Page 34 of Murder on an Italian Island
Sergeant Gallo didn’t waste any time. He clapped handcuffs onto Fabio Morso’s wrists and instructed two officers to take him straight back to the inspector for interrogation. Morso himself didn’t say a word to me or to anybody else as he was marched off, but the expression on his face spoke volumes. The patina of bonhomie that he had demonstrated when we’d questioned him at the hotel had been replaced by a sullen acceptance of his fate. He had been caught out, and now he knew he would have to face the consequences.
There was another surprise in store for us when we looked in through the cleverly concealed rear doorway. I peered into the gloom, expecting to see the inside of the empty shed, but found myself looking at a blank piece of timber only a few feet in front of me. It took me a moment before I realised that in fact, the hidden door led into a long, narrow corridor occupying the full width of the shed. The shed had been constructed with a false rear wall so as to create a hidden storeroom. Inside this storeroom, there was a stunning stone statue half as tall as I was of what looked like a Greek god. On a shelf alongside it, there were five beautiful black and orange bowls and a finely moulded terracotta head of a young boy with a curly fringe. I had no idea what the possible value of these pieces might be, but I had little doubt that I was looking at a treasure trove worth millions.
It was now clear why Morso had risked coming here. Somehow, he must have learned of Aldo’s cache of Etruscan treasures and had come to check that at least some of them had not yet been discovered by the police. I wished I’d thought to search his pockets before they took him away. The more I thought about it, the more I suspected that he had been the person that Anna had run into earlier. The yellow bike was probably what had stuck in her memory, and the fact that she had seen the shed doors open told me that he had come armed with a key, and almost certainly that key had come from Aldo Graziani’s pocket. As well as the attempted murder of Anna, it was looking ever more likely that Morso would also be facing the charge of murdering Aldo.
Virgilio and I stood discussing what had just happened and the chain of events began to crystallise in our minds. Presumably, five years ago, Aldo Graziani had learned of precious artefacts being unearthed and sold on the black market by Fabio Morso’s father, Ernesto. Blackmailing him with the threat of reporting him to the police, Aldo had been able to buy this land at a fraction of its real price and then erect this cleverly built shed over the top of the pit so he could operate with impunity. Old Ernesto Morso had died two months ago, and presumably, his son had decided to take revenge on the man he saw as responsible for his father’s decline and death. Maybe his father had left a letter or had revealed all to his son on his deathbed, and Fabio had hoped to help himself to a fortune in antiquities in the process.
Virgilio and I agreed that this seemed the most likely explanation, and hopefully, Anna’s memory would keep on coming back and she would soon be able to give a positive identification of at least the bike, if not her assailant. Catching Morso red-handed among the Etruscan treasures here provided proof that he had known about the artefacts and this linked him to Aldo’s death. Hopefully, the police would find the key to the shed in his possession – ideally with Aldo’s DNA on it – and this would provide yet another valuable piece of evidence to support the assertion that Fabio Morso had been responsible for his murder. The fact was, however, that unless he confessed, I questioned whether there was enough evidence for him to be sent for trial with a realistic prospect of a guilty verdict.
Either way, this still left us with the same unanswered question: what about Ignazio? Had Morso killed him by mistake, or had somebody completely different murdered him? Alternatively, had it been suicide, or had his death been an accident as Inspector Bellini had believed all along? I still had a feeling in my gut that Ignazio’s death had been murder, but, unless Morso held up his hand and admitted to it, it was looking increasingly as if the trail had gone cold. I glanced across at Virgilio and shrugged my shoulders.
‘Unless it was mistaken identity, I can see no reason why Morso should have killed Ignazio. It’s very possible that Ignazio was killed by his brother, who had a lot to gain from his death, but there’s no way we can prove that now. That leaves us with the couple from the antiques shop in Lucca. I suppose it’s possible they might have intended to kill Aldo on Saturday night, but in the dark, they ended up killing his brother, but there seems no logical reason why they would have wanted to kill the goose that produced the golden eggs. As for Teresa Franceschini, it looks like she’s in the clear if Morso killed Aldo. I can’t see that she had any motive to kill Ignazio and surely she wouldn’t have confused him for his brother. Tatsuo Tanaka has received a clean bill of health so I suppose we’re going to have to accept that Ignazio was either murdered by his brother, or his death may well have been an accident after all.’
