Page 1 of Murder in Portofino

1

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON

‘You want to know something?’

Oscar looked up from the stick he’d been assiduously tearing apart with his teeth and I saw the end of his tail give a lazy wag. Taking this to be a sign of interest, I let him in on the secret.

‘I was crazy to worry about Anna moving in with me. It’s working out fine.’

I got no response but, in fairness, I wasn’t expecting any. Labradors aren’t renowned for their conversation skills, but Oscar makes up for it by being a very good listener. I continued my one-sided conversation with him. ‘It’s been almost a month now and we haven’t had so much as a hint of an argument.’

My girlfriend, Anna, had moved into my little house in the hills outside Florence with me at the beginning of June and, in spite of my initial fears, being in close proximity all day every day hadn’t made things weird between us – very much the opposite, in fact. Living with her felt increasingly natural and, as far as Oscar was concerned, he appeared riotously happy to have her in the house, not least as she still hadn’t quite learnt to harden her heart when he put on his ‘I’m starving’ look.

I leant back against the rocky outcrop, stretched my legs and gave a contented sigh. The hot July sun here in Tuscany had almost completely dried me by now after my swim – well, more of a gentle paddle in the barely waist-deep water of the nearby stream – and I was a happy man.

My blissful state of relaxation was interrupted by my phone. As I scrambled for it on the ground alongside me, it occurred to me not for the first time that since settling here in Tuscany two years ago, I had now become remarkably relaxed about receiving phone calls. Back in the days when I had been DCI Armstrong of Scotland Yard, being constantly on call had taken its toll, not only on me and my happiness, but also on my already failing marriage. That had come to an end with divorce the previous year and, since then, my life had definitely been on an upward trajectory, even though I had just had my fifty-seventh birthday and I knew that sixty was right around the corner. Still, on a wonderful day like this in such a spectacular rural setting, I didn’t feel too decrepit yet and I knew a phone call was no longer to be dreaded.

‘Hi, Lina, what have you got for me?’

‘How would you feel about taking on a case in Lucca?’ Almost a year ago now, I set up my own investigation agency here in Florence and Lina is my personal assistant, receptionist, researcher, occasional dog-walker and friend. She’s also the wife of my best friend over here – Inspector Virgilio Pisano of the Florence murder squad.

‘What sort of case?’

‘A missing person. A woman in her twenties has been missing for weeks and the parents are very worried.’

I gave it a bit of thought. Lucca is just over an hour’s drive from my home and in fact, I was going there in two days’ time to an open-air concert by no less a figure than Bob Dylan, appearing as one of the star acts at the annual Lucca Music Festival. I’d been to the pretty little city on a couple of occasions before and, although I didn’t know it as well as Florence, I was reasonably familiar with it and I liked it as a place. As for the missing person, it wouldn’t be the first time a twenty-something had decided to up sticks and go off somewhere, so I didn’t get too excited – yet.

‘Have you spoken to the parents?’

‘The woman’s sister. She was on the phone a few moments ago. She’s taking a train to Florence in a few minutes and she’s desperate for help. I told her I’d see if I could locate you and get back to her. I know you’re supposed to be on holiday this week, but she really did sound in a bad way.’

I gave it some thought. Anna had gone into the university to do some work this afternoon so I had no particular commitments. ‘What’s the name of the woman you spoke to?’

‘Diana Greensleeves.’

‘That doesn’t sound a very Italian name.’

‘No, she’s English… sorry, British.’

‘And presumably, she’s contacting us because she doesn’t speak Italian?’

‘Hardly a word. We didn’t talk much – and you know what my English is like. To be honest, Dan, she was sounding worried. It would be nice to help her.’

I could tell from Lina’s tone that the woman had made a strong impression on her so it didn’t take me long to make up my mind. I glanced at my watch. ‘Okay, it’s almost two o’clock so give me a chance to get changed and I’ll be with you by three. Give her a call and say I’ll be happy to lend a hand – as long as she doesn’t mind the smell of damp Labrador.’

I drove into Florence in my new VW van, still savouring the new car smell – although in fact, I had bought it second-hand and it was already two years old – but by the time I reached the office, even with the windows open, it was smelling less new and more of wet dog. I squeezed in through the narrow gateway and parked in my usual spot in the internal courtyard. It had taken me time and perseverance but after a lot of horse-trading with the owners of the five-hundred-year-old building where I had my office, I had been able to do a deal that gave me that most precious of things: a parking space just inside Florence’s centro storico. Leaving the van there, Oscar and I hurried up the fine old staircase to the first floor and went in through the door marked Dan Armstrong, Private Investigations.

While Lina made a fuss of my four-legged friend – now almost completely dry again – she explained that Diana Greensleeves was due to arrive at Florence Santa Maria Novella station as we spoke and that she hoped to be with us shortly afterwards. I queried whether the woman had given any more information about the missing person but all that Lina could add was that she had described her as her ‘little sister’. I went through to my office, where it was stiflingly hot, and threw open the windows, pausing for a few moments, as always, to take in the view out over the roofs of this historic part of Florence. In spite of working here for almost a year now, I still hadn’t tired of the overwhelming sense of history this city inspires in me.

Diana Greensleeves arrived at three-fifteen. She was wearing a formal, dark-blue, two-piece suit and it was immediately clear that she wasn’t dressed for July temperatures here in Tuscany. Today, Florence was in the mid-thirties. She looked positively sweltering and I wasn’t the only one to notice. After ushering the woman into my office, Lina returned less than a minute later with a bottle of cold mineral water and two glasses. I filled one and passed it across to my guest.

‘A bit warmer here than Lucca?’

She took the glass from me willingly and gave me a grateful smile. ‘Yes, and a lot warmer than Guildford.’ She looked as though she was around my daughter’s age, probably in her late twenties or early thirties, and she had an educated English accent.

‘You’ve come from England today?’

‘I flew over last night and I’ve spent this morning in Lucca, trying to see if I could find any trace of Heather.’

---