Page 9 of Murder in Portofino

‘Well, I’m pleased to report that I’m not here to investigate that death or any death. We’re just on holiday for a few days.’

When we reached the top and looked back, it was clear that we had climbed a considerable distance. Our friendly conductor told us that we were now over six hundred metres above sea level and the views of Rapallo and out over the bay to Portofino and beyond were spectacular. Anna and I left him there and climbed several steep flights of stone steps before making our way up through the trees towards the sanctuary. This little church dated back to the late Renaissance period and so was of interest to the Renaissance specialist alongside me. While Anna went inside to check out the interior, I waited in the shade of the trees outside with Oscar, pulled out my phone and looked up the story the cable-car conductor had told us.

The story contained many of the elements I had come across so often during my career with the Metropolitan Police: a wealthy man and a beautiful young wife, political intrigue, lust, jealousy, family squabbles and greed but in this case, more unusually, superstition. The villa where she had died had originally belonged to Lord Carnarvon, the man who had financed the expedition that had discovered the tomb of Tutankhamen. As numerous people involved with the dig had subsequently died under mysterious circumstances, the rumour had circulated that any who had been involved with violating the tomb of Tutankhamen were cursed and so, by extension, was this villa. Not surprisingly, the investigation that followed the death of the contessa had not dwelt upon this hypothesis, but it sounded as if the police had investigated all the other possible elements in considerable depth before concluding that the most probable cause of death had been suicide or an unfortunate accident. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and glanced down at Oscar, who had returned to lie panting at my feet after a fruitless chase of a squirrel.

‘Portofino: it’s a beautiful place to die, don’t you think?’

He shook his head in response, but that might just have been his attempt to rid himself of the attentions of a very insistent fly trying to land on his nose.

When Anna emerged from the sanctuary, the two of us decided against trekking up the tortuous and very steep path to the very top of the Monte Rosa and went back down through the trees until we reached the little café alongside the cable-car station. One cable car had just left so, as it was almost noon and I was on holiday, I had no scruples about ordering myself a cold beer while Anna opted for mineral water, and the friendly woman at the counter very kindly produced a big bowl of water for Oscar. We sat in the shade and enjoyed our drinks, the only sound the hum of the powerful electric winch engine in the background. We chatted about the death of Contessa Vacca Agusta and Anna told me that it had hit the headlines for many months but without the police ever being able to make any kind of headway. I could imagine the frustration of the officers involved. Nobody likes an unsolved case.

Five minutes later, the cable car arrived, carrying a handful of people and the same conductor. When he spotted us, he came over to our table, and there was an animated smile on his face.

‘Have you heard the news? There’s been another murder in Portofino.’

I looked up with interest. ‘Really? When did that happen?’

‘My colleagues down at the bottom station have just told me. It’s on local radio and all over social media. The Coastguard found the body in the water this morning. At first, they thought it might have been accidental, but apparently there was something about the body that indicated it had been murder. They’re not saying what it was, but I bet there was a dagger sticking out of the middle of the back.’

This sounded a little bit too theatrical but, plainly, there must have been some indication of foul play. I immediately thought back to the scene I had witnessed from the terrace of Castello Brown earlier this morning. Presumably, the Coastguard boat and the divers had not been on a training run after all but had been recovering the body or searching for clues. Needless to say, me being me, the memory of the conversation I had overheard in Lucca on Friday night instantly sprang to mind and I pressed our friend for more detail. ‘The body? Was it a man or a woman?’

‘A man, apparently, and would you believe he only had one eye?’

All kinds of warning bells started ringing in my head. ‘One eye? Are you sure?’

‘That’s what they’re saying on the Internet. I’ve just been checking it out as we came up here now. The police have put out a call for information as they’re trying to establish the identity of the guy.’ He grinned at me. ‘There can’t be too many one-eyed men around, and surely if one of them has gone missing, somebody would notice.’

Somebody certainly had noticed and that was me. The conductor told us the cable car would be leaving again in five minutes and while he went off for a coffee, I turned towards Anna, but she got in first. ‘I can almost hear your brain churning, Dan. You think it’s the man from Lucca, don’t you?’

I nodded slowly. ‘I really don’t know, but you have to admit that it’s quite a coincidence, considering that the yacht belonging to the people from Lucca is moored only a couple of hundred metres from where the body was discovered.’

I saw her nod in return. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

‘If the police have put out an appeal for information, I suppose I should head to the nearest police station and report what I heard. If necessary, I should be able to identify the guy even though I don’t know his name.’

She gave me a long-suffering look. ‘So in the space of a few minutes, Dan the holidaymaker has suddenly become Dan the detective again.’ She gave me a little smile but I could see that it was an effort for her. ‘Now, why doesn’t that come as a surprise?’

6

SUNDAY LUNCHTIME

The police station in Rapallo was a twenty-minute walk from the cable-car station and although we hugged the shady side of the streets, we were hot by the time we got there. I left Anna and Oscar at a nearby café and went in to tell my tale. I was greeted at the door by a young constable who asked me my business, and when I told him I thought I might have information about the Portofino murder victim, he led me to a nearby interview room where I was asked to sit and wait. It took ten minutes before a grumpy-looking uniformed officer with sergeant’s stripes on his epaulettes arrived.

‘I understand you have information about a body.’ He was probably in his late fifties – about my age – and he definitely looked disgruntled. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was almost one o’clock. The penny dropped. I had interrupted his Sunday lunch. I tried to be as cordial as possible.

‘I’m sorry to take up your time. I’ve been told that a body’s been found at Portofino. That’s right, isn’t it?’

He nodded. ‘I believe so. Now, I need to have your name and address, please.’

He produced a notebook and laboriously made a record of my details before dropping the pen and prompting me. ‘What information do you have about the body?’

‘I understand that the body is that of a man with only one eye. Is that correct?’

He hesitated for a few moments before replying uncertainly, ‘I believe that may be correct, yes.’

Considering the case was already all over the Internet and local media, I was surprised to find him sounding so vague. Nevertheless, I pressed on. ‘I think I might know who he is.’

He picked up his pen again and gave me an expectant look. ‘Right, let’s have the name.’

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