Page 18 of Murder in Verona

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON

It was just after four-thirty when we got to Maurizio’s garage. It was bigger than I’d expected and inside the large hangar, I counted half a dozen splendid old vehicles with mechanics working away on them. Maurizio himself was a bit of a surprise. I had been expecting an elderly man with black fingernails, wearing grease-stained overalls, but in fact, he was quite a bit younger than me, and he was wearing shorts and a cleanPink Floyd in Verona 1989T-shirt. I introduced myself and when he heard that Violetta had engaged me to investigate, he agreed to show me the remains of the E-type.

It was still on a trailer at the back of the garage, covered with a tarpaulin. I helped him untie this and together, we pulled it back to reveal a mangled, twisted wreck of burnt, blackened metal. As the farmer had said, it was hard to believe that this had once been a sleek, polished sports car and it was immediately clear that there was no earthly chance of rebuilding it. Fortunately, I couldn’t see any remains of the driver, which was a blessing, but it was immediately apparent that the engine, which originally would have sprawled about five feet in length underthe beautifully aerodynamic bonnet, now occupied barely half of that size. Everything had been crushed together into an amorphous mass. Even the wheels were twisted and warped as the tyres had burned and there was virtually no trace of the rims, let alone the brake lines. I glanced across at Maurizio and he shook his head sadly.

‘At least Rodolfo’s death must have been instantaneous. The police said there were no skid marks and they’ve asked me to double-check if the brakes could have been tampered with. They can’t find any proof either way and you can see why. God only knows what’s in the midst of all that. The rubber brake lines have melted away completely and there’s no way of telling if anybody meddled with them.’

From what I could see, he was patently right. This burnt-out wreck wasn’t going to produce any clues. I thanked him and tried a different tack. ‘How easy would it have been for somebody to tamper with the brakes?’

‘For somebody familiar with vehicles of this age, relatively simple. And you wouldn’t need any special tools. A pair of wire snippers or even a sharp knife would be able to do it. Drain out the brake fluid and the brakes just stop working.’ He gave me a searching look. ‘You think he was murdered, don’t you?’

I decided that there was no point in trying to dissimulate. ‘Yes, I think I do but I’m struggling to prove it. I don’t know how well you knew Rodolfo but, assuming for a moment that he was deliberately targeted, can you think of anybody who might have wanted him dead?’

He took his time before replying and I had a feeling he was debating just how much he should tell me. In the end, he came to a decision. ‘Rodolfo was a brilliant singer and a great Italian, as well as being the most generous man I know. The last thing I would ever want to do would be to tarnish his reputation, but, ifyou want the honest truth, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there was a woman involved one way or another.’

‘You knew him well?’

‘Pretty well. We shared a love of classic cars and he took me out for lunch or dinner quite a few times. He used to give me and my family free tickets for the opera and every Christmas, he sent me and the team here an amazing hamper of food and wine. One thing that emerged quite clearly, though, the more I got to know him, was that he seemed pathologically incapable of not trying it on with every good-looking woman he met. Believe me, Casanova had nothing on him.’

I nodded. ‘Other people have said the same thing to me and, of course, if he was having affairs with other women then that throws up all kinds of jealousy scenarios. I don’t suppose you can give me any names, can you?’

He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know him that well but, like I say, it might be useful for you to follow that line of investigation. Otherwise I can’t see any of his family murdering him for money, even though he was immensely rich. His family is one of the wealthiest in Verona, if not Italy. Alessia, his wife, is rich in her own right, so my feeling is that it must have had something to do with an affair of the heart.’ He gave me a little grin. ‘Or, in his case, probably a part of the body a bit lower down than the heart.’

I thanked him and went back out to the van. After recounting to Anna what I’d been told, I set off again but, before heading for the town centre, I took a detour through the industrial part of the city. I’m sure most visitors to Verona never venture out into the suburbs of the city, but Verona is an important commercial hub and it was here that I found the centre of operations of the Agri Argento company. The complex of at least four massive warehouses occupied several acres behind a security fence and it looked from the gates as though the main admin building hadonly recently been built. This was a six-storey symphony of plate glass, concrete and steel, and the name of the company stood out against the blue of the sky on the roof of the building in six-foot-high white letters, vaguely reminiscent of the Hollywood sign. Nobody could be in any doubt that this company was a major player.

