Page 39 of Murder in Verona

Romeo shook his head. ‘No, I can’t prove it, but I wouldn’t have put it past him to have been cheating and I don’t know Alessia well enough to be able to say she’s a killer. One thing’s for sure: when it came to women, Rodolfo was quite unscrupulous.’

I had pretty much written Alessia off as a potential murderer but hearing this hypothesis voiced by a third party made me stop and think. Had I maybe been too quick to dismiss her from my list of suspects? Had her apparent grief all been an act? I tried acouple of questions of my own. ‘You say you don’t know Alessia very well but how about Clarissa? How well do you know her? She seems very young for the position she occupies.’

Romeo rolled his eyes. ‘You’ve noticed that, have you? We all did. Like I told you, when she was first appointed, we knew she’d been hand-picked by Rodolfo and it was clear from the start that there was something going on between them.’ He hesitated before adding reluctantly, ‘To be fair, she’s good at her job, but I think we all know how she got it in the first place.’

And that was all we could get out of him. By the time we finished the interview, I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was plain to see that there had been animosity between him and the victim, but whether this could have led to murder was hard to assess. Certainly, with his background in the motor trade, Romeo had to remain high up on our list of suspects. The inspector finally dismissed him and it was a far more chastened and a far less cocky Romeo who headed for the bar and a large glass of brandy.

At that moment, the gong sounded and Oscar jumped to his feet. He had by now worked out that this signalled food. Everybody started moving towards the dining room and a few seconds later, Clarissa appeared at the door. Ventura made a beeline for her and, as a result, the three of us were able to choose a suitably isolated table for our conversation over lunch. The inspector waited until the waiter had brought wine and water before making a start on the interview. After taking down her name – Clarissa Delbosco – and the fact that she, like Dolores, lived in an apartment here at the villa, he moved straight to the crunch.

‘I’ve heard from a number of sources that you and Rodolfo Argento used to be in a relationship and I’d very much like to know more about it. When did it start, when did it finish and how serious was it? I apologise for asking you such personal questions,but the fact is that I’m investigating a murder and I need all the information I can get.’

Clarissa’s expression, which had been affable and relaxed up till now, instantly changed, but even for somebody like me, having spent half of my life trying to analyse what people were really thinking, she was hard to read. Underneath a veneer of embarrassment and indignation was something more. I kept a close eye on her and as she replied, it struck me that her overriding emotion appeared to be anger – or, at least, irritation.

‘I understand that you have to ask these questions, Inspector, but it doesn’t make them any easier to answer. I’m no fool. When Rodolfo offered me the position of principal almost three years ago now, I had a good idea what was really going through his head. In those days, he had a reputation for treating women appallingly and I took the job with my eyes wide open. The fact of the matter is that I’m well qualified and experienced to do a job like this and I set out to show everybody that I’d been appointed on my merits as a professional. I’m confident that if you ask any of the staff or students here what they think of my competence, you’ll get positive replies.’ She looked up at both of us, her expression firm and serious, but distinctly miffed. ‘I didn’t get the job because I was having an affair with Rodolfo and, although I’m the first to accept that he propositioned me on numerous occasions back at the start of my tenure here, nothing ever happened between us and, once I’d made my position clear, he always behaved as a complete gentleman towards me from then on.’

She was sounding measured and convincing but Ventura piled on the pressure all the same. ‘I’m afraid that contradicts what I’ve been told, particularly with regard to the months immediately before he met his future wife. I’ve heard you described as being heartbroken when he abandoned you. Is that incorrect?’

She even managed to produce a trace of a smile. ‘People canthink what they like, and some people have amazing powers of imagination, but I defy anybody to produce proof that my relationship with Rodolfo was anything but professional – yes, friendly of course, but never more than that.’

Again, she sounded convincing and the inspector and I exchanged glances before I tried a different tack. ‘Are you aware that Rodolfo had a sister?’

She nodded. ‘Tosca – one of Puccini’s greatest operas and what a wonderful name for an opera aficionada. To be honest, I only heard about her very recently: yesterday, to be precise. Alessia told me she intended inviting Tosca to tonight’s concert, particularly as we intend it to be a celebration of the life of Rodolfo. Of course I look forward to meeting her. Why do you ask?’

‘Tosca has been estranged from her mother and brother for some years and she only met up with him again very recently, the Christmas before last.’ I thought it worth trying to provoke some emotion, maybe jealousy, to break through Clarissa’s deadpan reaction to the questioning. ‘That would have been when you and he were reportedly in a relationship, but you might be interested to know that when Tosca met him, he was staying at the Savoy hotel in London with an American actress. How does that make you feel?’

‘I repeat what I’ve just told you: I was not having an affair with him and so, in consequence, whether or not he was with an American actress is of no interest to me at all.’ Once again, she sounded as if she was speaking the truth.