Virgilio nodded slowly and there was resignation in his voice when he responded. ‘You’re right, of course, Dan, maybe it was an accident. It’s just that there’s something deep down inside me that still believes he was murdered but, like you say, there’s no hard evidence against anybody else, so I suppose I’m just going to have to let it go.’
I gave him a wry smile. ‘I know how you feel, but at least it means you and Lina should be able to enjoy a few days of peaceful holiday now. The same applies to me. I’m going to have to look after Anna when she comes out of hospital, so I have a feeling she and I will both be having a very quiet few days as well.’
He produced a little grin. ‘Don’t tell me you’re using Anna’s injuries as an excuse for giving up on your windsurfing course? I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to do that.’
To be honest, this was a bit too close to the truth, but I did my best to appear nonchalant. ‘No, I enjoyed the windsurfing – well, after the baptism of fire of the first day – so if she wants me to carry on, I will.’ I grinned back at him. ‘Although, between you and me, you’re right, and I’d be more than happy just to lie on the beach and try and forget everything that’s happened.’
I glanced at my watch and was mildly surprised to see that it was only six-thirty. So much had happened since I’d seen Anna in hospital little more than an hour ago. I toyed with the idea of calling her to tell her about Fabio Morso but decided to leave her in peace for tonight. Hopefully, a good sleep would help her recovery. Once again, I found myself thinking about what had so nearly happened, and what a cataclysmic effect her death would have had on me. It was ironic that it had taken an attempt on her life for me to realise how much she meant to me and how empty my life would be without her.
The now familiar sight of the scene of crime team van bumping up the track told us that there was nothing more for us here, so we bade farewell to Sergeant Gallo and headed back in the direction of the hotel. As we walked through the campsite and past the pointing finger marked Reception, I wondered whether Piero Fontana would now release Teresa, or whether he intended to keep her in custody. As far as I could see, unless she had admitted to murdering Ignazio – and I was still at a loss to see why she should have done that – or been involved with the illicit antiquities trade, he had nothing on her. Maybe the events of the last few days would even work in her favour and she might find herself promoted to manager of the whole Graziani empire.
Virgilio went off to look for Lina while I went out onto the terrace and slumped down at our table. Oscar followed suit at my feet with a heartfelt sigh. I knew how he felt. It had been an eventful day and I felt pretty weary – although I had to confess that the huge lunch might have contributed – so when the waitress came out, I ordered a freshly pressed lemonade rather than anything alcoholic. It was still early and none of the other guests had appeared, so I sat back and did my best to relax. It was still light enough to see across the water to the mainland of Tuscany and I found myself wondering if an Etruscan miner had once sat in this very same spot and relaxed after a hard day in the iron mine. Presumably, somebody had chosen the old shaft as a perfect spot in which to hide the precious statues, although mystery still surrounded their origin. Maybe there really had once been a settlement or even a temple up there, and Stefano would be able to find its remains and enhance his thesis.
My mind then inevitably went back to the writer’s block that had been plaguing me for weeks and I found myself analysing the way this case appeared to be resolving itself, in the hope that something here might help me with the problem I faced in my work of fiction. Now that Morso had been arrested, I played with the revenge scenario in my head as I sipped my lemonade. But revenge for what? Had the dead man in San Gimignano cheated somebody as Aldo had done, or had it been an affair of the heart? Maybe if I introduced a love interest…?
