Page 23 of Murder in Verona

‘I’ve been told that ever since he got married last autumn, he was a changed man. Would you agree with that?’

‘I would certainly agree that he and Alessia seemed to have a solid relationship. I’m sure he believed he loved her very dearly.’ I couldn’t miss the vague way she had phrased her answers. Hardly a ringing endorsement. I found myself wondering whether Clarissa might have wished for a closer relationship with her boss. Had she maybe even hooked up with him only to find herself discarded in favour of his new wife? What was that old expression about hell having no fury?

By the time I finished interviewing her, I had added her to my list of possibles, although I had to admit that she had answered my questions willingly and apparently sincerely. I applied the MOM test to her, as I had been taught many years ago. The acronym stood for motive, opportunity and means. Jealousy might have provided her with a motive, she had access to the garage key in the safe so she had opportunity but, as far as I could tell, she lacked the means. She would appear to have no experience of car mechanics, which would make it less likely – but not impossible – that she would have known how to tamper with the brakes of the Jaguar.

I collected Anna, went over to the garage, slipped the oil container into a clean plastic bag, and stowed it carefully in the van before driving down to Verona. I dropped Anna and Oscar off at the entrance to Piazza Bra, promising to call her when my interviews had finished. From there, I drove back to the Agri Argento site and rolled up to the barrier at the main gate. A burly man in uniform came out of a cabin and I explained who I was and why Iwas here. After consulting a clipboard and speaking on the phone, he waved me through and indicated that I should park alongside a lurid-green supercar – presumably Alfredo’s new Lamborghini. ‘Go up the steps to the main entrance and somebody will meet you in the lobby and accompany you to the top floor. Have a nice day, sir.’

I did as instructed and found a smart young man waiting in the large, marble-clad lobby. He came forward and held out his hand. ‘Mr Armstrong, good morning. My name is Matteo. If you’d like to follow me…’

He spoke to me in good English and he and I had a little chat in the lift as it hummed up to the sixth floor. He told me he had worked for the company for seven years and sounded as though he enjoyed his work. When we reached the top floor, he handed me over to a young woman sitting behind a glass desk directly opposite the lift. She looked up at me over the rims of her glasses.

‘Signor Armstrong, if you’d like to take a seat, I’ll tell Signor Alfredo that you’ve arrived.’ Unlike the young man, she addressed me in Italian, and I recognised her voice from our brief telephone conversation the previous day when I had made the appointments. She picked up the phone and I had barely sat down when one of the doors behind her opened and an auburn-haired man appeared. He looked about forty or so, suntanned and fit, and he was wearing a light-blue polo shirt withVerona Golf and Country Clubon his left breast. Clearly, this was Alfredo. He strode across to greet me, hand extended.

‘Signor Armstrong, I’m very pleased to meet you. Do come in.’

He waved me into his office, which was very much as I’d been expecting: large, luxurious and imposing. There was a closed laptop on his desk but otherwise there was remarkably little clutter. Ignoring the businesslike conference table and chairs, he ledme across to a fine pair of leather sofas by one of the big windows and indicated that I should sit down.

‘Can I offer you anything? A coffee maybe?’

I thanked him and declined, waiting until he had sat down opposite me before launching into my story. I told him how I’d been approached by Violetta to investigate the circumstances of her son’s death and asked him if he minded answering a few questions. He gave me a broad smile and sat back in preparation, although to an old cynic like me, that gave the impression he was maybe trying a bit too hard to be affable. ‘Fire away. Any help I can give, I’ll be only too happy.’

‘Thank you, Signor Argento. I’ve been asking everybody this, but can you tell me whether Rodolfo might have had any enemies?’

His expression became more serious. ‘You seriously think it might not have been an accident?’

‘I’m afraid so. It’s looking increasingly as though the brakes of his Jaguar might have been tampered with.’

He looked genuinely appalled. ‘Really? But who could have done such a thing?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to establish. I ask again, did your cousin have any enemies?’

