Page 15 of Murder in Verona

This confirmed what Violetta had told me, but I stuck with cars for now. ‘How do I get access to Rodolfo’s garage with all his cars?’

‘I have a key. I can let you in any time.’

‘Does anybody else have a key?’

‘Dolores has duplicates of all keys in the safe, and of course Signor Rodolfo had one, but I don’t know who’s got that one now.’ He looked up and shook his head. ‘I very much doubt whether it survived the crash and the fire. I think his mother, Signora Violetta, also had a copy because she sometimes drove some of his cars.’

‘Who else has access to the safe apart from Dolores?’

He shook his head. ‘Clarissa might have, I imagine, but otherwise I’m afraid I don’t know. You’d have to ask Dolores that.’

I glanced at my watch. It was just after two. ‘I’m going to take Oscar and Elektra for their walk now and check out the scene of the accident while I’m at it. If I see the farmer, I’ll stop and have a chat to him but I should be back here by half past three or so. What time do you go off?’

‘I’m normally here until five but I can stay longer if you like.’

‘Thanks, but I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Maybe when I come back, you could let me into the garage so I can have a look around.’

I continued with our walk as far as the little piece of woodland, where Oscar was able to find a host of sticks for me to throw for him to fetch. Elektra, on the other hand, just selected a suitably appealing branch and carried it with her, refusing my offers to take it from her and throw it. Unfortunately, her chosen branch was almost four feet long and she appeared blissfully unaware that every time she turned her head, she risked tripping me up. The breeze up here on the hillside was very welcome and in the shade of the trees, the temperature was perfect. From the woods, we headed down through a well-tended vineyard in the direction of the lake. There were already well-formed bunches of grapes on the vines that would, no doubt, produce next year’s supply of Valpolicella for the villa.

We carried on downhill until we came to a road. From the direction of it, this was pretty evidently the continuation of the one we had taken to get to the main gates of the villa and I could see what Beppe had meant about a long straight ending in a sharp bend. I could well imagine the opera singer gunning the Jaguar down here without a care in the world.

Until he reached the bend.

We walked down the quiet country road without meeting a single vehicle and finally reached the scene of the accident. Even without the extensive damage to an old timber fence and the burn marks on the massive trunk and lower branches of an ancient cypress tree on the edge of another vineyard, I could see quite clearly that this was the scene of the crash. I estimated there to be well over a hundred faded floral tributes stacked around the tree where grieving fans had come to pay their last respects. It was a touching scene but the detective in me was far more interested by what I couldn’t see. Looking back up the road, I couldn’t see even the slightest hint of a skid mark and the E-type had been built years before anti-lock braking had been invented. The farmer who’d seen the crash had been dead right. Either Rodolfo hadn’t tried to brake, or his brakes had failed.

My attention was then drawn to the sound of a vehicle coming up through the vines and I spotted one of those funny little narrow tractors that pop up in vineyards all over Italy. Driving it was an elderly man, and I took a chance. I flagged him down and climbed through the gap in the fence to speak to him, accompanied by the two dogs.

‘Good afternoon, are you Giacomo by any chance?’

He reached forward and switched off the noisy engine. ‘I am indeed. How can I help you?’

I decided that, just like with Beppe, I was going to have to take him into my confidence. ‘My name is Armstrong. I’ve been askedto investigate the circumstances surrounding Rodolfo Argento’s death and I believe you witnessed the crash.’

To my relief, he didn’t question my presence and appeared keen to help. ‘Like I told the police, the Jaguar just came roaring down the road, straight into the tree, and exploded. I bet he was doing ninety or a hundred. He never touched the brakes or, if he did try them, they weren’t working.’

‘Could you see the driver’s face?’

He shook his head. ‘I only caught sight of the car at the very last moment, I’m afraid.’ He shuddered. ‘You should have seen it after it hit the tree. Awful!’

‘Did he hit the tree straight on?’

‘Not quite. He must have turned the wheel because the front left-hand wing took the worst of the impact and, of course, that’s where he was sitting.’

‘And were the police the first people to arrive?’

‘Yes, along with the ambulance and the fire engine. I phoned the emergency services immediately after the crash and I suppose it took them about twenty minutes to reach the scene. Luckily by that time, I’d managed to beat the worst of the flames out but there was nothing I could do for Rodolfo.’

‘He was killed in the impact?’

He just nodded grimly. ‘No doubt about it. His body was in a terrible state.’ His bleak expression said it all.

We chatted a little more but it was clear that he had told me all he knew. Finally, I thanked him and set off up the road again with my two canine companions. As we made our way back through the vineyard towards the villa, I reflected on what I’d just heard. It was clear to me that the most likely explanation for the accident had to be brake failure. The fact that the Jaguar hadn’t hit the tree straight on indicated that Rodolfo had been trying to steer into the bend or, at the very least, had been doing his best to avoid hittingthe massive tree. To my mind, this made it clear that he’d been trying to take avoiding action, and so Dolores’s theory of a seizure didn’t stand up unless it had been a fleeting attack of some kind from which he’d awakened at the very last moment. It would be interesting to see whether he had a history of epilepsy or similar but, if not, it still looked like brake failure to me. The attempt at avoiding action would also indicate that it hadn’t been suicide unless, of course, that had been his plan but he’d lost his nerve at the last moment and spun the wheel in a vain attempt to avert the inevitable.

I added an urgent trip to Maurizio’s garage to my to-do list. Maybe the mangled remains of the Jaguar might still provide a clue.

9

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON

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