Page 16 of Murder at the Ponte Vecchio

What he said next was anything but fair.

He stood up and held out his hand. ‘But let’s be quite clear about something. What I’ve told you is in confidence. If you start blabbing to anyone, you’ll regret it. Seriously.’

‘That sounds like a threat, Mr Jacobs.’ Although he didn’t look strong enough to threaten anybody, maybe he had some unpleasant friends.

‘Good, it was meant to be. Now, are you going to shake on the deal or not?’

9

MONDAY LUNCHTIME

I tried calling Marco to pass on this latest information but just got his answerphone. I left a message for him to contact me and then gave Oscar a quick walk followed by his all-important food before leaving him with Lina while I went for lunch with the mayor.

The restaurant he had chosen was called La Vecchia Stalla, which translates as the Old Cowshed or Stables and it was about five hundred metres from Anna’s university, just outside thecentro storico. It was a fifteen-minute walk from my office and on the way, I phoned and left a message for Virgilio, telling him I would take a look at the residences of his suspects later that afternoon. No sooner had the call ended than my phone started ringing again. It was Marco, returning my call and passing on news of his own.

‘Ciao, Dan. Bad news, I’m afraid. David Berg didn’t have a safe deposit box at the bank, so no help with finding the combination to get into the big safe at his villa. Tech have heard back from the safe makers in Switzerland and they’re going to send one of their experts. Unfortunately, they can’t get here until tomorrow or Wednesday, so we just have to be patient.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Thanks for speaking to the boss. He’s told me he saw you and hewants to have a private talk with me so we’re going out for lunch together. I’m hoping that the fact he’s making it a lunch date means that I haven’t screwed up too badly.’

‘It’s not you, Marco. Don’t worry, he’ll tell you all about it, I’m sure. I’m on my way out for lunch myself as a guest of the mayor, no less. I’ve no idea what he wants. Anyway, I have a bit of news for you. I had a visitor this morning who might be of interest in the David Berg case. Are you likely to be in the office after lunch, say around three? On second thoughts, why don’t you come to my office? That way, I can tell you about the guy I saw this morning, and if you want to talk about what Virgilio has to tell you at lunchtime, we can speak freely.’

We agreed on three o’clock and I spent the rest of the short walk wondering yet again whether there was likely to be any chance of the enigmatic Mr Jacobs getting his mysterious cigar box or his three hundred thousand in gold bullion back. I had a strong suspicion that the answer was going to be no.

La Vecchia Stalla was a real Tuscan eatery. Outside, it was a fairly normal-looking building, maybe a couple of hundred years old – which was young by Florentine standards. Inside, it was noisy and crowded, with almost all the tables already occupied by people on their lunchbreak. There was a wonderful smell of grilling meat in the air and I knew that if Oscar had been with me, he would have been enchanted. I gave my name to thepadrone, wondering how much privacy the mayor was hoping to get here with so many people potentially listening, but I needn’t have worried. The restaurateur nodded and guided me to a door in the far wall markedPrivato, behind which there was a narrow staircase leading up two floors to a small, private dining room with a single table set for two. The mayor was already there, standing by the window, looking out. He smiled when he saw me and beckoned to me. I went over to the windowand we shook hands before he returned his attention to what was outside.

‘Thanks for coming, Signor Armstrong. Have you ever been here before? This restaurant may be outside thecentro storicobut this private dining room – normally reserved for romantic assignations – has a wonderful view.’ He pointed out across the rooftops. From here, we were looking over the green space that was the English Cemetery – in fact owned by the Swiss Evangelical Reformed Church – and on across sun-bleached terracotta roofs of all shapes and sizes to the unmistakable bulk of the Duomo capped by Brunelleschi’s massive dome, with Giotto’s bell tower just visible to one side of it. Over to our left was the equally impressive basilica of Santa Croce with the panoramic viewing point of Piazzale Michelangelo on the hill across the river beyond it. This was the magnificence of Florence encapsulated.

I glanced across at the mayor. ‘You’re right, it’s a spectacular view. I love this city.’

