Broken Chord (14 page)

“Isn’t anyone going to ask me how Roberto is doing?” Marianna asked in a conversational tone.

Teo and Lapo looked quite astonished.

Isabella asked kindly, “How is Roberto?”

“Thank you, Isabella. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that his bruised kidneys are improving and actually working properly, and that soon he’ll have the first of a series of operations on his left leg. The doctors expect him to walk normally after physiotherapy.”

“How pleased we all are,” remarked Lapo.

“Good, because he’s going to be your brother-in-law as soon as he can walk to the town hall, or maybe even before that, so it’s only right that you should be concerned about him.”

This was greeted with total silence.

“Isn’t anyone going to congratulate me?”

“I will,” said Isabella, “although I’m not sure I believe in marriage anymore.”

“Well, it does depend on the couple but I know it’s the right thing for us, for me. Some people can make it and their marriages last for donkey’s years. Others, like Mamma, romp through a series of partners. And there are those who will never marry,” she said thoughtfully.

“Like me,” said Lapo. “I think that marriage is an outdated primitive custom. It means nothing in this day and age.”

“Well, it means something to me and to Roberto.”

“How charming. I suppose you’re going to live in a little cottage with roses round the door and have two children, first a little boy and then a pretty little girl.” His voice was mocking.

“No, not at all. I want to live in this house and if you must know, Mamma told me she would leave it to me.”

“When did she tell you that?”

“When she inherited it from aunt Agnese. You, Lapo, get the Palazzo in Florence and Teo gets the one in Venice, but this one’s mine.”

“She told you all this?”

“Yes. Didn’t you know?”

“No, I didn’t. I had no idea.” Lapo sounded incredulous. “Well, I suppose I’d never thought about it actually. Mamma looked good for years so why should I think about my inheritance? ”

“Well, it’s not as if I asked her. She just told me one day. She also told me I get the emeralds.”

Teo looked annoyed, “I would have thought they’d go to me for the girls.”

“Well, unless she changed her mind they go to me.”

“Of course if you murdered her, you forfeit everything,” Lapo pointed out.

“Thank you, Lapo, I’m well aware of that but I didn’t murder her so I get my inheritance. What about you?”

“Oh, I’m fine and so is Teo. He can’t have done it, his stomach is too delicate and if Isabella did it without his knowledge, he’ll still be alright. Of course if they were in it together…”

“Stop!” shouted Teo. “Have you any idea what you’re laughing and joking about. Our mother was brutally knifed over and over again; even her eyes were gouged out. Her hair was hacked off. She was a bloody mess, like something out of a horror film, so shut up.” He put his hand over his mouth and rushed out of the room.

Isabella pushed back her chair and followed him.

“Lapo, you go too far,” said Marianna.

“Well, how was I to know? No one told us the facts.”

“You shouldn’t joke about death.”

“Why not? It’s just a change of situation, a shedding of old
clothes. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Nothing means anything to you, does it?”

“No, not really.”

Dragonetti and Vanessa came in late from the concert which had taken place out of doors in a piazza in a hill town near Florence. Listening to Debussy and Ravel, he’d managed to shake off the oppressive von Bachmann family and felt as though he was in another world, perhaps back in the real world. They finished up the evening as he’d hoped. They made love as though they hadn’t seen each other for months.

“I’m so glad my job means I have to travel so much. The best thing about going away is coming back,” murmured Vanessa. “It’s like a continual honeymoon. Will it always be this good?”

“I sincerely hope so.”

But during the night, unpleasant images, a kaleidoscope of the day’s events, came into his mind. The von Bachmann murder transformed into a Greek tragedy set on a stark stage. He heard the discordant notes of Richard Strauss’s music for Elektra. The mutilated body of Ursula von Bachmann played a major part in this dream. It rose from a gaping tomb centre stage, the blue eye staring at him implacably as though he were in some way responsible for her condition. A voice emanated from somewhere within her and although he knew she was speaking to him he couldn’t understand her. The heat was appalling and he could smell her death again. Then he was transported to the stuffy bedroom with its opulent drapes. Her children stood beside him staring down at their mother’s body, lying as he had seen it on the bed. He turned towards them and asked, ‘If this is matricide, which of you did it?’ Tebaldo was pale and trembled, his hands clasped across his belly as he shook his head in answer. Marianna stood remote and silent, like a statue, and gave him the impression his question had seriously offended her, but Lapo laughed and laughed, contorting his misshapen body, until the noise allowed Drago to wrench himself out of the nightmare. At the same moment he became aware that it was Rossini who had woken him by crying softly
in his ear. He got out of bed and tried to shake off the horror. The cat followed him mewing plaintively.

