Page 39 of Murder at the Ponte Vecchio

I left Oscar snacking on biscuits with Anna and drove downto thequesturaperched on two folded beach towels and a plastic bag. The driver’s seat was absolutely soaked through and the carpet at my feet like a swamp. To make matters worse, I could barely see out of the back window after Oscar had shaken himself enthusiastically on our way back from the quarry, liberally coating the inside of the windows with a mixture of mud and malodorous ‘Eau de Labrador’. The good news was that the rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started, and I was able to complete the journey with the windows open, so that I was able to arrive at the police station smelling a good bit better than I would have done otherwise.

I found Virgilio in his tennis clothes, which were probably a whole lot drier than what he’d been wearing at the quarry. He jumped to his feet as I walked in and came over to give me a bear hug. ‘Dan, Dan, what would we do without you? You could have got yourself killed, you know.’

I gave him a smile and pushed him off me. ‘So Anna keeps telling me. To be honest, I only went to the quarry to look for evidence. I wasn’t trying to be anybody’s hero. You were out of contact, and I thought about calling for backup, but, with everybody here being under suspicion, the only person I could have called is thequestoreand I don’t have his direct number. Where’s Faldo?’

‘Safely locked up in a cell downstairs, changed into prison uniform in place of his wet clothes.’ He smiled. ‘The convict clothes suit him, which is just as well as he’s hopefully going to be wearing them for the rest of his life.’

‘Did he tell you why he chose to come out to the quarry at that particular moment?’

‘He told me he was tidying up a few odds and ends before leaving. Those are the exact words he used – as if he were just doing a few little jobs around the place. With Marco still alive, heknew we would soon be onto him, so he booked himself onto a flight from Rome to Johannesburg tomorrow morning. Interestingly, the booking was just for him, not his wife or kids. He was only interested in covering his own back.’ He went back to his chair and sat down. ‘It’s amazing how you can work with somebody for months, years, without realising that you’re working with a madman. Thank God you stopped him when you did. Who knows how many other people he would have killed if he’d managed to get away and start a new life?’

Johannesburg stirred a memory in me. ‘I noticed on social media that he and his family went to South Africa on holiday a year or two ago. Maybe that’s where he heard about conflict diamonds being smuggled into Europe by asylum seekers. Anyway, shall we take a look at the camera footage of the cigar box?’

I checked the app on my phone and, sure enough, there was Inspector Roberto Faldo levering open Virgilio’s desk drawer and removing the box from the evidence bag. The expression on his face when he discovered that the contents weren’t diamonds after all was a picture. In a matter of a very few seconds, we could clearly see realisation dawn on him that he’d been caught in a trap. We saw him hastily drop the cigar box back into the drawer and search the office desperately until he found the other camera and then make a run for it.

I looked up and caught Virgilio’s eye. ‘With Marco’s confirmation that it was Faldo who made the phone call on Wednesday afternoon and this video, you should easily be able to make the attempted murder charge stick against him. Hopefully, you’ll also see his Land Rover on the video footage of the vehicles in the area around the time of the hit.’ I reached into my pocket and brought out the two rolled-up poo bags, one containing the bloodstained plastic from the Land Rover’s light and the other containing thepiece of material from Marco’s trousers. ‘Here, these should also help. I peeled them off the front of the Land Rover just before the rain started. Forensics should be able to get Marco’s DNA off the dried blood on the light. And don’t forget that Faldo told me everything and I’ll be delighted to give evidence against him.’

Virgilio took the bags from me. ‘Thanks, again, Dan. We can certainly nail him for the attempted murder of Marco, and, with your evidence, we should also be able to pin Jacobs’s murder on him and the others as well. I’ve been in touch with the Grand Hotel and they’ve sent me the CCTV footage from the dining-room cameras – which Faldo deliberately omitted to mention. Who do we see sitting there, eating his way happily through a hundred-euro meal, but Faldo? He looks as if he hasn’t a care in the world when he gets up at ten-fifteen and heads off with a bag in his hands – no doubt containing the hoodie – to commit murder. Mind you, he wasn’t holding back in the car on his way here. It was almost as if he was proud of what he’d done. He’s singing like a canary.’

‘I hope he continues to do so. Have you given the Berg family the good news that you’ve nailed the killer? Presumably, they’ll be off back to the Netherlands.’ A thought occurred to me. ‘What about Axel Jacobs’s diamonds? Have you been able to contact his next of kin?’

‘Yes, his daughter and her husband have been informed. He’s in the oil industry and they live in Dallas, Texas. As far as I can tell, there’s been little or no contact between her and her father for many years. When I told her he’d brought three hundred thousand euros’ worth of gold bars to pay for conflict diamonds, which were going to be held as evidence in the murder case, the woman didn’t sound in the least upset. She told me she had no interest in either her father or his “dirty money” – those are the words she used – and she told me she would be more than happyfor anything of his to go to charity. That saves me a lot of paperwork and saves the courts a lot of time, but it’s sad all the same that neither of these two old men will be missed by their children.’