He looked back and gave me a warm smile. ‘So do I.’ He indicated the table. ‘And now we have to concentrate on what we’re going to eat. I don’t know how hungry you’re feeling but they do a magnificent mixed grill here.’

I nodded enthusiastically, reflecting that if Oscar had been with me, he would also have been nodding in agreement.

‘And, to simplify matters, why don’t we have their mixed antipasti as a starter? You’re very welcome to have a pasta course as well but, from experience, I think you’ll probably find it unnecessary. The portions here are decidedly generous.’

We sat down, and only a minute or so later, a waitress appeared to take our order. There was no sign of a menu on the table and it was all done verbally. She didn’t write anything down but just nodded and left us alone. The mayor and I chatted about Florence for a few minutes before she reappeared with a bottle ofChianti, a carafe of water and a basket of bread. I felt sorry for her having to climb two flights of stairs each time, but I imagined she was used to it by now.

After she’d left, the mayor picked up the bottle and filled our glasses. ‘Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Signor Armstrong, I really appreciate it.’ He took a mouthful of wine, set down his glass, and his expression became more serious. ‘I need your help in a personal matter.’

That answered one question. ‘I’m happy to do anything I can. Why don’t you tell me all about it?’

‘It’s my daughter Monica. I have twin girls; they’re now twenty-one, both studying at university here. Virginia, the elder by a minute and a half, is studying history, and Monica is doing drama.’

It occurred to me that Anna might even know the older twin as she was studying history, but I made no comment and let the mayor continue.

‘The problem I have is that Monica appears to have found herself a new boyfriend.’

A pause ensued while I could see him trying to choose his words, so I gave him a little prompt. ‘Anunsuitableboyfriend?’

He nodded, but then did his best to clarify the situation. ‘I really don’t know. I fear that he’s unsuitable, but the problem I have is that I’ve no idea who he is. She’s been going out with him now since before Christmas, but she refuses to speak about him or to introduce him to us. In the past, she’s had lots of boyfriends and she’s always spoken freely about them, but what’s worrying my wife and myself is the secrecy with this one. I fear that there has to be a reason for it.’ He looked up from his wine glass. ‘If you can spare the time, I’d simply like you to find out who the man is and report back to me, but above all without her knowing thatI’ve employed a private investigator. Is that the sort of thing you might feel able to do?’

I was quick to assure him that I’d be happy to help and pulled out my notebook. I shot a few questions at him and made some notes, starting with the fact that, although Monica was still living at home, she often spent nights away, presumably with the new boyfriend, but her parents didn’t even know his name, let alone where he lived. The elder twin, Virginia, claimed to know little more than they did, although the mayor and his wife had the impression that she probably knew more than she was letting on, because there had always been a special bond between the twins. I made a note of where Monica was studying and her father gave me a rough idea of her timetable, although this appeared to change on a weekly basis. He sent me a recent photo of her and I could immediately see how she’d managed to have a regular supply of boyfriends. There was no doubt that she was a beautiful young woman.

I had just about got all the information I needed when the waitress reappeared with our antipasti.

This was about as traditional Florentine as it gets. There were slices of grilled bread, rubbed with garlic and salt, some topped with chopped tomatoes, some with chopped mushrooms or chicken liver pâté. Along with these there were slices of excellent cured ham,finocchionasalami flavoured with fennel, and slices of pecorino cheese. The mayor hadn’t been joking about the quantity on offer; the selection of antipasti alone was a whole lot more than I would normally have eaten at lunchtime. And there was still the mixed grill to come. Oscar would have been very jealous.

We chatted over the meal and I told him about my daughter, now almost thirty-two and engaged to be married, while he told me about his two girls – of whom he was clearly very proud. I asked him about his job and he gave me an insight into howmuch it entailed. Apart from the complications of running a city of almost four hundred thousand people, with the eye-watering figure of many millions of visitors each year, there were all the formal receptions, investitures, and other events at which he had to be present. I asked him how he ever found time to write his novels, and he shook his head ruefully before throwing the question back at me.

‘By the way, I started your book yesterday and I’m already almost halfway through and loving it. How doyoumanage to find time to write when you have a full-time job?’

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