“You can’t be hungry now,” Drago told it, but the cat’s food plate was empty. He poured out some more dried food and watched the kitten set to work cracking the hard pellets between strong little teeth.

He thought about the mutilated corpse again, asking himself if Marianna’s icy face was that of a murderer or if her twisted beautiful brother had been the one who had plunged a knife into his mother.

He looked at the clock. It was three in the morning and his eyes were sore. He went into the bathroom, turned on a tap and threw handfuls of cold water into his face. The face that looked at him in the mirror was that of a tired old man. He groaned and dried himself before padding back to the bedroom. Vanessa lay on her back, one arm raised above her head and resting on the pillow. Her hair was spread out all over it. Even in sleep she was beautiful. He bent over and kissed her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered and she murmured something before turning over onto one side. He got into bed and fitted his body against hers. The feel of her skin, warm living flesh, pushed the nightmare from his mind. He held her close to him. Then he plunged back into sleep.

It was a hard night too, for those who lived in Ursula’s villa. Marta paced the bedroom floor and then went down to the kitchen to make herself a chamomile tea. She found Isabella was already there on a similar errand.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Marta.

“For what. Neither of us can sleep, so here we are. We might as well keep each other company.” They sat down and sipped their tea together.

“Lapo has gone out,” said Isabella in an accusatory tone.

“Poor boy. We all cope as best we can when tragedy strikes. That’s his way of dealing with pain.”

Isabella made no further comment, but her own feeling was that he didn’t give a damn.

Marianna sat in her bedroom watching television for a while, then after a shower she got into bed and allowed herself to daydream. She was like Lapo to some extent. She wasn’t going to allow her mother’s death to mess up her life. The only difference was that she thought he didn’t even have to try, but she did. It took a great deal of effort for her to put it out of her mind, especially after what Teo had said, but her dreams of a life with Roberto were so satisfying that she slipped into sleep, unaware of the transition, for she carried on dreaming her dreams in her sleep.

Lapo cruised the streets until he found what he was looking for: a young woman who was very beautiful and perfect in every way, apart from her sex, for she was a man. Recently Lapo had taken a great liking to these strange creatures, who were neither one thing nor the other, but had the attributes of both. It was like masturbating to put your hand up a woman’s dress and feel her cock.

No thoughts of his mother’s death perturbed him. It was as though nothing had happened. He gave himself up to pleasure, only coming home at four in the morning, as usual. Marta heard him come in and breathed a sigh of relief. Her boy was home. That was all that mattered.

Piero, too, had a disturbed night. The murder weighed heavily on his mind. He was tortured with images of Ursula’s body as described by his wife. He saw a hand thrusting a knife over and over again, and then wielding it to mutilate and profane her dead body. He groaned in his sleep and kept resurfacing, only to plunge even further down into horror. He became aware that Marta had left the bed and he heard her when she returned, but during her absence he was in the chamber of death. He heard Lapo come in and was aware that Marta was awake too and knew that she had been waiting for Lapo’s return before finally allowing herself to sleep. At five thirty when dawn was breaking, he finally abandoned all hopes of sleeping and got up. He sat in the kitchen alone and watched the day dawn and remembered things he would rather forget.

The next morning Dragonetti drank his coffee and blew cigarette smoke out of the open window, as he stared once again at the blue sky. Everything looked so normal but he was about to deal with something that few people could begin to imagine. Vanessa ate a bowl of muesli with fresh fruit and remarked, “You should eat a proper breakfast, Jacopo.”

He smiled at her. She looked so young and healthy. His own breakfast was always coffee and a cigarette. “It’s too late for me to change the habits of a lifetime.”