I nodded in agreement. ‘Maybe it’s like the Scottish professor told me: blood diamonds are called that for a reason. They corrupt everyone they touch. I’ve been wondering why David Berg contacted me last Friday night. He was clearly worried about something. I suppose it was because he’d found out that his contact at the station had been murdered, and he was afraid he would be next. Presumably, because he was involved with the illegal diamond trade, he felt he couldn’t come straight to the police.’

Virgilio got to his feet. ‘I’m sure you’re right. It’s a pity for him that he chose to get involved with such a dirty business. And now, if you have time, thequestorehas asked us both to go up and see him.’

I followed him up to the top floor, where we were ushered into thequestore’s office by his secretary. As soon as he saw us, he leapt nimbly to his feet and came across to pump my hand vigorously up and down.

‘Signor Armstrong, I wanted to shake your hand and thank you in person for your outstanding bravery in bringing a truly evil man to justice.’

I repeated my usual line about having gone to the quarry simply to look for evidence and not having done anything particularly heroic, but he was having none of it.

‘I’m going to put your name forward for a gallantry award. Excellent, excellent. Thank the Lord that we no longer have a traitor in our midst, and not only a traitor but a sadistic serial killer as well.’

He asked if there was any more practical way he could rewardme, and Virgilio was quick to step in and tell him about the spy camera that Faldo had smashed. Thequestorenodded enthusiastically. ‘Of course, of course, buy Signor Armstrong a new one – no, get him two of them.’

By the time I left his office, I’d been told I was going to receive not only two new cameras but also several cases of expensive Villa Antinori wine and a new suit, made to measure by thequestore’s own personal tailor with his compliments. This, of course, meant that I would now have two brand-new suits and very little opportunity to wear either of them. Still, I told myself, it’s the thought that counts.

As Virgilio walked me back down the stairs, he added one more bonus. ‘You and Anna – and Oscar, of course – will be the guests of the Florence police for a slap-up dinner after Saturday night’s show.’

23

SATURDAY EVENING

By the time I got to the Teatro dell’Arno on Saturday night, I was a nervous wreck. Anna drove us there while I sat in the passenger seat and had a last run-through of my lines. Friday’s final dress rehearsal hadn’t gone too badly – apart from a wardrobe malfunction when a seam of my character’s grubby overalls gave way, revealing me in an old pair of Marks & Spencer boxer shorts – and I had more or less managed to produce the right lines at the right moments. Monica and Tiberio had been very supportive and he’d even helped me stick a crib sheet onto the side of the cupboard against which I spent much of the first act leaning, looking moody.

In spite of what Zebra had said, the plot definitely had Shakespearean undertones. The main characters were involved in an ill-fated love affair complicated by the fact that Monica’s uncle, my character, and her father were members of the fascist party, while the love of her life, Tiberio’s character, was involved with the local resistance movement. The tragic denouement – reminiscent ofRomeo and Juliet– resulted in the deaths of both of the young people, causing the characters around them to reassess alltheir beliefs. I had to hand it to Zebra; not only was she an excellent director, but she had also written a powerful play, and if all went well I was convinced that the audience would enjoy it.

Anna kissed me and wished me luck when we reached the stage door before she led Oscar around to the main entrance and the seats reserved for the two of them. Zebra had been most insistent that Oscar should be invited and when I first walked out onto the stage, I could see him lounging comfortably in the front row like a theatre habitué.

The first act passed in a flash and when I joined the other actors in the common room during the interval, I was only too happy to gulp down a cold beer from the fridge. Zebra came in to give us a team talk and I was reminded of similar pep talks I’d received back in my rugby-playing days – although her language was a lot less colourful than those had often been. Her clothes made up for any lack of colour in her speech. Tonight, she was dressed from head to toe in a long and voluminous yellow and black gown that reminded me of Amy Mackintosh and her hen-party tiger costume.

I actually began to enjoy myself during the second act, which was ironic because the story was becoming increasingly tense until the violent and tragic ending. When the curtains finally came down – or, rather, were dragged jerkily into the centre of the stage from the sides – the audience erupted into applause that sounded quite genuine. Monica and Tiberio went out into the limelight to another roar of applause and were joined by Zebra. The curtains were then dragged open again and the rest of the actors, me included, walked out and took a bow to more applause.

When the lights came on in the auditorium, I was delighted to see the mayor applauding enthusiastically, and Virgilio on his feet only a few rows behind him, clapping and whistling. As forOscar, he looked mildly surprised by all the noise, but was clearly far too comfortable to think about joining the standing ovation.

I changed quickly and went out to the lobby that had been transformed into a bar. Out here I found, not only Virgilio and Lina, but also no lesser a personage than Giuseppe Verdi, thevicequestore, accompanied by a woman half his age. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and told myself that she could be his niece – not that I really believed that. He caught my eye for a moment, no doubt registering that I was the man with the Labrador who had been in Virgilio’s office, but he had the good manners to clap his hands together and mouth, ‘Bravo’ at me. Oscar was with Anna and he had by this time worked out that waitresses – Amélie and Vanda – were circulating with trays of nibbles and he immediately adopted histhey don’t feed me, I’m wasting awayexpression that won him quite a few tasty titbits.

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