Page 17 of Murder in Verona

I told her what I’d learned from Beppe and the farmer and explained how I was ever more convinced that it hadn’t been an accident or suicide. I didn’t need to spell it out for her.

‘So you’re saying that you think it really was murder?’

‘I can see no reason on earth why he would have wanted to take his own life and, although there’s still the unlikely possibility of it having been some sort of temporary seizure, yes, I think his mother might be right and it was murder.’

‘What are you going to do about it – go to the police?’

I’d been thinking about this myself. ‘Yes, but not yet. All I have at the moment is conjecture. I need something more concrete. Violetta gave me contact details of the two cousins who run the family business so I’ll get in touch with them now and see if I can make appointments to speak to them tomorrow. I also want to visit the classic car garage, which apparently now has the remains of the Jaguar. I’d like to see what the mechanic there says about any possible mechanical fault. It sounds as though Rodolfo’s widow, Alessia, is a classic car enthusiast and she’s due back any day now, so I’ll wait until I’ve spoken to all of them before I consider going to the police. Do you have any particular plans for this evening?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’ve done what I needed to do, so I’m in your hands completely.’

‘Great. In that case, I’ll fix up the appointments and then I’d like to take a drive past the scene of the accident to the lakeside. Dolores told me there’s a café down there that the victim sometimes frequented. You never know, there might be people there who can shed some light on what happened or, more particularly, why it happened. After that, I need to check out the classic car garage and then, if you like, why don’t we head for the city centre for a quick look at the main historic sights before coming back here for dinner and a bit more sleuthing. Okay?’

I dialled the number Violetta had given me for the brother and sister who ran Agri Argento and spoke to their PA. It was immediately clear that Violetta had carried out her promise to forewarn them of my investigation and it was quickly arranged that I would meet Alfredo at ten o’clock and his sister, Rosina, at ten-thirty next morning, both at the company headquarters in Verona.

On the way out, we looked into the dining room to check what time dinner would be served and Dolores introduced me to Clarissa, the principal, who came as a considerable surprise to me. I had created a mental picture of a grey-haired woman in her sixties with the sort of forbidding facial expression that would have struck fear into the hearts of staff and students alike. Instead, I found myself being introduced to a woman the same sort of age as Dolores and extremely good-looking with it. She had long, dark hair, piled up on her head in a casual but most alluring way, big pendant earrings, and her clothes were unexpected. She had clearly just been playing tennis and her elegant, golden-brown legs reached up to a very short skirt. Instinctively, I stretched out my hand and caught hold of Oscar’s collar. His cold, wet nose is drawn to beautiful women in short skirts.

Clarissa gave Anna and me a warm welcome and offered any help she could. I asked if she would mind if I put a few questions to her the following morning and we arranged to meet in heroffice at nine. Somehow meeting this highly desirable woman who would have been almost exactly the same age as the victim struck me as unexpected and, in consequence, potentially significant. Might there have been something going on between them? Maybe something that had soured so badly that she had resorted to murder?

Still with a wary hand on Oscar’s collar, I decided to head off to Verona. Armed with the information that dinner tonight would be served at seven-thirty, we went out to the van.

As an experiment, I reversed out of the parking space slowly so as not to use the brakes and then drove back along the drive to the main gates, which opened automatically. Once again, because of the slight rise in the road, I didn’t need to touch the brake pedal and I was able to turn right and start heading downhill towards the scene of the accident still without any use of the brakes. I accelerated hard down the long straight and was doing ninety kilometres per hour before I reached the bend and, no doubt, the E-type would have easily managed to reach an even higher speed.

I slowed when we got to the scene of the accident and pointed out to Anna the scorched tree and the floral tributes. I also underlined to her what I’d just proved to myself. ‘It’s quite possible that the brakes developed a fault or were tampered with back at the villa and Rodolfo could have been blissfully unaware of the problem until he came down this road at breakneck speed. Certainly, it makes it even more likely that it was brake failure – either accidental or deliberate.’

We followed the road downhill for seven or eight kilometres more until we came to the busy main road that runs around the shores of Lake Garda. I crossed it and set off down a minor road to the lakeside, which was thronged with holidaymakers and their cars. Before setting off, I had checked the location of the café whereRodolfo might have been heading that day and located it without trouble, relieved to find that it had its own private parking, and I was able to pull in right outside the door. There were tables outside on a terrace close to the water, sheltered by parasols, and we chose one from where we had a fine view over the lake towards the Sirmione promontory with the spectacular Scaligero Castle. This, according to my very own history expert, was built in the thirteenth century and not only had massive defensive walls but also had its own unique fortified harbour surrounded by ramparts. Rising up from the blue waters of the lake, it was an impressive sight.

A few minutes later, a waiter appeared to see what we would like. Anna asked for an ice coffee, and I opted for a cold beer and a bowl of water for Oscar. When the man returned with our drinks, I mentioned Rodolfo’s death as casually as possible, and I was surprised to see a look of what might have been disapproval appear on the man’s face. Considering the famous singer had supposedly been a customer, I would have expected a degree of regret. I tried giving the waiter a gentle nudge.

‘I believe he used to come here for coffee.’

‘Every now and then.’ Still no friendly reaction from the waiter so I tried again.

‘People tell me he was a lovely man. It’s such a pity that he died.’

A decidedly sour expression appeared on the man’s face but he just mumbled something, picked up his tray and disappeared back through the fly curtain into the café again. I glanced across at Anna. ‘That was unexpected.’

She nodded her head and then added, ‘Cherchez la femme?I wonder if the waiter has a wife. Leave it to me; I’ll see what I can do.’

With this, she took a small sip of her coffee before getting toher feet and going into the café. She emerged three or four minutes later with a smile on her face.

‘This detective business is easy! I got talking to the woman behind the bar and it turns out she’s married to Antonio, the waiter. They own the place together. She’s probably in her thirties, and when I mentioned the accident, she almost burst into tears. She confirmed that Rodolfo used to drop in from time to time for a coffee and I got the impression that she would have been happy if he’d spent a bit more time with her. Otherwise, she didn’t say much – not least because her husband kept coming and going – but it was clear to me that she liked Rodolfo a lot.’

Might this mean that Rodolfo had been involved with this woman as well? If so, might this have provoked the husband to take revenge? We sat and sipped our drinks, savouring the relative cool of the breeze coming off the water, while Oscar stretched out on the ground at our feet. I asked Anna which sights she particularly wanted to see in Verona and it came as no surprise to find that she’d been doing her homework.

‘Well, there’s the Arena, but we’ll actually be going in there on Saturday night so that can wait. Otherwise, seeing as Shakespeare setRomeo and Julietin the city, most people go to see Juliet’s house and her tomb, but I’m not bothered. Apart from anything else, Juliet didn’t exist – and her “tomb” is empty. There was apparently a legend going back to the thirteenth century that hints at the story but that’s all it is: a legend.’

‘You aren’t a Shakespeare fan, then?’

‘Very much the opposite. I love Shakespeare.Romeo and Julietis great – if you like a tale of underage sex that ends in tragedy – but I’m a historian so I prefer facts, and Juliet isn’t a fact.’

‘Right, no Juliet memorabilia, then. So what do you want to see?’

‘As we probably won’t have much time this afternoon, let’s justhave a little walk around thecentro storicoand then tomorrow, I can spend the day browsing the old churches, checking out theCastelvecchio, the famous bridges and so on.’ She glanced down at Oscar. ‘And I can take Oscar for company while you go and do your interviews.’

At the sound of his name, Oscar opened one eye but, seeing as nobody was offering him food, he gave a heartfelt sigh and relapsed into sleep again.

10

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