“Bruno will be back today, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You look very tired.”

“I am tired. Rossini woke me up at three for food.”

“He’s always hungry.”

“Making up for lost time, poor chap.”

“I was thinking we must have Bruno and Rosy over for a meal.”

“Good. You set it up. I’m off, back to the horror.”

“Is it so terrible?”

“Appalling. I had a nightmare about it. Did you see that production of Strauss’s Elektra?”

“The Maggio Musicale one, with earth all over the stage?”

“Yes. Well, that’s what the dream was like, only it was the von Bachmann family. In my dream I kept thinking it was matricide”

“You think her son killed her?”

“No, I have no idea. Any of them could’ve done it.”

“Is there a dead father that needs avenging in the picture?”

“They all have different fathers, all of whom are out of the picture, and none of whom were assassinated.”

“Oh well then. I expect the Elektra dream was just because you know it could have been matricide.”

“Well, let’s say I don’t think it has any relevance to the case.”

She laughed. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you could solve your cases in your sleep?”

He bent and kissed the top of her head. “I’m off. I’ve got to fill Bruno in before we start the interviews with the family.”

“Have a good day.” she said in English.

“Don’t! Please! You know I hate that phrase.”

“Go on, go and solve your case, and let me enjoy my breakfast in peace.”

Guido showered and dressed with care. He had been allowed to collect some of his clothing from the villa. Another linen suit, navy this time, echoing Dragonetti’s suit the previous day but worn with the palest of pink shirts. His socks were navy and his thin leather shoes were black. He put on his Rolex, a gift from Ursula, and the beautiful signet ring that she had given him. Understated elegance was what he aimed for and checking himself in the mirror before he left the hotel, he believed he’d achieved it.

He was well aware that he was a prime suspect, and with good reason, but he adopted the demeanour of the innocent and bereaved fiancé. Would it convince the police? Well, he’d do his best.

Breakfast at the villa was as grim as the other meals they’d taken together since Ursula’s death. All of them, with the exception of Marianna, looked the worse for wear. Marta, who brought the food in, was positively haggard and no one else looked much better. Only Marianna, who sat serenely at the head of the table was eating anything like a normal breakfast, not a lot, but with
apparent enjoyment. The others picked at their food and consumed huge quantities of coffee. Even Isabella refrained from eating. Lapo had dark rings under his eyes from lack of sleep but it hadn’t been thoughts of his mother’s death that had kept him awake. He yawned and poured himself a third coffee. The children were unusually silent and well behaved, aware of a strange atmosphere and for the first time also aware that their grandmother was not present.

“Where’s Granny?” asked Camilla.

“She’s not well,” muttered Isabella.

“The doctor came yesterday.” A statement which Isabella ignored. “I saw a policeman. He was very nice,” her daughter continued. No one answered her.

“Why did the policeman come?” Camilla persisted.

“He had some business to do.” That effectively put a stop to the questions. Business was a term used to explain anything the children couldn’t understand. To them, it was a strange activity that adults seemed to carry out behind closed doors. This answer seemed to satisfy them and they applied themselves to their cereal without further questions. No one else spoke.

Marta came in and announced, “There’s someone to see you, Signor Tebaldo.” Her eyes sent him a message of warning.

“Of course.” Teo leapt up from his chair as though grateful for an excuse to leave the room. In the entrance hall he found Maresciallo Spadaccia.

“Ah, Signor von Bachmann, Dottor Dragonetti would like all of you, that is yourself, your wife, Signora Isabella, Signor Lapo Rama, Signorina Marianna Ghiberti and Signora Marta Lotti, to come to his office, at the Procura, this morning.”

“Not Piero?”

“No, not this morning. Just one other thing. You’re aware that your mother’s bedroom has been sealed.” Teo nodded. “As well as an area in the garden below her balcony. I want to make quite sure that you all understand that it’s a criminal offence to enter those areas.”

“Yes, we do know that.”

“Good. Thank you, sir.” Maresciallo Spadaccia managed
to stop himself from saluting, which was something he did automatically in the presence of the aristocracy, and he knew Tebaldo von Bachmann had blue blood on his father’s side.

