Page 23 of Murder at the Ponte Vecchio

‘Yes, indeed, and I think you’re going to find that it’s good news.’

‘That’s excellent. Where are you? I’m just about to go home. Do you feel like a drink? I could use one.’

It turned out that he was barely ten minutes away, on the point of leaving his office in the Palazzo Vecchio, the town hall, so we arranged to meet at a café in a little piazza close by. I took Oscar with me and hurried through the crowds to Piazza del Duomo, past the magnificent cathedral, baptistery and belltower and on to the little square. I spotted the mayor already sitting at a table outside on the pavement and went across to him. Although it was early evening, the April air was still pleasantly warm.

When he saw me, he waved. ‘Good evening, Dan. I’ve orderedtwo beers, but don’t worry if you fancy something else; I’ll happily drink both. It’s been a busy day.’

I assured him that a cold beer sounded ideal and while Oscar wandered over to make the mayor’s acquaintance, I sat down alongside him, looking out into the little piazza only a stone’s throw from the Uffizi gallery. This area was bustling with locals going home at the end of the working day and tourists shuttling between the Palazzo Vecchio and Palazzo Pitti. It was already remarkably busy considering that this was still low season. By the time July and August arrived, this whole area would be absolutely heaving with humanity. Little wonder many locals preferred to move out of the city when the summer came, in order to find a bit of peace and quiet – as well as some respite from the cloying heat.

A waiter appeared with two beers, and the mayor and I clinked our glasses together.

I told him what I’d learnt at the theatre this afternoon, finishing with, ‘Tiberio seems like an excellent choice as Monica’s boyfriend. I can’t understand why she wouldn’t want you to know about him.’

His reply was interesting. ‘Thank you for that, Dan. That’s a great relief. For some reason, I had convinced myself that he was a drug dealer or some such. As for why she wouldn’t introduce him to us, I’m at a loss to find an explanation. Did you get his surname?’

‘I’m afraid not, I didn’t want to appear too pushy this afternoon so I didn’t ask, but I can easily find that out through the theatre or the university. There can’t be many final-year medical students called Tiberio, after all – in fact, I’d be prepared to bet that he’s the only one in the whole university. Leave it to me and I’ll get the surname tomorrow. As soon as I get it, I’ll text it to you.’

He thanked me again and we sat back and relaxed. I could seethat Ugo had been reassured by my news and I could fully understand how he was feeling. No doubt he and his wife had been imagining all sorts of undesirable characters being involved with their daughter, and this news must have come as welcome relief. We chatted about trivia for a few minutes before he asked me something that stopped me in my tracks.

‘Dan, what’s your opinion of the police here in Florence?’

‘The city police or the national police?’ Italy has something like seven or eight different ‘police’ forces who theoretically work together, but between whom rivalries can arise.

‘National police, the ones who investigate serious crimes and arrest robbers and killers.’

‘I sometimes work with officers in the murder squad when English speakers are involved and I’ve been impressed by their professionalism. Why, are you having doubts about their ability?’

He turned towards me and lowered his voice, although with the background noise of the passing pedestrians, we were unlikely to be overheard. ‘Not me personally. I don’t know enough about them to comment, but it was something I heard.’

‘Something negative?’

‘I know I can trust you to keep this to yourself, Dan, but it was something thequestoresaid to me the other day. He told me he’s worried that he may have a rotten apple on the force. That’s the expression he used: “a rotten apple”. I asked him what he meant by it, and he either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me very much. I got the impression he’s concerned that one of his officers might be involved in some sort of criminal activity.’ In response to my raised eyebrows, he shook his head. ‘He didn’t say what sort of criminal activity. In your experience back in London, did you ever come across that sort of thing?’

I told him about the protection racket I’d been involved in dismantling and reassured him that the vast majority of policeofficers both in Britain and in Italy were on the level. I decided to make no mention of the fact that I was helping Virgilio and Marco sniff out the Florence force’s very own ‘rotten apple’ until I could speak to them. From Virgilio’s point of view, I felt sure this would come as very good news and, if I were in his shoes, I would go straight to thequestore. I gave it a minute or two so as not to look too interested before asking if thequestorehad launched an investigation, and the mayor shrugged.

‘I would imagine so, but he didn’t give me any detail. It leaves an unpleasant taste in the mouth to think that one of the people who are supposed to be upholding law and order could actually be the one who’s breaking it. I hope they catch him… or her.’

This was fascinating. If thequestorehad noticed the irregularities that Virgilio had spotted, maybe there were other officers who had been having doubts about one of their colleagues. Maybe Virgilio, instead of being a lone voice crying in the wilderness, was part of a larger group of honest cops.

Returning to the subject of the mayor’s daughter, I mentioned the forthcoming performance of Zebra’sUltimatumand asked if he intended going to see it. When he confirmed that he would be there, I suggested that it might be a good opportunity for him and his wife to check out their daughter’s beloved for themselves. He received the suggestion with enthusiasm and when he stood up and shook my hand, he was looking a happy man.

I waited until he’d walked away before pulling out my phone and calling Virgilio. I related what the mayor had said and I thought I heard a sigh of relief at the other end.

‘That’s excellent, Dan. I’m in my office now so I’ll see if thequestore’s in the building and I’ll ask if I can talk to him straight away.’ I heard him produce what could have been a little chuckle. ‘Well, that’s one suspect we can remove from the list – although, to be fair, I didn’t seriously consider that he might be our villain.Thanks a lot for passing that on. One interesting piece of news: I ordered a check of Marco’s phone records this afternoon and it appears he received a call from a local landline only minutes before he was hit. The call lasted just thirty-seven seconds and when we did a trace, we found that it came from a phone box on the corner of Marco’s road and Via Giuliani, barely a couple of hundred metres from his house. That would seem to prove that the “accident” was anything but. I reckon somebody called him and told him there was a family emergency or he was needed back at the station, knowing that this would make him come out of his house and cross the road. And then… smack, he was mowed down.’

‘You could well be right – cynical and professional – and if that was the case, the call must have been made by somebody who knew him well, and I wouldn’t mind betting it was a member of the force who’d realised that Marco was on their trail. You realise, of course, that this quite possibly means that the would-be killer is also aware that you’re involved in the investigation. You’d better watch your back. Have you been able to trace the movements of our main suspects this afternoon?’

‘Yes, but it doesn’t help very much. All three officers were out and about, away from the station and unaccounted for, at the time of the accident – and the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that it was no accident. I went down to the parking lot to check the cars, but only Faldo’s very smart BMW was there and, no, there were no signs of it having hit anybody. Grande and Verdi were both out in their own vehicles and they won’t be back in until tomorrow. I’ll take a look as soon as they arrive, but the fact is that any of the three had the opportunity to do it.’ He gave a frustrated snort. ‘Poor Marco. I feel it was my fault this happened. I shouldn’t have got him involved.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up, Virgilio – apart from anything else, Iseem to remember that I was the one who advised you to let him in, so it’s as much my fault as yours, but I still think you did the right thing. Marco’s a big boy. He knew the risks. That’s why he went home to work on the computer. The way I see it, he must have known the person who called him, because he left home straight away. I wonder what emergency the perpetrator dreamt up.’ I tried to sound as encouraging as possible. ‘When you see him tomorrow morning, he might be able to tell you who made the call, and we can put two and two together.’

‘One thing’s for sure: I’m going to double the guard outside his hospital room overnight. Here’s hoping when he wakes up that he can remember.’

Virgilio didn’t sound too confident but then, neither was I.

14

WEDNESDAY MORNING

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