Broken Chord (18 page)

The autopsy had put the time of death between midnight and two a.m. Ursula’s last phone call to Guido had been made at one a.m. which narrowed the time down even further. The cause of death had been a wound to the chest which had perforated the aorta. The weapon had been a long, thin knife of extreme sharpness. All the other injuries had been inflicted after death.

Fingerprints from all members of the family were found in the room, apart from Piero’s and Isabella’s. Piero would have had no motive for ever entering the room and Isabella had obviously never been invited into this inner sanctum. No blood had been detected on anyone’s clothes with the exception of traces on the soles of Tebaldo’s and Marta’s shoes.

The police spent the afternoon going through Ursula’s bedroom yet again, taking particular care around the shutters that led on to the balcony. Outside, the area beneath the balcony, and the wisteria were examined again. Lapo, watching from the window, thought the police must be thinking that the killer came from outside the family. That was all to the good.

Marianna had not come down to lunch. She hadn’t left her room since they got back. Today, the future groom would not be receiving a visit. Lapo knew he had done something appalling. He, who gave no importance to anything and never ever felt guilty or even concerned about his victims, now felt the stirrings of regret. He’d done it because he was so angry with everyone and in
particular with Marianna. She must know why. That was why she would make no complaint about this.

He thought she would have got herself together by supper time and manage to pretend it had never happened. That’s what she always did. She was very good at pretending, unlike himself. He always faced the truth. The truth was that he was a deformed freak and everyone pitied him and he was going to make everyone pay for it.

Marianna was so stupid. She thought that if she pretended, it would make everything alright but it wouldn’t, it didn’t. No amount of make-believe could do away with facts. One fact was he had just horrendously abused his sister. He actually felt tears stinging his eyes. Was the poisonous dwarf a human being after all, he asked himself. What were these tears? Who were they for? Himself or Marianna, or both of them and what their life had been?

Tebaldo came in with the children and Isabella followed a few minutes later. They’d been at the pool most of the afternoon to keep the children away from the police presence. Teo and Isabella had stopped arguing after Ursula’s murder. Lapo wondered if that was all it would take to set things right between them; the removal of the prime arch-enemy. Teo looked ghastly and Isabella had quite suddenly totally lost her enormous appetite. Lunch had been a sad affair. Looking at her now, her hair still damp from the pool, her face devoid of make-up, Lapo could see Isabella was still pretty. He was reminded of a time when she had been very slim and attractive, a time when Teo had loved her. Nevertheless, she seemed very concerned about Teo, so perhaps she still loved him despite everything. Lapo didn’t know what love was, he only knew rage, hatred and despair.

“Did you have a nice time?” he asked the children.

“I can swim a bit,” said Arabella proudly.

“Me too, me too.”

“Very good.”

“What’s going on here?” asked Teo.

“The balcony and the wisteria seem to be very interesting.”

“Good, excellent.” Conversation was conditioned by the presence of the children.

“Has Marianna gone out?” asked Isabella.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Oh, I thought she’d be visiting the sick.”

“The day is not yet over,” said Lapo cryptically.

“Is she alright? I mean, she didn’t come down to lunch.”

“As alright as the rest of us.”

“Of course. Silly question. Come on girls, let’s get dressed and go for an ice-cream.”

“I want a chocolate one.”

“And me!”

They went out, the children still chattering. They were small enough not to understand what was going on. Conversation between adults meant nothing to them. Lapo envied them their innocence.

Bruno spent the afternoon going through Ursula’s room and her study but found nothing of interest. Jacopo Dragonetti had made a brief court appearance for a previous case and had then gone straight back to his office afterwards, where he’d re-read the autopsy report while he waited for Bruno. There’d been very little blood loss from the mutilations. This pointed towards some kind of frenetic attack after death, when the heart had stopped beating, and perhaps not even immediately. This was unusual in that the first wound had been precise and lethal, so why the mutilations? If the attacker had come from outside, he’d come with the intention of killing her, not to steal anything, at least as far as they knew. The family had reported that nothing was missing. So the killer had come in, perhaps via the balcony, but it was never open usually, so why that night? Had Ursula opened it for someone? If the killer had come in through the front door with a key, it had to have been a member of the household. Jacopo made a note to check on other key holders. There might be other keys. Perhaps the shutters had been opened afterwards, either as an escape route or to make it look as though someone had come in and gone out that way. Had
Ursula been asleep when her killer entered the room? Was that the reason he’d been able to knife her quickly and precisely? She had definitely been killed on the bed, so it was probable that she was unaware of his presence, or, she was so comfortable with him she hadn’t bothered to move. Why had he vented his rage on her body? Perhaps he’d been looking for something and hadn’t found it. Dragonetti jotted down another note. Ursula could have been blackmailing someone, which would be surprising. She certainly didn’t need the money. Perhaps she liked power. Perhaps the faithful servants stayed with her, not out of loyalty but because she had a hold on them.

