Page 26 of Murder on an Italian Island
Tuesday night turned out to be pizza night, and it was another outstanding meal. It started with mixed seafood antipasti ranging from little skewers of grilled prawns and baby octopus to grilled anchovies with an unusual, orange-flavoured coating, and clams in a spicy tomato sauce. Anna and Lina expressed delight, and Oscar had a smile on his face after being handed down his share of prawn heads and other titbits. I ate heartily. Windsurfing, I had already discovered, not only made your shoulders ache; it also did wonders for the appetite.
As we ate, I told Anna and the others about my walk in the abandoned vineyard and my discovery of the slag heaps indicating the presence of mines dating back several thousand years. Anna was very interested, and we agreed that I would take her up there the following day when our afternoon windsurfing session finished. I asked Virgilio what he intended to do the next day, and I was pleased to hear him say that he and Lina were planning on driving around the island. This week was supposed to be a holiday for the two of them and it was good to see that he was managing to switch off a bit, now that there was a more committed investigating officer in charge of the case.
We were sitting at our usual table, and from my seat, I had a good view of the other guests. Presumably, news of the second death must have filtered through to everybody by now – along with the instruction not to leave the hotel – and there was a distinct air of apprehension. As ever, the only ones who seemed indifferent to the drama were the young newly-weds at the far end of the terrace, still totally absorbed in each other’s company. I caught sight of Tatsuo, alone at his table as usual, and he toasted me with his glass of beer. I picked up my glass and toasted him back, reflecting that my windsurfing prowess was as good as his now – well, almost.
Tonight, the Graziani table was empty, and my mind flitted back to Ignazio’s death. Over the past couple of days, I had definitely been coming around to believing that he’d been killed by his brother, but Aldo’s recent murder threw that hypothesis into doubt. While it was still possible, the similarity in the modus operandi of the two murders made me tend to think that we were probably looking at a single killer. The great unknown was why both brothers should have been targeted. Although I was looking forward to interviewing the hotel guests with the inspector in the morning, I was still convinced that there had to be a local connection. A thought occurred to me and I leant forward to talk to Virgilio while Lina and Anna were still discussing Etruscan history.
‘Did you or Piero Fontana have any joy with the staff here at the hotel? Might one of them have had a run-in with the Graziani brothers?’
‘Nothing that leapt out at us. The chef’s only been here for two years and he’s originally from south of Rome. The cleaning staff are a Romanian and a Nigerian, and the only people with a solid local connection are the waiter, the waitress, the night porter and, of course, Rita.’
‘What about the owner of the hotel, Alfonso Silvano? Presumably, he’s a local, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, indeed, but I think we can safely eliminate him from our inquiries. Rita tells me he’s a sick man. He suffers from emphysema – caused by too much smoking – and just walking from here to the clifftop involves him stopping two or three times for a rest. There’s no way he could have climbed out of a window, sneaked through the trees and assaulted the first victim, let alone the second. As for the two cleaning staff, I think they’re also almost certainly in the clear because I can’t even begin to think of a motive. The assistant chef only arrived from Milan a month ago and he would appear to have no connection with the island. He’s only just eighteen and, from what Rita said, assistant chef is rather a grand title for the general kitchen dogsbody who does everything from chopping the carrots to washing the dishes.’
‘So that leaves us with the chef, the waiter, the waitress, the night porter and Rita.’
‘Antonio and Annamaria, the serving staff, are reported to be a happily married couple who live in the village. They’ve worked here at the hotel for seven years now and Rita speaks very highly of them. She herself has worked here for over ten years and I can’t see any of the three having a motive to suddenly decide to murder either or both victims. The chef is a Roman with no connections to the island, so he doesn’t strike me as suspicious either, so that just leaves us with Elvis, the night porter.’
‘Elvis, really?’ I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Not the commonest of Italian names.’
Virgilio smiled. ‘I imagine his parents were fans of the great man. I haven’t had a chance to speak to him, but Piero says he’s going to see him tomorrow, along with all the staff and guests. If Piero doesn’t mind, I might sit in alongside him. It would appear that Inspector Bellini only gave the staff a cursory interview, so there may be more to dig up. Elvis is also a local and he’s worked here for a year, but what’s interesting is that he previously worked at the Grazianis’ campsite for years, first for the father and then for Aldo. This means that he knew Aldo well, so let’s see if he can add anything to the inquiry.’
‘And there’s no connection between any of the guests and the four women assaulted by Ignazio in Pisa?’
‘Not a trace.’ There was a frustrated expression on his face as he reached for his glass, and I knew how he felt.
Anna was still talking to Lina, so I sat back and took a good look around. The four Brits seemed fairly happy, if a bit more subdued than previous nights. There was just about enough light left for me to get a better look at them and it seemed to me that they were probably around my age or a bit older, two men and two women. It was hard to tell in the twilight, but from the necklaces sparkling in the flickering candlelight, I got the feeling they were probably well-off tourists who had deliberately chosen the island and this hotel as an alternative to the more crowded resorts on the mainland.
Just beyond them, I noted that Signor Giardino from Lucca and his wife barely exchanged a single word. Marco had said that they were shopkeepers, and I wondered whether they had just shut up shop while they came on holiday, or whether somebody else was looking after it for them. Of course, for all I knew, they might own a supermarket and have a whole infrastructure of staff looking after the business while they were away.
