Daggers and Men's Smiles (7 page)

“I thought it was Mario Bianchi who hired Toni Albarosa, for his local contacts — at least, that's what he told me.”

Gilbert Ensor gave a contemptuous laugh. “He would, poor sod. Trying to hang on to the illusion he has
some
sort of creative control over Rastrellotitanic, as I like to call it.”

“You think the project's doomed?”

“Oh, it'll get made. But it won't be the movie we started with, and I am seriously thinking of removing my name from the project.”

“Have you said that to anyone?”

“Most likely. When I'm in a blind rage or in my cups — which is most of the time lately — I say all kinds of things I don't remember.”

“I see. Thank you, Mr. Ensor. The office will be in touch with you some time tomorrow.”

Gilbert Ensor got up from the sofa and crossed to the door. For all his marital raging and sniping, he was a lost soul without his wife to guide him through the maze and morass of everyday life — such as where to find the limousine that would take him home.

“Syd?” His plaintive call reverberated through the echoing expanses of the manor house.

But Sydney Tremaine wasn't there.

"Not one of them, Guv, can think of any reason why anyone would want to kill the marchesa's son-in-law.”

Moretti and Liz Falla were exchanging information as they made their way across the park and up the flight of stone steps to the upper floor of the lodge where the first attack with a dagger had taken place. Liz Falla had acquired a complete list of everyone employed on
Rastrellamento
from the associate producer, Piero Bonini, and was compiling a record of who lived where.
Not just eagle-eyed
, thought Moretti,
but organized
. It wasn't her fault Hanley had said “eagle-eyed” until everyone was fed up to the back teeth with hearing it.

Most of the cast and crew lived in hotels and guest houses in St. Martin's and St. Peter Port, with the level of luxury matching their level of importance. There were a few exceptions. All the Vannonis and Toni Albarosa were at the manor, and three of the cast were staying there also. These were the two female leads: newcomer Vittoria Salviati, who played the young love interest, Maddelena, and an established star, Adriana Ferrini, whose role as the Contessa Alessandra di Cavalli was creating the latest problems on the movie. One of the leading men, Clifford Wesley, an up-and-coming British actor, recruited from the classical stage, who was starring as the escaped British prisoner, Tom Byers, was also at the manor. The internationally known German film actor, Gunter Sachs, who was playing the commandant of the prison camp in the imaginary Tuscan village of Santa Marina, had stayed briefly, but had now transferred to the Héritage Hotel, where Betty Chesler and Eddie Christie were also billeted.

“Did Piero Bonini have any interesting comments to make about his cast?”

“Mostly he went on about Gilbert Ensor, who seems to be at the top of everyone's hit list. Hit-and-miss list, I suppose I should say. Do you think someone thought Toni Albarosa was Ensor in the dark?”

“Could be, but unlikely. What would Gilbert Ensor be doing skulking about outside the manor in the small hours?”

“Well, that was one of the things Bonini went on about — about Ensor, I mean. Seems there'd been a spot of bother in Italy somewhere. He wouldn't go any further, but he did say Ensor was lucky his wife was the forgiving kind, and if he'd heard that Ensor was the one with a dagger in the chest he wouldn't have been surprised.”

“Interesting. So what was Toni Albarosa doing in the wee small hours? Did Bonini shed any light on that?”

“I was just coming to that. When I was leaving his office — he's got a trailer on the far side of the manor, quite close to the bunker — I could hear him through the open window. He was shouting at the interpreter they've got here — it must have been her, because she was the only other person there — and it was all in Italian, but I can understand quite a bit now, of course, and what I managed to pick up was her name, Bella, and then another two names — Vittoria, and Toni.”

“Ah,” said Moretti.

“That's what I thought, Guv.” DC Falla turned and grinned at Moretti.

Betty Chesler was waiting for them at the top of the steps, only too eager to speak her mind.