“There are two officers to deal with the press.” Teo nodded and went back to the breakfast room. “We all have to go to the
Procura
this morning.”

“For business?” piped Camilla.

“Yes, for business.”

“Who’s going to look after the children?”

“Piero has been exempt from the summons so perhaps he can.”

“What about Marta?”

“Nope, she comes with us.

Marianna said, “Perhaps Isabella could go first and when she gets back, you could go, Teo, or the other way round. I can’t see Piero wanting to baby-sit.”

“I’m not a baby,” Arabella objected.

“Of course you aren’t.” Her mother reassured her. “I’ll stay with the children until Teo gets back.”

“Right, that’s settled then. I’ll just go down to the kitchen and tell Marta. Shall we say we’ll leave in about half an hour?”

“Fine.” the others agreed.

Bruno, back from his holiday in Sardinia was even more tanned than usual. He had a southern physiognomy: the heart-shaped Latin face and dark eyes, thick short black hair and a small, neat body. He was remarkably well-dressed and paid great attention to other people’s clothes as well as his own. Although he was so elegant there was nothing effeminate about him. His body was muscular and firm and he was very strong. Few people knew that he had a karate black belt and had won numerous competitions. His relationship with Jacopo Dragonetti, whom he affectionately called Drago, was good. They were friends who shared a social life and respected each other’s judgement and ability.

“So, how was your holiday, Bruno?”

“Wonderful. It’s your turn next.”

“And Rosy?”

“She had a great time. It was good.”

Rosy was the last in a long line of blonde women that Bruno had dated. Unlike the others she was divorced and had a small child. She was a lawyer and a feminist activist, who specialised in divorce and was a staunch defender of women’s rights. Bruno had been seeing her for over a year and it looked as though he’d finally found the woman of his life.

“Good, I’m happy for you.”

“How’s Vanessa?”

“Fine. She’s got a lot of work in the summer with all these music festivals so I haven’t had her around much lately. But it’s working out. I’m taking the girls on holiday with Vanessa this year.”

“What will that be like?”

“Good, I hope. They seem to like her. She’s worked very hard at it.”

“Rosy’s child likes me, but then she’s only three.”

“Perhaps she’ll go off you later. Teenagers can be hell.” Drago laughed at him.

“Yours aren’t, are they?”

“Well, sometimes they are.”

“I suppose if I get married I should have a child of my own.”

“One usually does in the end.”

“I quite like the idea and my mother would be overjoyed, but only if it’s a boy,” said Bruno, tongue in cheek.

Dragonetti laughed. “Of course, to carry on the name. It’s ridiculous in this day and age that girls can’t carry on the family name.”

“Well, I suppose they can if their partner is willing.”

They grinned at each other and sipped their morning coffee. On the drive to work Dragonetti had decided to stop smoking. Sometimes it seemed to him as though his whole life centred around smoking or not smoking. It took a superhuman effort for him to stop and but a second for him to start again. Bruno, who was a staunch anti-smoker, enjoyed the smoke-free periods which
he knew from experience never lasted very long. When he was smoke-free, Dragonetti got through vast amounts of chewing gum which he would chew frenetically and then after a while spit out with disgust before slipping a fresh minty piece into his mouth to replace it. He usually alternated the chewing gum with mints. As the smokeless days went by, his chewing would become more and more frenetic and Bruno would recognise the symptoms of an imminent return to cigarettes. He watched with interest as Drago pushed his coffee cup aside and popped a piece of chewing gum into his mouth.

“So, you were saying, Ursula von Bachmann, the rich lady, was brutally murdered yesterday. Who did it?”

“I wish I knew. I don’t even have a time of death. The pathologist who came was very vague. He said, ‘sometime in the early hours of the morning’ and then to cover himself said, ‘any time from ten in the evening till six in the morning’. Since he saw her at ten o’clock in the morning I expected better than that, but he muttered about the heat and wouldn’t be pinned down. In my opinion he doesn’t know his arse from his elbow. At least we know at what time she ate so we’ve something to go on. The autopsy is today, or at least I hope it is. Everyone’s on holiday and they’ve had to search high and low for a competent pathologist. Anyway, they’ve told me Aldo Bobbio’s coming in to do it.”

