Page 32 of Murder in Verona

After dinner, I took Oscar and Elektra for a walk as much for my benefit as for theirs. My head was spinning, trying desperately to think of a reason why this man who had apparently had it all – money, fame, love, happiness – might have decided to drive his Jaguar head first into a tree. His wife, his mother and his agent had all confirmed that he had had no money problems, others claimed that since marrying, he had been satisfied and contented with his love life and, of course, the Christmas concert in front of kings and queens was the proof that his career had been flying high. If so, what on earth could have made him want to end it all?

Even though I lacked evidence of any kind, yet again, I found myself discounting the suicide hypothesis and remaining steadfastly convinced that it had been murder. Exactly why I came to this conclusion was hard to justify and in the end, all I could do was put it down to some sort of ex-copper’s hunch. In fairness, I had followed enough of these in my time to know that more often than not, they had proved to be correct. Hopefully, the interview with Rodolfo’s sister, Tosca, would produce some results because, otherwise, we appeared to be heading towards a dead end with a distinct lack of evidence.

That night, for a change, I walked down across the open field to the tennis courts and I made a discovery – or rather it was made for me by Oscar and Elektra. Just on the other side of the two tennis courts was a meticulously trimmed hedge, and it was only when I heard the splashes that I realised what lay behind it. Sure enough, when I rounded the corner, I discovered that the villaboasted a fine swimming pool, with underwater lighting providing enough illumination for me to make out the two dogs in the water, paddling around most happily.

I let them cool down for a while and then, after a bit of a struggle, I managed to lure them out of the pool and back into the field. I was watching Oscar as he rolled around on his back on the grass, growling happily to himself and wagging his tail so hard that his whole body wagged with it, when I suddenly realised that I was looking at Elektra, not Oscar. He was a few feet further away in the shadows but, in the twilight, the two black Labs had looked the same. This had been a case of mistaken identity.

Mistaken identity suddenly set a bell ringing in my head and my mind returned to the case. What if Rodolfo Argento hadn’t been the target of the murderer after all? What if he’d been killed by mistake? Could the accident have been staged to kill somebody else?

And the most likely person to occupy that position had to be his wife.

I sat down on a dry patch of grass and watched the two dogs as they chased each other around excitedly, hopefully drying themselves out as they did so. Could it really be that the whole direction of the inquiry should be shifted? Beppe had told me that Alessia used to enjoy driving the Jaguar and that she had been just about the only person to do so apart from him. Maybe, knowing that her own car needed a new exhaust, the murderer had sabotaged the Jaguar in the hope of killing her, rather than her husband. I remembered that she had told me that she had been planning on using the Jaguar to drive down to Verona on the afternoon of the crash, and that her husband’s decision to head for the lake and a walk to clear his head had been a last-minute thing. This of course immediately threw up a host of new questions, starting with why?

Not to mention, who?

I deliberately took my time over the rest of the walk so that the dogs could dry off as much as possible but, even so, they were both still emanating a powerful smell of wet Labrador when I got back to Dolores’s apartment. She greeted me with a tolerant smile as she surveyed her damp dog.

‘Don’t worry, Dan, Labs are Labs. They love the water.’ She glanced down at the two of them in the weak lights of the hallway. ‘Certainly, it’s hard to tell them apart, isn’t it? I’d better make sure I get the right dog. You wouldn’t want to end up with Elektra instead of Oscar, would you?’

Or Rodolfo instead of Alessia…

18

FRIDAY MORNING

I dropped Anna off at the end of the Castelvecchio Bridge and drove on to the police station, luckily finding a free parking space quite close by. I was shown up to the inspector’s office where I found him, as before, almost submerged beneath a pile of paperwork. He gave me a welcoming smile as he stood up to shake my hand.

‘We’ve spoken to Ingrid Argento – whose aggressive attitude makes Violetta Argento sound like a pussycat – and she flatly refuses to come here to the station, so I’ve arranged for us to go to see her and then we can carry on to Tosca Nyisztor’s house afterwards. Anything new at the villa?’