“I see you've brought your superior officer with you this time,” she said to the young policewoman. She turned and glared at Moretti. “I'm so glad someone is now taking this seriously, and what a wicked shame it took poor Toni's death to do it! I can't tell you how upset I was with the cavalier attitude of just about everyone about the damage — mark my words, I said to Piero, this is like an
omen
. It's a warning, and there's more to come. But until Gilbert Ensor's wife said about the attack on her husband, no one cared a tinker's cuss about my costumes — here, let me show you the damage.” She led the way inside.

The damaged costumes were still where Liz Falla had seen them, lined up on the foldaway table: the three women's tailored suits, one dress, a man's suit, and a German uniform.

“To which characters in the film do these belong?” Moretti asked, bending over them and examining the gashes in the German uniform. The dagger must have been sharp to have torn the tough fabric as it had.

“The dress and two of the suits belong to the countess, the other woman's suit is for a fairly minor character, the housekeeper, the man's suit belongs to the village priest, and the German uniform is for Gunter's character. Those are the dummies I was using over there.”

Liz Falla went over and poked her fingers through the holes. “Through the heart,” she said, “— or where it would be.”

“That's exactly what I said to Piero,” said Betty Chesler. “Through the heart, I said.”

“I presume there'd been a break-in?”

“In a manner of speaking, though it wasn't that difficult. I wish now I'd opted for a trailer, but this was so roomy and I like the higher ceiling. Besides, I wasn't that worried with security guards patrolling the grounds. Whoever it was came in through the window.” Betty Chesler indicated the broken pane. “And now that we've lost the location manager” — this was said with heavy sarcasm — “the police have dusted for fingerprints. The young lady took the dagger away.”

“He — whoever — left the weapon.”

“Yes. Very fancy, like something out of an Errol Flynn movie, as I said to the police officer here, but I imagine you're too young, aren't you, to know who I mean.” Betty Chesler shuddered. “I just screamed when I got in here and saw what had happened. It looked like a massacre.”

“Was it generally known that these particular costumes would be on the dummies that night?”

“Well, anyone coming in and out of here over the past three or four days would have known, because that's how long they've been up. Mr. Lord and Mr. Bianchi wanted some changes to the countess's outfits — they're building up her role, so I hear — and Mr. Sachs had put on quite a bit of weight since his original fittings, so we had to alter them.”

“And the housekeeper and the priest?”

“Casting changes. For the housekeeper they'd gone from a jolly roly-poly English actress to a gaunt Italian lady, more of a Mrs. Danvers type — you know, like in Daphne Du Maurier's
Rebecca
? And they'd gone the other way for the priest — from cadaverous to cuddly, don't ask me why.”

“I see. Thank you, Ms. Chesler. You've been very helpful. If you think of anything else, this is where you can reach me.” Moretti handed her his card. Then, on the spur of the moment, he asked, “Do you have any theories yourself? You talked about an omen. A warning.”

Liz Falla was standing by the table where the attacker had left the dagger. As he said this, Moretti saw her look across sharply at him, then away. She said nothing, so he continued. “About what? Or whom?”

Betty Chesler looked at Moretti. “I don't know for sure,” she said slowly. “I work on a lot of historical films, and sometimes I get a strange feeling, standing in a room like this, surrounded by the past. It could be just that — but whatever this is about goes a long way back. That's my opinion.”

“A long way back — in time, you mean?”

“Right. This isn't about what Gilbert Ensor did or said to insult Monty Lord, or what the marchesa did or said to upset — well, just about everybody, that one. I mean, I can understand why knives — guns aren't so easy to come by, unless you're in America — but why bother with decorative daggers? If you can find that one out, Detective Inspector, you've probably got the answer.”

“So these are not like any knives or daggers used in the film?”

Betty Chesler shook her blond beehive vigorously. “I don't do weapons, but I know that much. There's guns of all sorts, and a few knives — World War Two army issue type things, I suppose. Plus the odd bomb or grenade. But no fancy handles.”

As they went back down the steps, Liz Falla asked, “Was she helpful, or were you just saying that, Guv?”

“A bit of both. I'd like to know why such a major change in a minor character — it could mean absolutely nothing, but it could also be part of that feeling she has that all this has something to do with the past.”