The Swiss divers, Heidi and Martin, were talking to each other but they, too, looked apprehensive. Murder can do that to people. I wondered idly whether they had come across any Etruscan artefacts on the seabed. I had read an article online about somebody discovering a beautifully preserved statue dating back to Roman times about ten metres down just off the north coast of the island. Thought of this set me thinking once again of the story theCarabinieriofficer had told about the illegal trade in antiquities, and at that very moment, the two officers appeared on the steps to the terrace.
They stopped as they passed our table. The red-haired one gave a polite nod to the four of us and bent low to murmur quietly in Virgilio’s ear before following his companion along to their table. Once they had gone, I gave Virgilio an inquiring look.
‘Anything exciting?’
‘Apparently, they’ve been given orders to return to the mainland tomorrow to question a pair oftombaroliaccused of unearthing Etruscan remains not far from Populonia. After that, they’re on their way back to Rome.’
‘I wonder whether this means that the death of Aldo Graziani marks the end of their involvement here on the island. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced he was their target all along. Presumably, now that he’s dead, there’s no point in staying.’
Virgilio shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who knows? Piero said he was going to interview them this evening so he might have found out a bit more. I definitely got the feeling they were keeping their cards pretty close to their chests when I spoke to them yesterday, so you might be right about Aldo.’
I turned this possible connection around in my head a few times. If Aldo had indeed been dealing in illegal antiquities, who had murdered him? Surely not the twoCarabinieri, but, if not, then who? And, even if his death had been linked to the illegal antiquities trade, why had Ignazio been killed? There was no way he could have had anything to do with digging up Etruscan artefacts from inside prison, so had his death been a straight case of mistaken identity, or was I missing something significant?
When the waiter came around with the pizza menu, I was impressed to see quite a choice of different toppings on offer as well as the more common ones likemargheritaandquattro stagioni. Anna opted for one calledtartufella, which was a mixture of burrata cheese, white truffle cream, mortadella and crushed pistachio nuts. As we were by the seaside, I chose the house specialpizza ai frutti di mareand, when it arrived, I could barely see any of the base beneath a mountain of prawns, clams, mussels, octopus and squid rings. With perfectly cooked, thin dough it tasted as good as it looked.
I would like to be able to report that I had the strength of character not to allow myself to be tempted by the dessert menu but I told myself I was on holiday and, besides, falling into the sea and climbing back out again on a regular basis was surely burning off a healthy number of calories, so I opted for homemade apricot tart and ice cream.
By the time we reached the end of our meal, and coffees were served, I could definitely say that this had been one of the best meals I had ever had. At my feet, Oscar was also sporting a satisfied canine smile after subjecting Lina to his most convincingDan doesn’t feed melook that had resulted in him bagging a generous selection of titbits – plus, of course, some bits of pizza crust from me, as per our long-standing agreement.
After dinner, Anna and I took Oscar for a walk and, although I felt sure he would have loved a trip to the beach and the chance to go swimming again, the idea of sharing our room tonight with a soggy dog didn’t appeal to either of us, so we headed inland as far as the village and walked around the handful of narrow streets. I could well understand how in a little place like this, everybody would know everybody, and the presence of a predatory character like Ignazio Graziani – or, indeed, his brother – would have aroused indignation or more in the whole community. Once again, I wondered about the story of the attempted abduction twenty years earlier. If locals like the barista or Rita couldn’t confirm it, then I tended to believe that it most probably hadn’t happened. In all likelihood, it had been invented by somebody to embellish the exploits of the mob who had gone to old Signor Graziani’s house to insist that he banish his younger son from the island.
Although it was barely ten o’clock, the bar in the piazza was already closed and the dark streets were deserted. Night had fallen, the temperature had dropped a few degrees, and I felt sure most people were hunkered down trying to get some sleep before yet another hot day tomorrow. I did my best to switch off my detective brain for a few minutes and concentrated on absorbing the stimuli coming in from all around me. Although we were here on an island and the book I was writing was set well inland, I felt sure I could include the flickering of fireflies in the branches of trees, the heady scent of wisteria and the distant hooting of an owl when writing night scenes in and around San Gimignano. My editor was always telling me to be as descriptive as possible, so I did my best to soak up all the sounds and scents and try to find the right words to describe the interplay of the moonlight and the shadows. The bad news was that my current problem wasn’t with description; it was with the plot itself. I had a dead body lying at the bottom of a high tower and I had no idea who had caused the death. I was hoping that the fact that this was not dissimilar to the Graziani murders would help me, but until we solved those, I remained stuck. I was still thinking about this when we returned to the hotel and went to bed.
We were woken in the middle of the night by a flash of lightning that lit up the room, almost immediately followed by a clap of thunder that rattled the open windows and roused Oscar from dreams of swimming in the sea and prawn heads. He got up from his position on the cool, ceramic tiles by the bed and padded over to rest his nose on the mattress alongside me, his eyes glowing green in the moonlight. Outside the window, a torrential deluge came pouring down, sounding more like a waterfall than raindrops, accompanied by powerful gusts of wind that made the windows swing wildly. I reached out and gave Oscar’s head a reassuring stroke while my mind inevitably returned once again to the two mysterious deaths. Two highly unpopular brothers had been murdered in the same way within a few days of each other and everything was crying out to me to say that it had been the work of a single killer. There had to be something that linked them, but what could that be?
I was still pondering this when the worst of the storm finally passed over us and the rain stopped as suddenly as it had started, although I could hear the wind continue to blow. I felt Anna stir and turn towards me.
