Page 32 of Murder at the Ponte Vecchio

‘Tech are going through it now. They say that they have footage from a number of sources, but nothing showing the moment of the accident itself. They’re still looking, and I’m on my way back to thequesturaright now. If we spot anything, I’ll give you a call.’

When the call ended, Oscar and I picked up our walk again, following a curving route that would eventually bring us back to my house. As we came back down the hill again, my phone started ringing. I didn’t recognise the number so I answered cautiously.

‘Pronto.’

‘Signor Armstrong?’ It was a man’s voice, speaking Italian. ‘My name is Inspector Faldo of the Florence police and I’m investigating the murder of a Dutch citizen, name of Jacobs. I understand from Commissario Pisano that Axel Jacobs came to see youon Monday. I wonder if you’d be able to drop into thequesturato give me a statement of what was said.’ He sounded very polite. ‘I would be very grateful.’

I glanced at my watch. It was half past four. Although I’d promised to prepare dinner tonight, I knew that this was a golden opportunity to sit down and talk to one of the main suspects. ‘I’m just out in the country at the moment. Give me time to change and I should be able to get there in an hour or so. Would five-thirty be okay with you?’

After a quick shower, a change of clothes, and an apologetic call to Anna about the lack of an evening meal, I managed to get to the police station through the late-afternoon traffic at just after five-thirty. The officer at the front desk knew me and Oscar by now and directed me upstairs to Inspector Faldo’s office on the second floor. Like the other floors, this was open-plan and I found his desk at the far end. I recognised him from his photos on social media, but I feigned ignorance and asked a female officer sitting near the door if she could point me at him. She very kindly accompanied me to his desk and left me there. He looked up and gave me a friendly smile.

‘Signor Armstrong, thank you for coming. Do take a seat. Can I get you a coffee?’

He was a fit-looking man with broad shoulders, but close up, there were lines on his face and he looked older than in his photos online, all of his forty-one years. Of course, I reminded myself, I had only seen him in happy holiday snaps so far, and now he was on duty and trying to pick up the pieces of a murder investigation that was all new to him.

I thanked him for the offer of coffee but refused. He immediately started his questions.

‘This shouldn’t take long but I’m interested to hear what you and Jacobs discussed and to get your impression of him.’

I rattled off a summary of Monday morning’s meeting with Jacobs and I saw Faldo take notes. Every now and then, he shot me a question and by the end of our session, I had got the impression that he was a good, professional police officer. He thanked me and sat back.

‘As you may know, I’ve only been involved in this case since Inspector Innocenti had that unfortunate accident yesterday. Could you tell me what you thought of Jacobs? Do you think he might have murdered David Berg?’

‘I very much doubt it. Although Berg was about ten years older than him, Jacobs was seventy-six and he wasn’t a particularly big man. I’m not sure he would have had the strength to murder Berg and then, more particularly, to carry his body to the edge of the bridge and push him over the side. Also, isn’t it a bit strange that he would kill Berg and then come to me about it?’

He nodded. ‘I suppose so. And what about his story of giving three hundred thousand euros to Berg in exchange for a cigar box? Do you believe that?’

I realised that this probably indicated that Virgilio hadn’t told him about the contents of the safe yet so I stayed vague. ‘He sounded convincing enough, but I suppose it all depends on whether the cigar box is ever found – if it ever existed – and what’s inside it. Of course, the box might have been in Jacobs’s room last night and the murderer took it and whatever was in it.’ I kept a close eye on his face but didn’t see anything untoward. ‘Can I ask if you’ve made any progress in identifying the murderer? I imagine a hotel like the Grand must have CCTV.’ I thought it wiser to distance myself from the investigation.

‘Not as far as I’m aware, I’m afraid.’

Seeing as he had been at the hotel interviewing people today, I thought this was disingenuous. There was no way he couldn’t have known about the CCTV and, seeing as the images hadalready been sent to Virgilio, they would surely have also been available to him. Of course, as I knew only too well, in a murder investigation, it was never good to broadcast information to any Tom, Dick or Harry – or, indeed, Dan – so maybe he was just being cautious. What was interesting was that he was able to give me the lie without blinking. Clearly, he was an accomplished liar, and I made a mental note of that. If he could lie about one thing, he could lie about other things. I tried another tack.

‘And what about Marco’s accident? Do you think that’s all it was, or was he deliberately targeted?’

He reached down and ostentatiously closed his notebook. ‘Our investigations are still ongoing. Thank you very much, Signor Armstrong, for coming in. I’m very grateful.’

I could take a hint so I stood up, shook his hand, and left, with Oscar trotting along behind me.

When I got out to the stairs, who should I meet coming down towards me but Superintendent Vincenzo Grande. I could see from his face that he’d recognised me and he stopped to shake my hand.

‘Signor Armstrong, isn’t it? I remember meeting you when there was that awful business out at the golf course a year or two ago. Commissario Pisano always speaks very highly of you.’

I decided to take this opportunity to talk to the man as much as I could. His Sicilian accent had softened slightly since I had last seen him, and I found him easier to understand – although I’m a fine one to talk when it comes to dodgy Italian accents.

‘Virgilio’s very kind. In fact, I’m just going up to talk to him now to see if he’s interested in a game of tennis some time. Do you play?’

He shook his head and smiled. ‘No, tennis is definitely not my game.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Maybe ten years ago…’

‘You look as if you get out a lot. What’s your sport?’

‘I’m a hunter.’ He winked at me. ‘And I’m not just talking about criminals. Wild boar, ducks, geese, I just enjoy being out in the fresh air.’

As we were speaking, I was surreptitiously studying him. Although I couldn’t see him choosing to dress in a hoodie in normal, everyday life, he was tall enough to fit the profile of the man in the CCTV footage. Could it be that Vincenzo Grande was our serial killer? He was positively exuding bonhomie, but that didn’t prove anything. I remembered one particularly nasty killer, responsible for the deaths of three women in London, who had had a permanent smile on his face every time I’d seen him, including as the cuffs were fitted to his wrists and he was led away.

He glanced at his watch and held out his hand to shake mine again. ‘I’m afraid I must be off. I have an appointment.’

I said goodbye and made my way to Virgilio’s office, where I found him staring at his laptop. He looked up when I came in.

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