Page 29 of Murder in Verona

I told him what Dolores had told me about Romeo, as well as what she had said about Rodolfo getting together with Clarissa, only for the relationship to come to an end when he met Alessia. Ialso gave him the gist of my conversation with the theatrical agent and his receptionist and he immediately gave orders for a car to be sent to take their prints as well. After thanking me, he changed the subject. ‘By the way, Dolores told me that you have a key to the garage. I wonder if you could show me exactly where you found the oil can and so on.’

Anna opted to go up to the room so the inspector and I went out, accompanied by the two dogs and the constable. We walked around the side of the villa and I opened the garage door. Both men gave appreciative grunts when they saw the amazing line-up of classic cars. Inspector Ventura stared around in awe.

‘This is what I call a hobby! He was a lucky man: so much money, an amazing collection like this, a beautiful, talented wife, and this unbelievable villa. If I’d still been harbouring any thoughts of him having taken his own life, I’m certainly not now.’

I showed them where the Jaguar had usually been parked and pointed out how it looked very much to me as if somebody had run a mop over the concrete fairly recently. After that, I took them to the workbench and pointed out the rubbish bag where I had found the oil can. The inspector gave instructions to the constable, who pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and began to empty the bag piece by piece onto the worktop. All the other containers in there were empty but he did find one piece of interesting evidence. This was a dirty rag, still slightly damp, clearly having been soaked with something viscous. When I leant down to smell it, I was in little doubt.

‘For my money, this is brake fluid. Might this be the cloth that was used to clean up underneath the Jaguar?’

The inspector nodded. ‘Could well be. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could find some DNA on here? If so, then we’re going to have to come back and swab everybody for DNA but let’s see if there’s anything to be found first.’

While the constable bagged the evidence, the inspector and I wandered around accompanied by the two sniffing dogs, checking door and window locks, but without finding anything untoward. It looked very likely that if somebody had tampered with the brakes they must have got in either with the key or during a brief interval while the door had been left open while Rodolfo had gone out. But who?

We were just leaving the garage when another police officer arrived, looking uneasy. He spoke quietly to the inspector, who glanced across at me and raised his eyebrows. ‘Now, why doesn’t this come as a surprise? Signora Violetta Argento has just arrived and she’s objecting violently to being asked to provide fingerprints. I wonder if you’d mind accompanying me, Mr Armstrong. You know her better than I do. I think I’m going to need backup.’

I waited until the garage door was once again securely locked before following the inspector around to the villa entrance. We found Violetta in the hall with a face like thunder. Fortunately, the arrival of the two dogs appeared to cheer her, at least briefly, and I decided to help the inspector by getting a few words in first.

‘Good evening, Signora Violetta, I hope you’ve had a good journey. As you’ve probably realised, it’s looking increasingly likely that your son was indeed murdered as you thought and, in consequence, the police are taking fingerprints from everybody here at the villa for exclusion purposes.’

She shot me a suspicious look. ‘And just what exactly does “exclusion purposes” mean?’

I was impressed to hear the inspector bravely join in. ‘Exactly what it says, Signora Argento. We believe we might have found some meaningful prints that could lead us to the identity of the murderer, and so it’s vitally important that we take prints from everybody here so they can be excluded from the investigation. This doesn’t necessarily mean that we consider anybody here to bea suspect. Certainly, there’s no question of me consideringyouas a suspect.’

She appeared at least partially mollified by this and, although still under protest, she allowed the sergeant to take her prints. As this took place, I gave her a quick summary of my enquiries so far, just saying that the brakes appeared to have been tampered with but without specifically mentioning the container of brake fluid. From the expression on her face, I could see that she was struggling. On the one hand, she was evidently pleased that her hunch looked as though it had been proved right but now, as it sank in, she found herself having to confront the fact that her precious son really had been murdered. I did my best to keep her talking and suggested that we go for a cold beer. This suggestion was met with approval not only from her but also from the inspector, and we walked through to the bar area. There were very few people here at this time of day and we sat down at a table to one side where we could talk freely. Oscar stretched out on the floor alongside Elektra with his head once more on her shoulder in a picture of domestic bliss. Violetta gradually relaxed as well and by the time the beers arrived, she was actually able to propose a little toast.

‘Thank you, gentlemen, for your efforts. When are you planning on making the arrest?’

I let the inspector answer this one. ‘Our main problem has been one of motive. Although it’s clear that your son almost certainly made himself unpopular in the past because of his treatment of women, people seem to agree that, since getting married, all that had finally stopped. So, if this wasn’t a crime of passion, what other motive might be behind it?’

Violetta took a sip of beer before addressing me, rather than the inspector. ‘I already told you, Mr Armstrong. I have no doubt at all who the murderer was. Didn’t you tell the inspector? Why haven’t you arrested her yet?’

I did my best to reply tactfully. ‘The inspector needs evidence before he can arrest anybody.’

But Violetta wasn’t giving up without a fight. ‘Alessia was here that day and she could easily have tampered with his car. She knows about old cars. She knew that by killing Rodolfo, she would become very rich and she could be with all the men she wanted. Surely that’s all the motive you need.’

The inspector, to his credit, demonstrated that he wasn’t afraid to raise his head above the parapet. ‘But she wasn’t the only one to gain from your son’s death, was she? The same argument about money could be applied to his cousins – even if they were ultimately to be disappointed – his agent, and even you, Signora.’

A stony silence fell on the table for almost a minute before Violetta looked up at him in disbelief.

‘One of us? Are you seriously suggesting that one of the family might have killed Rodolfo? It’s unthinkable and it’s insulting. We are a respectable family, and respectable families don’t go around committing murder.’

Tell that to Hamlet, I wisely decided not to say out loud.

16

THURSDAY EVENING

I was glad to get back to our suite. From the look of him, Oscar was also delighted – even if it meant separation from his new girlfriend – as he headed straight for his basket and settled into it with a thud. Anna and I both lay down on the bed and I closed my eyes gratefully, Violetta’s words still echoing in my head:Respectable families don’t go around committing murder.

As a general rule, of course, she was quite right, but that didn’t alter the fact that time after time in my career in the police I had come across apparently respectable people who had nevertheless been able to commit atrocious crimes. As far as families were concerned, these crimes had all too often been provoked by money. I lay back and thought about the current situation in the Argento family. Violetta had no shortage of money – a share in the business, the villa in Tuscany and the villa here in Verona plus whatever else she had inherited from her son and, of course, her original, no doubt substantial fortune. What would happen if something happened to her?

Although I knew it was going to be difficult, this was a question I was going to have to ask her sooner rather than later. Could itpossibly be that somebody had deliberately murdered her son, knowing that half of his fortune would revert to her, with a view to then killing her as well so as to get their hands on everything? Of course, that all depended on the terms of her will. Who would benefit from her death? It was clear from what she had said that she wasn’t a fan of Alfredo, but Agri Argento was a family business, after all, and I knew that tradition meant a lot to her. I couldn’t see her leaving it to anybody not connected with the company, and that no doubt included Alessia, so that almost certainly meant the cousins would inherit. Could they really have been behind Rodolfo’s death?

But, more significantly now, did this mean that Violetta was going to be our next murder victim?

I was roused from my deliberations by the sound of a doorbell. I hadn’t even realised that our suite had a bell and this one reproduced the chimes of Big Ben. I opened the door to find myself faced by none other than Signora Violetta.

‘I hope I’m not disturbing you, Mr Armstrong. I wondered if you and your girlfriend might like to come for anaperitivoa bit later on? Say seven o’clock? You know where my apartment is, don’t you?’

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