Page 27 of Murder in Verona

Dolores knew the answer. ‘In fact, it is. There are numerous places in Verona where they can do it on the spot in a matter of minutes. I got a copy done last year when Beppe ran over his with the tractor.’ This was news to me and it simplified things for a would-be killer.

‘Might Rodolfo have left the garage unattended at any time?’

‘You’d better ask Beppe, but the answer is probably yes. When he was fiddling with the cars, Rodolfo often took them for short test drives and I’m pretty sure he didn’t always bother to lock the garage door while he was out. I suppose somebody might have been able to sneak in while he was away and tamper with the Jaguar’s brakes.’

I listened with interest. By the sound of it, almost anybody here could have seized the opportunity to take the remote control, copy it, and return it to Rodolfo’s pocket without him being any the wiser. I did a quick calculation. Depending where the killer took the remote to be copied, he or she would have needed half an hour to get there and back plus however long the job took. So, realistically, the murderer would only have needed forty minutes or so. If Rodolfo had been working on one of his cars, it was very likely that his jacket would have been hanging up for at least an hour, if not more, so it was very feasible. What this meant was that the would-be killer could have stolen Rodolfo’s key and copied it days, weeks before. Needless to say, this didn’t help in narrowing down the list of suspects.

Dolores looked across at me helplessly. ‘But who could have done it?’

Who indeed?

That afternoon, I dropped Anna back down to the centre of Verona and while I was there, I decided to check out Paolo Ruggieri, Rodolfo’s theatrical agent. With the help of Google, I located his office in a smart apartment block in the more modern part of town where, thankfully, parking was a lot easier than in the old town. I had Oscar with me and we had a little walk around first, enjoying the shade of some lovely old trees lining the sides of the wide boulevard. When we got to the apartment block, I checked the names alongside the bells by the front door. Sure enough, one of these was marked Ruggieri, prefixed by the wordsAgente Teatraleso I pressed it and waited. A quick check of my watch told me that it was barely half past two so maybe he was having a long lunch or a siesta. I was just about to try asecond time when a metallic voice croaked at me out of the speaker.

‘Yes, who is it?’ It was a woman’s voice and she sounded half asleep. Maybe I had interrupted her lunch break.

‘Hello, my name is Armstrong. I’m investigating the murder of Rodolfo Argento and I’d like to speak to Mr Ruggieri, Paolo Ruggieri, please.’

‘I’m sorry, did you say “murder”? I thought Rodolfo’s death was an accident.’ She certainly sounded wide awake now.

‘Apparently not. Is Mr Ruggieri there?’

‘No, but I’m expecting him back any time now. Would you like to come up and wait? We’re on the fourth floor.’

There was a buzzing noise and the front door sprang open. I took the lift up to the fourth floor and when Oscar and I stepped out of it, we found ourselves directly opposite a door emblazoned with the name of the agent in gold letters. I knocked and we went inside.

We were greeted by a woman, probably only a few years younger than me, but who had obviously been striving a lot harder than I had to put off the ageing process for as long as possible. Her dazzling blonde hair looked too good to be true – and probably was. Her face was plastered with a thick coating of make-up and her bright-red lipstick highlighted recently overfilled lips. It wouldn’t have been a look I would have chosen, but I couldn’t blame her for wanting to hold back the ravages of time. I gave her a friendly smile and her eyes lit up when she spotted Oscar.

‘Oh, what a beautiful dog. What’s her name?’

For a moment, he exchanged glances with me and I hastened to introduce him properly. ‘Good afternoon. This is Oscar, he’s only three and he’s a bit excitable so he’ll probably try to climb on your lap if you let him.’

She didn’t seem to mind and he wandered over willingly so shecould make a fuss of him. Fortunately, he didn’t try and climb on her lap, which was probably just as well because, from what I could see of the skirt she was wearing, it was little wider than a belt and I feared she could have got scratched if he had tried. She waved me into a seat on one of a pair of armchairs at the side of the room and reached for the phone.

‘Can I get you a coffee?’

I thanked her and asked for an espresso. She phoned the local bar and placed the order before returning her attention to me. ‘Are you with the police?’

‘I’m working alongside the local police but I’m actually a private investigator engaged by Signora Violetta Argento to discover the truth of what happened.’

‘So what makes you think it was murder?’

I had only just started my explanation when there was a noise at the door and a man appeared. Although I had never met a theatrical agent in my life, one look at this character told me that I had to be in the presence of Paolo Ruggieri. In spite of the hot weather outside, he was wearing a long, dark-blue, velvet jacket, not dissimilar to the kind of thing Teddy boys used to wear back in the fifties. Instead of a tie, he was sporting a cravat in a bold paisley pattern principally consisting of pinks and greys. There was a matching handkerchief in his top pocket that spilled out halfway down his front. He was certainly memorable and even Oscar stared at him in amazement.

The blonde bombshell was quick to introduce me.

‘Paolo, this gentleman is Mr Armstrong. He’s a private investigator and he says that Rodolfo Argento was murdered. It wasn’t an accident at all.’

The air of bonhomie on the face of the theatrical agent disappeared in a flash, to be replaced by a pasty look. As he tottered over and slumped into the other armchair opposite me, I heard hissecretary make another call to the café. ‘And a double espresso with a large shot of brandy in it.’

Ruggieri sat there for a few moments, studying his hands, before looking up at me, his expression almost beseeching. ‘That can’t be right, surely. Who on earth would have wanted to murder Rodolfo?’

‘That’s what I’ve been engaged to discover, Mr Ruggieri. Can you think of anybody who might have wished him harm? Did he have any enemies? I’ve already been told that a year or two ago, he had a reputation as a womaniser, but I’ve also been told that since his marriage, he appeared to have calmed right down again. Does that sound right to you?’

The answer came from the blonde and I was immediately interested that she appeared to know the opera singer so intimately. ‘He used to be a terror, ask anybody. But whoever told you he calmed down when he married Alessia was dead right. He was a changed man after he met her.’

‘So if his murder wasn’t as a result of his philandering, who could it have been?’

The theatrical agent shook his head slowly. ‘I have no idea. I’m sorry, but I just can’t believe it. He was a national treasure. Why would anybody wish him dead?’

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