“Which past, that's what I thought when she said that.”

“Exactly. But daggers, not just knives, have been used three times and that has to be significant. Murderers have quirks, but I can't believe this guy has managed to get hold of a handful of fancy daggers cheap, and is using them for reasons of economy.”

Liz Falla reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out several sheets of paper. “I got what they call a shooting schedule from Mr. Bonini, as well as the list of cast and crew members. They usually make out a schedule for the whole project and it is updated each day. It gives names, times, and location. Who are we interested in next?”

“Vittoria Salviati, DC Falla — if your Italian steered you right.”

They were in luck. The young actress was scheduled for a shoot that afternoon. By now it was late morning and, according to the schedule, she would be in makeup. Moretti went back up the steps and asked Betty Chesler where they would find her.

As they made their way back up the drive, Moretti asked, “Has anyone mentioned anything that might be of interest from any of the statements taken so far?”

“Nothing, Guv. I did ask about the security guard's statement, and apparently he saw and heard nothing unusual, until he came across the body — except that one of those big lights were on. There's nerve for you, illuminating the scene of the crime!”

“Unless,” said Moretti, “it was Toni Albarosa who switched it on, because he saw something unusual — something he was not supposed to see. I think we're about to find out
why
he was on the terrace at night, taking a murderer by surprise. But I don't think he was the original target.”

Vittoria Salviati was as pretty as a picture, chocolate-box beautiful. As she turned around in the chair before the brightly lit mirrors, Moretti could not restrain a sharp intake of breath. She looked no more than eighteen years old and, even allowing for the miracle of movie makeup, her pouting red lips, cloud of tousled dark hair, and huge dark eyes against her porcelain skin did indeed take the breath away. But the white around those huge dark eyes was bloodshot, and their expression was anguished. Moretti introduced himself and Liz Falla, and established that she was reasonably comfortable speaking English.

“Do I have to speak to you now? I have a difficult scene to do — could it wait until tomorrow?”

“We would like just a brief word now with you, Miss Salviati. It would be better, coming from you, rather than from anyone else — wouldn't it?” said Moretti, gently.

The young actress turned and nodded at the makeup artist, a middle-aged man with purple hair and a nose ring. As he left the trailer, he turned and rolled his eyes knowingly at the two policemen. As soon as he had left, Vittoria Salviati burst into tears.

“You know, don't you? Who told you?”

“Guessed would be a better word, Miss Salviati. Toni Albarosa was either coming to see you, or leaving.”

“Leaving — oh my poor, darling Toni! It was always such a chance we took, with the marchesa so close, but we could not keep away from each other — you know how it is.”

Moretti was aware of a quizzical glance in his direction from his partner.

“Did you meet on
Rastrellamento
, or had you known each other before?”

“We met on the first day and it was what the French call ‘
coup de foudre
,' Inspector.”

“Forgive me, Miss Salviati,” said Moretti, “but — you are a very beautiful woman. You must have had men making passes at you, falling in love with you, at every step. What was different about Toni Albarosa, that you would risk an affair with a man married to the daughter of the marchesa, who was on the premises, and who clearly has a position of importance on this project?”

Vittoria Salviati swung around from the mirror on her swivel chair, giving both officers a glimpse of slim brown legs beneath her cotton wrap as she did so.

“That's just it — he
didn't
make a pass at me. He just looked at me so sweetly with his big eyes, and told me — oh, the most beautiful things you can imagine! For a whole
week
before he slept with me! Oh, I'm sure this is all my fault. I'm sure this has something to with that bitch of a wife of his, or that bitch of a mother-in-law of his, or both of them!”

“I don't think you need blame yourself for his death in that way, Miss Salviati. I think that Mr. Albarosa was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Did he ever say anything to you about anything he might have seen or heard during those nightly visits? Outside in the grounds, I mean?”

“No. Mostly we didn't talk once he got to my room.”

Moretti could think of no adequate response to this.

“Does everyone have to know?” Vittoria Salviati leaned forward anxiously in her chair, affording Moretti a generous glimpse of her much-photographed and beautiful bosom.