Most importantly Dragonetti felt that the argument with Guido on the same day as her murder had not been a coincidence. According to everyone it had been an extraordinary event. Two extraordinary events within a few hours of each other couldn’t be a coincidence. So far, Guido’s alibi looked good. The night-porter at the hotel swore he hadn’t gone out but night porters sometimes fall asleep at their post. They often hold down day jobs as well. The hotel probably had closed circuit cameras outside; he would have them examined. If they could prove Guido had left the hotel then he was probably the assassin. He’d been thrown out and humiliated by Ursula. He had a key, he wanted revenge, he hated her, he killed her and then he mutilated her.

Several times during this period alone Drago’s hand strayed to his jacket pocket and felt the comforting shape of the packet of cigarettes. He patted it now and chewed hard on the chewing gum.

He picked up the phone, “Bring Guido della Rocca in, please, but before you bring him in I want all closed circuit camera data from the hotel, if there is any, for the night in question. Got it? Good.”

He allowed his thoughts to roam in another direction. Earlier on the day of the quarrel, Ursula had been to the Rossi farmhouse. Whatever had happened while she was there had upset her, or perhaps she’d met someone when she left there, someone who had told her something about Guido. Who could that have been?
According to Piero, Ursula had come into the house absolutely fuming and had gone straight to her room. She hadn’t come down to tea, and as soon as Guido came in, she’d immediately had a flaming row with him. She’d thrown him out and then succumbed to a migraine. Guido said she had accused him of generically flirting, but it had to be more than that. It had to have been something more serious for her to throw him out on his ear. Maybe the woman he was seeing had confronted Ursula with the truth that afternoon. Maybe that same woman had gained access to the villa and eliminated her rival.

He picked up the phone again. “Bruno, go over to the Rossi farmhouse and interview whoever was present when Ursula went there in the afternoon. Ask if they saw anyone else around, anyone at all.” He listened briefly. “Yes, I want to find out what caused the row, or rather who caused it.”

He put the phone down and waited for Guido. He might be a fragile flower but Jacopo Dragonetti would have no compunction in bruising his petals a bit.

Bruno approached the dilapidated farmhouse. It was in bad condition; the plaster swollen and peeling, the shutters falling off the walls. The out-buildings and sheds were makeshift, cobbled together with bits of corrugated iron, old wardrobe doors and anything else that had come to hand. The smell was the rank one of the farmyard and there were many animals around to justify it. A cloud of pigeons took flight at his approach and a dog started barking angrily inside the house. In the centre of the courtyard a massive, gleaming motorbike stood glinting in the sunlight.

He knocked on the door. It was opened by a young man with a ring at the extremity of one eyebrow, numerous strange earrings, one of which appeared to be a miniature spear. He had a ring through his lower lip and long black ringlets. “Yeah, who are you?” he asked.

“Police. I’ve come to see…” who had he come to see? “Your father, I believe.”

“Sorry, can’t oblige, haven’t got one.”

“Well, then, your uncle perhaps?”

“No, I’m a bit short on uncles too.”

“Well, who’s the householder, is it you?”

“No, it’s grandad, but he’s resting right now. He’s old.”

“When will he be finished resting?”

“No idea.”

“You’re a very helpful young man, aren’t you. Could I ask you
a few questions while I wait for him to wake up?”

“If you must.”

“May I come in?

“Best not, with grandad asleep.”

“Alright, we’ll talk here. Were you here yesterday when Ursula von Bachmann called?”

“Yeah, I saw her. She upset grandad.”

“Did she? How did she do that?”

“Tried to buy him off.”

“What do you mean?”

“She wants us out and she was willing to pay but the old boy’ll never go. He loves this place.” He gestured at the house.

Bruno, who found it most unappealing, wrinkled his nose. “So they had an argument.”

“Well, he’s getting on and sometimes gets a bit excited. I didn’t get there till the end, so to speak, when he was threatening her with a pitchfork.” The boy burst into raucous laughing. “I think she really believed he was going to run her through.”

“So she was frightened?”

“Yeah, I suppose so, but I took the pitchfork off him and told her very nicely that she’d do well to go and she went.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ozzie.”

