Page 28 of Murder in Verona

‘You can’t think of any enemies, jealous rivals, other singers he might have eclipsed and who bore a grudge?’

He just kept shaking his head.

‘I’ve been told that a day or two before his death, you and he had a furious argument on the phone. Can you tell me what that was all about, please?’

He and his receptionist exchanged glances and I felt sure I could see her give him a little nod, as much as to say,You might as well.

His shoulders slumped and he kept his attention on his handsas he spoke. ‘We were arguing about money.’ I made no comment and waited for him to continue. ‘For the last ten years, he’s been paying me twelve and a half per cent commission on bookings that I get for him. You know what it’s like trying to make ends meet these days. Everything’s been shooting up in price so I decided I had to ask him if he could increase it to at least 15 per cent. Most other agents routinely charge 20 per cent.’ He gave me a beseeching look. ‘Surely fifteen’s not too much to ask?’

‘And he said no?’

To my surprise, he shook his head. ‘No, he told me he needed to speak to his mother first. He always consulted her about everything. I’m afraid I knew from experience how that would have ended. There would have been as much chance of getting a pay rise out of her as of me appearing on stage singing a duet alongside Rodolfo. I couldn’t help myself and I just lost it. I told him in no uncertain terms that I was fed up with her interference. I’m afraid I said some pretty harsh things about her being too old, too mean and past it. I should have known better, I did know better, but, stupidly, I didn’t stop and think. Rodolfo went ballistic.’ Ruggieri looked across at me and offered a few words of explanation that didn’t come as a surprise to me. ‘He and his mother had an unbelievably close relationship – some might say it was far too close – and he wouldn’t hear a bad word about her.’

‘How did the conversation end?’

‘He slammed the phone down on me and that was the last I heard of it. Two days later, he was dead. You can imagine how awful I felt later when I heard that he’d left me a million euros in his will. A million euros! I should have known that he was a generous man and I shouldn’t have doubted him.’

‘The money came as a surprise to you? He had never mentioned this before?’

‘Never. I didn’t think for one moment I would get a mention of any kind in his will.’

He sounded convincing enough, but I couldn’t help thinking to myself that this telephone argument might have been a whole lot more acrimonious than he was saying. What if Rodolfo had told his agent about the bequest and then, as a result of the man’s outburst, had threatened to change the terms of his will to cut him out? Knowing he was about to lose a million euros might have stimulated the flamboyant Paolo Ruggieri to take radical action.

A few seconds later, there was a tap at the door and our coffees arrived. I was still reaching for mine when Ruggieri grabbed hold of his cup and upended it into his mouth. He looked dejected and bewildered, but the fact remained that he had just catapulted himself up my list of suspects. Whether this would result in my being able to prove his involvement in the singer’s death was another matter completely, but the agent had certainly managed to get himself top billing on my list.

15

THURSDAY AFTERNOON

I spent the afternoon wandering around Verona with Oscar. Leaving the car where it was, we walked back to the river and followed it for a mile or so as it curled around the old town before we crossed over a bridge and headed into the narrow streets. One thing I soon discovered was that for anybody riding a bike in Verona – and there were lots of them – the older the bike, the better. Because the streets are mainly paved with square cobbles or flagstones, the battered old bikes bump around on the uneven surfaces, creak, squeak and generally provide advanced warning of their arrival. I kept Oscar on the lead all the same but he seemed quite happy to walk at my side and take in the view just as I did. We ended up in the beautiful Piazza delle Erbe with its statues, ancient frescoes and fountains, and I had no hesitation in heading for a gelateria where we sat down at a table shaded by an umbrella.

I sent a message to Anna giving her our location and to my surprise, only about five minutes later, just as my strawberry, apricot and peach ice cream arrived, so did Anna. She was quick to order an ice-cream selection for herself and then she told me allabout her afternoon of historical investigation. She had started at the Castelvecchio museum and then had taken in the cathedral with its painting of the Assumption, allegedly by Titian, followed by the Basilica of San Zeno, which has been in existence for over a thousand years. This church is also the legendary site of the marriage of Romeo and Juliet, but for Anna who only believes in facts, this was of little interest. I’ve often thought that in many ways she would make an excellent detective – facts are the only things that count for us, too.

When she brought the conversation around to my investigation, I gave her a quick rundown of my visit to Rodolfo’s agent and added my impression that he might have been the perpetrator. Interestingly, she was fascinated to hear of the showy blonde receptionist and queried whether I thought there might have been something going on between her and the opera singer in spite of the age difference between them. I shrugged my shoulders, but it occurred to me that there had been a wedding ring on her finger, and I wondered whether maybe she was actually married to the agent. If so, and if she had been carrying on with Rodolfo, this served to push the agent even further up my list of suspects. But without clear proof, all I could do for now was shrug my shoulders once more and hold my hands up helplessly.

‘Maybe she and Rodolfo were an item once upon a time, but everybody seems to agree that from when Rodolfo met Alessia last year, he was a changed man.’

‘And you believe that?’

I nodded but she didn’t look convinced – and neither was I. She reinforced her point.

‘In my experience, the leopard doesn’t always change his spots as easily as that.’

I nodded again. I couldn’t have said it better myself.

It was half past five by the time we got back to the villa, and the first things I saw were a pair of blue and white police squad cars parked outside the front door. I was just letting Oscar out of the van when Beppe the groundsman appeared on the steps, wiping his fingers on a cloth. He looked up and walked over to me with a smile.

‘Well, that’s a first. I’ve never had my fingerprints taken before. In fairness, the police are being very respectful and none of the residents seem to be too worried.’

‘Did you see the police inspector in there: black beard and a shaved head?’

‘Yes, he’s in the hall talking to Dolores. Any progress?’

‘It’s looking more and more like murder, but we still aren’t sure. That’s what the fingerprints are for.’

‘Well, good luck and remember, if I can help in any way, just ask.’

I thanked him and went inside. Sure enough, Massimo Ventura was standing there accompanied by Dolores, Elektra the Labrador and a young constable. While Oscar hurried over to renew his friendship with the other Lab, we humans shook hands and I introduced Anna. Dolores tactfully withdrew – but, interestingly, Elektra stayed here with Oscar – and I was able to talk to Ventura without fear of being overheard. The inspector told us that they had almost finished taking prints here, and that one of his men was at the home of Alfredo Argento at this very moment taking prints from his decidedly recalcitrant wife. He gave me a little wink. ‘It would be so good if we could get a match.’

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