He shook his head. ‘Very much the opposite; he was widely loved and respected.’ He paused before qualifying his statement. ‘A few years ago, I dare say there would have been any number of unhappy women he had wronged or their partners out for his blood, but not now. Although I confess that I don’t have a lot of time for Alessia, since they married last year, I very much got the impression that Rodolfo had finally become more settled.’ He looked up from his hands. ‘So, I honestly can’t think of anybody who might have been his enemy and certainly nobody who could possibly have considered committing murder.’

‘Might there be any other reason for somebody to want him dead? I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but I understand from Violetta that he was a very wealthy man and a number of people stood to inherit considerable sums of money upon his death.’

He looked up at me in disbelief. ‘Are you trying to say that somebody in the family might have killed him? I’m sorry but I won’t dignify that with a reply. It’s absolutely beyond belief.’ He sounded genuinely outraged and I found myself tending to believe him. Nevertheless, I tried one more little push.

‘Not necessarily in the family. I understand that his agent inherited a million euros. That’s not an insignificant sum.’

‘Ruggieri a murderer?’ He scoffed. ‘I question whether he could bring himself to kill a fly and if, as you say, the murderer tampered with the brakes of Rodolfo’s car, then you can definitely exclude Paolo Ruggieri. I’ve never met anybody less practical. I had to help him take the top off his pen last time I saw him.’ And this coming from the man Beppe had described as severely impractical himself.

‘I understand that, according to the terms of the will, it’s now Violetta who takes over Rodolfo’s share. Is that going to be a problem for you and your sister?’

To my surprise, he smiled. ‘I’ll know more tomorrow. We have a board meeting at three and Violetta will be there. I’m sure we’ll be discussing the structure of the company in the wake of Rodolfo’s death. I can’t see how it will change very much. She’s always been pretty hands-on.’

We continued chatting but it soon became clear that there was little more he could offer me – apart from a glowing review of the local golf course. By the time ten-thirty came around, I had learned nothing that advanced my enquiries but I had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that I tended to think that it was unlikely that he’d had anything to do with his cousin’s death. We shook handsand he repeated his willingness to offer any help he could before leading me out and handing me over to the woman at the glass desk. She immediately picked up the phone. ‘I’ll call Signora Rosina.’

While I sat and waited, I reflected on the conversation I had just had with her boss. The one question I would have liked to put to him, but I’d felt sure would have led to an eruption of indignation, would have been to ask about his wife’s relations with the dead man. According to Violetta, she had been furious when she had heard the terms of the will. How had relations been between her and Rodolfo before the singer’s death? I decided that I would try to find answers to these questions when I spoke to Alfredo’s sister. At that moment, the woman herself emerged from a door a bit further along from where I was sitting.

‘Signor Armstrong, I gather you’re here to help. Do come in.’ We shook hands and I followed her into her office. With her auburn hair, the resemblance to her brother was immediately evident, and her office was a carbon copy of her brother’s, but with one major difference. Almost every horizontal surface here appeared to be covered with files and papers. There were no fewer than three computers on or near her desk and the contrast with the barren nature of her brother’s office was striking. Violetta appeared to have been right – it certainly looked as though Rosina did the lion’s share of the work around here. She sat down at her desk and waved me into a seat opposite her. She was a friendly looking woman, probably fifteen years younger than me, and I felt sure Oscar would have given her his seal of approval. She didn’t waste time with small talk.

‘I understand from Violetta that you and she believe that Rodolfo was murdered. Can you prove that?’

I nodded slowly. ‘I believe I might be able to now. Once I’ve finished my interviews with you and your brother, my nextdestination is the police station to pass on to them what I’ve uncovered. I’m afraid it could well be that your cousin was murdered.’

She looked shocked, but not excessively so. Certainly, in comparison to her brother, it appeared to have come as less of a surprise to her. ‘And do you have any idea who might have done it?’

I shook my head. ‘For now, nothing, but the police might be able to discover some clues when I pass on the information I have to them. Can you think of anybody who would have wished to harm your cousin?’

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