At that moment, a waiter arrived with our starters. Today these consisted of slices of grilled polenta, some topped with chopped radicchio, some with salami and some with mushrooms. It all tasted as good as it looked but I noticed that Clarissa barely picked at hers – but being interviewed in connection with a murder can do that to people.

Refreshed by the food and a mouthful of wine, the inspector moved the interview along. ‘Another line of enquiry we’re following is that maybe the real target of the murderer wasn’t Rodolfo, but his wife. Can you think of any reason anybody might have had to wish to harm her?’

The colour drained from Clarissa’s face and she looked genuinely shocked. ‘Alessia? Of course not. At least, not as far as I know. Maybe there was somebody in her past, before she got married, but why wait until now to get even?’

‘How do you get on with her?’

‘I don’t see her that often, but she seems nice.’ As I knew well, ‘nice’ can mean anything from lovely to questionable and I was unable to ascertain from her tone the exact degree of ‘niceness’ she intended. Ventura carried on regardless.

‘A question that we’re asking everybody is whether you can think of any enemies Rodolfo might have had?’ Seeing her shake her head, he tried adding a suggestion. ‘On a professional level, can you think of anybody who might have been bitterly jealous of him?’

She looked up from her plate. ‘I’m sure there are jealous people out there, but I can’t for a moment think of anybody who might have been bitter enough to consider murder. I don’t want to tell you your job, Inspector, but are you absolutely sure that it was murder? It was a very old car, after all. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in an E-type, but the bonnet is so long and the seats are so close to the ground that it’s hard to see out. Maybe it was a momentary lack of attention or maybe there was a problem with the brakes.’

Of course, she had a point. My discovery of the can of brake fluid had led to nothing and quite possibly had a completely innocent explanation and, without that, there was no proof of interference. It was hard to know how to answer without indicating that itwas little more than a hunch. The inspector seemed to be similarly afflicted as I noticed that he devoted himself to finishing his antipasti over the next couple of minutes and he didn’t respond. It did occur to me, however, that from the way she was talking, it sounded as though she had been in an E-type Jaguar at least once in her life. There weren’t many of them around so did this indicate that she had indeed had a relationship with the victim in spite of her protestations to the contrary? Alternatively, maybe I was making too much of this – he might just have given her a lift to the shops.

The interview degenerated into a simple conversation about subjects as banal as the weather, the food and, of course, tonight’s concert. As I listened to Clarissa listing the performers and the pieces they would be singing – most of which meant nothing to me although I felt sure Anna would have recognised them – it occurred to me that the guests would almost certainly include Alfredo, Ingrid and Rosina. With Alessia, Violetta and Tosca also going to be present, that meant we would have the whole Argento family together in one room. I looked forward to observing the dynamic of the group, particularly the Violetta/Tosca relationship. Similarly, it would be interesting to see how Ingrid handled Alessia after all the negative things she had said about her.

In fact, thinking about it, I realised that Romeo, Clarissa and Paolo Ruggieri would also be there, so tonight would see all our suspects in the same place. Would one of them turn out to be the killer?

22

FRIDAY AFTERNOON

Lunch was as good as ever and the main course a local speciality: roast guinea fowl in a wine sauce, served with a fascinating mix of mashed pumpkin and mascarpone cheese mousse. It was a refined dish and I felt sure Anna would be sorry to have missed it. I texted her to see how she was getting on with her historic tour of Verona and she replied almost immediately, telling me she was sitting in a café having a hot dog – hardly on the same gastronomic level as my lunch but no doubt satisfying all the same.

At the end of the meal, we shook hands with Clarissa and she went off to supervise the final preparations for tonight’s event. Ventura and I went out into the grounds with Oscar and, when we were sure that nobody was listening in, we discussed what had been a busy morning.

We both agreed that, of the main suspects, Ingrid headed the list in that, as well as possibly having two motives – gain or revenge – she had been far and away the most unpleasant of the four, but there’s a big difference between being a pain and committing murder. In second place was Romeo with his open animosity towards the victim and his knowledge of cars,although he had put up a pretty convincing display of proclaiming his innocence. He was followed by Clarissa, although she had replied to our questions with apparent sincerity, particularly demonstrating what appeared to be considerable respect and liking for Rodolfo, even if her support for Alessia had been a bit less enthusiastic. Least likely was Tosca, who had struck us both as genuine even though she, of all people, had potentially more to gain from the death of first her brother and then her mother. This of course left us with the barista down by the lake, who seemed unlikely, or the theatrical agent keen to get his hands on his million euros, but Ventura told me that in the interview he had had with one of the inspector’s team this morning the man had broken down in tears and sobbed at the loss of his ‘dear, dear friend’.

I asked Ventura what he thought of Romeo’s theory that Rodolfo might have gone back to Clarissa more recently. What if the liaison had been uncovered by his wife, who had exacted brutal retribution? From what I knew of Alessia so far, I didn’t see this as credible, but I was keen to see what the inspector thought.

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