘What difference does that make?’

‘I’ll decide whether it makes a difference. Did you become his mistress?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you moved into his house – that is, the Caretti-Riccardi palace.’

The woman nodded.

‘With . . . your son?’

‘Yes.’

‘For how long?’

‘About a year.’

‘After which Count Ghirardini suddenly disappeared. Strange, no?’

‘He was a strange man. He had spent most of his life in exotic places. He could be anywhere in the world now. He may never come back or he may suddenly reappear like he did back then.’

‘There are those who believe that the objects we found underground in your pub come from the count’s private collection and that you smuggled them out, perhaps as recompense for services you rendered and were never paid for.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Then what is true? Careful of what you say, Ms Reiter.’ He tapped a finger against his forehead. ‘This is better than any recorder. I have the memory of an elephant.’

Ambra Reiter lowered her head and said nothing for a few moments, as if she were weighing her options, then spoke up again. ‘Back then Montanari was working for the count as well, doing odd jobs. One night we heard noises underground and we went to see what was down there.’

Fabrizio, on the other side of the wall, started. Reggiani instantly became more attentive.

‘What kind of noises?’

‘I don’t know . . . voices. It sounded like voices. Calling.’

‘And you weren’t worried about hearing voices in a place like that? What were these voices saying?’

‘I don’t know. You couldn’t understand.’

‘Could Montanari hear them as well?’

‘Actually, no, he couldn’t. But he couldn’t hear very well anyway.’

‘Continue.’

‘We went down into the cellar and I kept saying, “That way. It’s coming from over there,” until we found a passageway. Steps cut into the stone that went deeper underground. I couldn’t hear anything any more, but Montanari started saying there was an ancient cemetery there.’

‘Etruscan.’

‘That’s what Montanari said. I didn’t know anything about any Etruscans. But he said that the objects in the tombs were worth a lot of money.’

‘So?’

‘So he suggested we become partners since I had the keys to the palace and to the cellar. When the count was away, we could go underground and carry those things away, one at a time. That’s what we did. If they were little, I’d put them in my pockets. If they were bigger, we’d do it at night. We’d load them up in the van and take them to La Casaccia. As soon as we started earning some money, I bought Le Macine and opened my tavern there. After that, Montanari dug out a room underground and we used it to store our stuff.’

‘What about the inscription?’ prodded Reggiani.

‘Yeah, that too. It came from under there. Montanari found it under a layer of—’

‘Of what?’

‘Of bones. Bones of many different animals, big and small. Maybe even human bones . . . but I don’t remember.’

‘What did you do with them?’ insisted Reggiani.

‘Montanari threw them out. He said they weren’t worth anything.’

‘Why did you cut the slab into pieces?’

‘He said the pieces were easier to sell and that we could get a lot of money for them.’

Reggiani grimaced. ‘So then why did he contact the director of the National Antiquities Service?’

‘Montanari was stupid. He ended up arousing the suspicion of the Finanza and he felt they were on to us, so at that point he thought he’d better contact the NAS. He told me that Balestra had promised him half a million as a finder’s prize.’ She stopped abruptly. ‘I’ve told you everything I know. Can I leave now?’

Reggiani didn’t answer.

‘You promised me that if I answered all your questions you’d let me go.’