‘Maybe: I just had a thought last night. Could it be that Rodolfo Argento wasn’t the target? Could he have been killed by mistake?’

The inspector slumped back into his chair and waved me into the seat across the desk from him as he explored this new hypothesis. ‘So you’re saying it could be the murderer wasn’t aiming for him but for somebody else… presumably his wife?’

‘She’s the only logical target apart from him. The groundsmantold me that she often drove the Jaguar – but she was just about the only one – and her own car was going to need fixing so maybe the murderer took a chance.’ I went on to tell him how Rodolfo’s decision to take the car down to the lake after lunch had been unexpected, and the fact that Alessia had been planning on using it at two-thirty for her hair appointment.

He nodded sagely.

‘And that surely implies inside knowledge. Who else could have known that her car needed to be fixed and that she was going down to Verona that afternoon? It has to be somebody at the villa.’

‘That’s the conclusion I’ve come to. Of course, it might have been chance and, equally likely, I might be wrong, but it’s a thought.’

‘It certainly is. One thing’s for sure: we’re going to need to dig more deeply into her background to find out if she might have enemies. Thanks for passing that on. I have a feeling you might be right. We need to sit down and have a long talk to her. Shall we do that later this morning?’

‘Definitely. Thanks for including me.’

He grinned. ‘It seems to me it’s as much your investigation as mine. All help gratefully received.’ He picked up a couple of the numerous files from his desk and tucked them under his arm. ‘Anyway, let’s start with Ingrid Argento and see what she has to say for herself.In bocca al lupo.’ This expression translates literally as ‘into the wolf’s mouth’ and I couldn’t help glancing down at Oscar. The inspector followed my eyes. ‘By the way, if she says anything about your dog, I’ll tell her he’s a sniffer dog, but I won’t tell her what it is he sniffs.’

‘Food mainly – and other dogs’ butts.’

With the blue light flashing, the police car cut through the morning traffic and we were soon away from the busy central part oftown and climbing a series of narrow, winding lanes up the hillside above the city until we reached a high stone wall and a pair of massive wooden gates. The driver pressed the button by the intercom on the gatepost and, when asked what we wanted, just replied with a terse,‘Polizia.’The gates swung open and we drove along a short gravel drive to an unexpectedly modern house, quite possibly designed by the same architects who had built the new Agri Argento offices. The walls of the long, low, white building appeared to be made principally of plate glass and I found myself wondering how hot it was going to be inside and how much privacy the occupants might enjoy. However practical it might or might not be, it was clearly a very expensive architectural statement. But then, Alfredo Argento was not short of the necessary money to make such a statement.

We left the driver in the car and walked across to the front door, which opened before we got there – no doubt because the maid had been watching us from inside one of the plate-glass windows ever since our arrival. Without a word and with a dubious glance at Oscar, the maid – clad in a formal black dress and white apron – led us along a corridor to a magnificent living room looking out over a stunning view of the city. Although the temperature was in the thirties outside, the air con was doing a good job in here and I almost felt cold – but not as cold as the reception awaiting us. Sitting in the middle of the room on an ultramodern white sofa was a woman I immediately recognised from her sister-in-law’s description. Alessia had described Ingrid as very beautiful and she hadn’t been exaggerating. With her long, blonde hair, blue eyes, and trim figure, I could well imagine how she could have had her pick of Verona’s eligible bachelors before selecting Alfredo. Good-looking or not, this morning, the expression on her face was about as welcoming as a rabid dog with a headache. And talking of dogs…

‘Why have you brought that animal into my house?’ Her tone was glacial but the inspector was a match for her.

‘The dog is part of our team. It’s all right, he’s well trained and he won’t make a mess of your beautiful house.’

Ingrid Argento made no attempt to ask us to sit down so we stayed on our feet and Oscar, sensing the atmosphere in the room, sat down smartly at my side like a real police dog. I watched the woman’s face carefully as Ventura began his questions.

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