As far as the first death here was concerned, there was always the possibility that Ignazio had deliberately thrown himself off the cliff, although I had serious doubts about that. What, I wondered, might have driven the character in my book to do the same? Desperation or guilt, but about what? And, of course, it was still feasible and maybe even probable that Ignazio had simply stumbled over the edge under the influence of an awful lot of alcohol. Maybe the Graziani case was going to be of no help to me and my writer’s block at all.
I was still mulling all this over when my phone started ringing. I was delighted to see that it was Anna.
‘Ciao, Anna, it’s great to hear from you.’ At my feet, I saw Oscar look up and wag his tail as he heard me say her name. ‘Oscar sends his love – and so do I. How are you feeling?’
‘I feel a whole lot better. The nurse brought me a plate of lasagne and I managed to eat most of it. It wasn’t quite up to the standard of the Hotel Augustus, but it wasn’t bad for hospital food.’ She sounded more animated and I felt an overwhelming feeling of relief. ‘Anyway, the reason I’m calling is to tell you that I’ve gradually been remembering more about what happened. That yellow thing I saw at the shed, it was a bike, one of those chunky mountain bikes. I’m sure of it. It was leaning against the inside of the doorframe. Does that help?’
‘That helps enormously.’ I went on to tell her what had happened since I had last seen her and how this snippet of information from her was likely to prove highly significant. We chatted some more and I told her I would come to the hospital at nine the next morning to see if she was going to be discharged. As soon as the call ended, I phoned the inspector and passed on what Anna had just told me.
He gave a satisfied grunt. ‘That’s excellent news. Morso has been stonewalling, but we checked the contents of his pockets and we found two sets of keys. One set matches his house and car, but the others are confirmed as belonging to Aldo Graziani and one of them is a long, flat security key. We’ve checked and, yes, it’s the key to the shed. Morso’s prints are all over the inside of the shed and, in particular, on the trapdoor in the floor leading to the pit with the statues. I think we’ve got him.’
‘For the attempted murder of Anna and trafficking, yes, but what about Aldo’s murder? Any evidence to link him to that, apart from the keys?’
‘The keys are pretty damning. There’s no way Aldo would have handed over the keys to his villa and the campsite along with the key to the shed unless he was pressured. A German couple at the campsite claim to have seen somebody of Morso’s description with Aldo just before midnight on Monday. The two men were walking by the shore. We’re organising an identity parade, and hopefully, that will be the final bit of proof we need.’
‘That sounds excellent. What about Teresa or the Giardino couple?’
‘That’s the other bit of good news. Once it sank in that we suspected the Giardino couple of being Aldo’s murderers, they caved in and admitted being the local handlers for Etruscan antiquities, although they vehemently deny any involvement in either death. They’ve told us that Aldo was indeed their contact here and, most interesting of all, they said that they took a phone call at lunchtime today from none other than Fabio Morso, keen to pick up the business that his father started. We’ve checked the phones and it’s as they say. I don’t think they’re murderers, but we’ve passed them on to the TPC, and they are going to be in big trouble with theCarabinieri.’
‘And Teresa? Any involvement in either of the murders or in the antiquities racket?’
‘No to both, I think. I’ve given her a rocket for lying to us about her relationship with Aldo and I’ve told her I could still charge her with obstructing a murder investigation, but I’ve released her and I see no point in having anything more to do with her. It’s clear to me that she made a cynical decision to initiate a relationship with Aldo in the hope of getting her hands on his money. She’s a tough character, but I don’t see her as a murderer and we have nothing else on her.’
‘And Ignazio’s death?’
‘Given that we have a complete absence of any kind of evidence against anybody, including Fabio Morso, it’s looking more and more likely that Bellini was right. The man was hopelessly drunk and he fell off the clifftop all by himself. I’ll give it until tomorrow and then, unless anything else turns up, I’ll leave it as misadventure.’
When the call ended, I sat there holding the phone, reflecting on what Fontana had said. With no proof to the contrary, it looked as though the death of Ignazio Graziani would remain a mystery. It was frustrating but there was little I could do about it. I glanced down at Oscar, who was stretched out on the floor, eyes closed.