Now that I knew where my meetings were going to take place the following morning, I didn’t bother stopping, and we headed back towards thecentro storico. Finding a parking space took quite a while and it was with considerable relief that I finally managed to slip into a slot recently vacated by a Dutch-registered camper van. This was a short walk from the main avenue leading up from the station and we entered thecentro storicothrough the ancient stone double arch in the city walls beyond which we could see the huge bulk of the Arena. We walked into Piazza Bra that, ironically, has a lingerie shop on the corner – well, it made me laugh even if Anna smiled dutifully but didn’t appear to share the joke. All along the left-hand side of the wide piazza were bars and restaurants getting ready for the arrival of hungry tourists, and the whole place was humming with a multilingual mix of humanity.

Towering over all the surrounding buildings was the impressive circular mass of the Arena with its row upon row of stone arches. It was easy to imagine crowds of Roman citizens queuing up to join twenty or thirty thousand of their fellow countrymen and women as they watched gladiators slaughtering each other or wild animals devouring hapless prisoners for the delight of the mob. It was a relief to know that this stadium was now used for far less bloodthirsty pursuits – like opera and, indeed, a number of pop concerts like the famous Pink Floyd concert featured on Maurizio’s T-shirt.

We made our way along what looked like one of the main shopping streets where designer boutiques offered luxury goods atterrifying prices. I kept a watchful eye on Oscar’s nose amid the crowds to avoid him getting too familiar with the tourists, for the most part dressed in short skirts and shorts. Thankfully, he behaved himself and I was able to relax. Even though it was evening by now, the sun was still hot, but here in the shade of the buildings lining the street, the temperature was just about acceptable.

After walking for about half an hour, dodging the crowds and the never-ending stream of battered old bikes that shared the pedestrian area with the tourists, I checked my watch and turned to Anna.

‘Time to head back. We don’t want to be late for dinner.’

Oscar looked up, nodded, and immediately set off in the direction of the van. When it comes to his food, his comprehension skills are second to none.

I was secretly relieved to find that the other residents of the villa were no longer sporting opera costumes. It was seven-fifteen when we went downstairs and we found at least a dozen people standing around in the bar area chatting while they waited for dinner. I went over and ordered a glass of white wine for Anna and a cold beer for myself and was pleasantly surprised to find that I wasn’t charged anything. The waiter at the bar shook his head as he handed me the drinks.

‘You are Signora Violetta’s guests. She was most insistent that you should have free access to everything.’

I thanked him warmly and took the drinks across to Anna, who had struck up a conversation with a pair of middle-aged women who were presumably part of the teaching staff. She hastened to introduce them to me and we shook hands. Althoughthe names meant nothing to me, it was clear that these two had been performers in their time – and, indeed, maybe still were – and Anna had recognised their faces and maybe even remembered their names. I joined the conversation and gently brought it around to the death of the founder of the academy. I was fascinated to see their expressions change when Rodolfo was mentioned. The taller of the two shook her head sadly while a distinct expression of disapproval appeared on the other woman’s face. Gradually, doing my best not to sound too obvious, I managed to get them to give me their personal opinions of the victim.

The taller woman, Maria Something-or-other, looked genuinely upset at Rodolfo’s death and she was quick to praise him for his amazing generosity in setting up the academy and sponsoring so many young people. Her companion, Silvia, took a bit of persuading but, in the end, I managed to get her talking. What she had to say was fascinating.

‘Rodolfo was a complex character. Yes, he was immensely generous and all the students here have good reason to be very grateful to him, but, at the same time, he had a predatory streak.’

‘Predatory in what way?’ I tried to sound just mildly interested although I was pretty sure I knew what was coming.

‘Rodolfo was a sex pest.’

Maria immediately objected. ‘That’s unfair, Silvia. Yes, he was a flirt but he never imposed himself on anybody. Any woman who decided to take up with him did so willingly. There was no question of coercion.’

Silvia didn’t look convinced. ‘I’m not so sure. I think a number of women here felt they had to go along with his advances just to show their gratitude. I find that rather distasteful.’

This appeared to confirm what Dolores had told me and I filed it away for further study. I could well imagine how any womanmight feel if she had been pressurised into having sex with a man in this way. Maybe angry enough to commit murder?

Any further conversation was interrupted by the sound of the gong and we all made our way into the dining room. Maria and Silvia disappeared off to another table and Anna and I sat down by ourselves. A few minutes later, we were joined by another couple. I didn’t recognise the woman but I immediately recognised the man. This was Romeo, the Don Juan of the academy. He gave Anna a broad smile and introduced himself and his partner. ‘It’s good to see new faces. My name’s Romeo and this is my cousin, Veronica.’

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