“Come on, your full name.”

“Claudio Osvaldo Rossi.”

“And your grandfather’s name?”

“Primo Rossi.”

“Just the two of you live here?”

“No, there’s my grandma, my mother and my aunt.”

“Did you see anyone else hanging around here yesterday?”

“No. No one comes here, we don’t like visitors.”

“That bike yours?”

“Yeah.”

“It must have cost a lot of money.”

“It did.”

“What’s your job?”

“I haven’t got one at the moment. I do a bit of this and a bit of that.”

“Does your mother work?”

“Yeah, she’s a cleaner and before you ask, so’s my aunty Laura.”

“Signora von Bachmann was very upset when she got home, do you know why?”

“Me! Well, I expect grandad frightened her a bit. He’s a silly old bugger.” He grinned.

“She wasn’t frightened, she was angry. What exactly did you say to her?”

“I told you, I said she should go home and leave us in peace.”

“And that’s all.”

“That’s all.” He gave Bruno a wide smile as though asking him to disprove what he’d said.

“And you’re quite sure no one else was around.”

“Like who?”

“Anyone, perhaps a member of her family.”

“No, they keep away. They try to pretend we’re not here.”

“When do you think your grandfather will wake up?”

“Maybe in half an hour. He needs his rest.”

“Alright, I’ll come back. You can tell him to expect me.”

“He’ll be really happy about that.”

Bruno turned and looked at the place carefully. It was impossible to see past the farmyard because of the trees. No one would have been visible unless they had come into the courtyard. But someone had told Ursula something about Guido, something so terrible she’d thrown him out, and Bruno had a hunch it was this boy.

“Come in, Signor della Rocca, please sit down.” Dragonetti stood up to receive him and indicated the chair in front of his desk.

Guido, looking extremely bad tempered, replied, “No thank you, I prefer to stand. I’d like to know why I’ve been brought in yet again.”

“I’d prefer you to sit and when you’ve done so, I’ll explain.”

As soon as Guido was seated, he started in on him. “I’ve been thinking about you… a lot… and the more I think about you, the more I like you as a prime suspect.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“Not at all. Let me explain why. First, on the afternoon prior to her death, Ursula had a row with you and threw you out of the house…”

“Again! I’ve already explained it was nothing, a lover’s tiff.”

“I know what you said, but I don’t think it’s true. From what I understand this was the only row you’ve ever had with her. You weren’t the sort of couple that habitually has arguments and then makes up. Your relationship appeared to be quite solid, so much so, in fact, that you were to get married next month. Now I want to know what happened to make her so angry that she wanted to end it, and I want you to tell me.”

“She didn’t want to end it.”

“So you say.”

“Look, I’ve already told you, she thought I fancied other women, no, it was worse than that, if you must know, she was quite convinced that I was screwing around, but I wasn’t. She wouldn’t listen to reason. I don’t know who put the idea into her head but someone must have. It might have been one of her lovely children because as you probably know, they weren’t overjoyed about our marriage.”

Drago ignored his words and continued, “The second reason I like you as a prime suspect is that Ursula phoned you, a phone call which you say you ignored…”

“I didn’t ignore it,” interrupted Guido, “I tried phoning her back and I sent her flowers the next morning.”

“I haven’t finished. If you will allow me to continue.” Guido shrugged. “Thank you. You say you didn’t go out but I’m having the hotel’s security camera tapes checked as we speak, how does that make you feel?” He really hoped they had caught him on camera but Guido wouldn’t know so it was worth saying even as a bluff.

Guido said nothing.

“The third reason is that whoever killed Ursula didn’t break into the house. There were no signs of forced entry. You’ve got a key. You lived there. I think you left your hotel, went to the villa, opened the front door with your key and went up to talk to Ursula. The phone call had given you hope. You thought you could talk her round but you weren’t able to, so you killed her.”

Guido gave him a hunted look. “I didn’t and you can’t prove I did.”

“If I can prove you left the hotel then it seems quite probable that you did.”

“I’m not saying anything else. Can I go now?”

“Don’t leave town and don’t even think about leaving the country. I want your passport. Someone will come with you to collect it. I’ll probably want to see you again tomorrow.”

Guido got up and flounced out of the room. Dragonetti couldn’t help thinking that he looked more like a homosexual then a gigolo. His way of walking, his petulant sulky mouth, his mannerisms, even his speech, were those of a rent boy. Still there wasn’t a lot of difference between a rent boy and a gigolo, they both sold themselves.