“Good, at least we know he’s capable.”

“Only the best for such an excellent cadaver. I doubt he would have come for an Albanian immigrant.”

“Who are the suspects?”

“Well the family, of course. There are two sons, a daughter, and a daughter-in-law. There are two faithful servants and a toy boy, who was about to become her fourth husband, until they had a terrific fight the day before she died.”

“Sounds promising.”

“Well, the daughter-in-law couldn’t stand her, the daughter wasn’t particularly distressed, the eldest son, Tebaldo, kept throwing up and the other one, Lapo, had a severe asthma attack. The faithful servants were very distraught and the toy boy burst
into tears. Take your pick. Any one of them could have done it. Until we have forensics on this we’re nowhere.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Just to spice things up the victim received two anonymous letters recently, which seemed to accuse her of being responsible for German atrocities in the town during World War 2 and threatened her if she didn’t leave the area. Oh, and the male faithful servant didn’t show the Signora the letters and went to the police himself, but only after he received the second one. He only told her about it the evening before her death, because she needed to go to the police station and fill in forms”

“And no one has any idea who sent the letters?”

“Nope. That’s it. Ursula’s background is in this file, and her kids’, such as they are, in this one. We also have a file on Guido della Rocca, the toy boy, who has sailed very near to the wind on several occasions. He’s an antique dealer and not too scrupulous about where his stuff comes from. So far we’ve got nothing on him. Rumour has it he supplies a few well-known politicians so he’s got protection. The anonymous letters are here,” he fished a plastic envelope out of the file and dangled it in front of Bruno’s face, “and that’s the lot.”

“Who do you fancy?”

“I don’t. I don’t have any idea who did it. Anyone could have, but apparently no one had a real reason.”

“That you know of.”

“Right, so we’ll have to start digging until a motive comes up. There has to be one.”

“What about an outsider, a burglar?”

“Nothing was taken, no doors were forced, no windows shattered, although the bedroom shutters to the balcony were open. Apparently that was unusual. There are no signs that anyone climbed up to the bedroom, but I suppose it could have happened. There’s a thick wisteria trunk, so access would have been quite easy. According to her family, Ursula had a pathological fear of burglars and always locked the shutters at night. However, because of the brutality, the gratuitous mutilation of her body, I’m more
inclined to think it was someone who knew her and hated her.”

“You say that she and the toy boy had a row. What was that about?”

“He’s not saying and no one else knows. I’m seeing him first thing this morning. Oh, he faints if he sees blood and has witnesses to that. He’s a very delicate flower. The thing is that this woman wasn’t just murdered. Someone went to work on her body in the most vicious manner imaginable. They even hacked off her hair and gouged out an eye.”

“That does sound very personal.”

“That’s what I think. Someone hated her guts and enjoyed doing what they did. It could have been retribution, a sort of, ‘take that for what you did to me.’”

“So we have to find out what she did.”

“It might be something quite small, the last straw in a lifetime of small things, or it could be something huge.”

“Like calling off the marriage.”

“Precisely.”

“Anyway, Guido della Rocca’s due to arrive shortly so you’ll see for yourself what he’s like. I think you’ll approve of his clothes.”

Bruno smiled. “I’ll try not to let that affect my judgement.”

Guido was ushered in and entered the room on a waft of expensive designer aftershave that Bruno automatically identified. He saw a man, whom he judged to be about forty, superbly dressed, with longish, black, glossy, curly hair, which he reckoned had to be dyed. He had dark blue eyes with very heavy lids and fine cheekbones. Quite a prize for Ursula who must have been much older. Guido glanced at Bruno, took in the clothes which were as good as his own and gave a half smile in recognition of this fact. Bruno felt an instant surge of dislike. Guido was an easily identifiable type; a parasite, a gigolo or a toy boy, the answer to a rich old woman’s prayers, one of those who adopted the manners, style and attitudes of the rich from whom they fed, a man accustomed to the art of pleasing, ready to sell himself, though this one had wanted to be paid with a marriage certificate.