Property of Blood (16 page)

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, there wasn’t that much wrong with her. A few cracked ribs that will mend themselves, a couple of hours on a drip, two or three stitches, and a vitamin shot. I’ve brought dogs round from worse than that.’

‘But… I heard this morning—’

‘That she’d been put down? Yes, well, so she would have been if Caterina had got her way but the vet had the good sense to ring me. He’s my vet, too, you see, and he knows Tessie always stays here when Olivia’s away for any length of time so he told me to come and get her. She’s such a little darling—not a drop of decent blood in her—I always say her mother ran away from a circus and got laid by the first stray male she laid eyes on. What do you think?’

The Marshal was speechless.

‘You know, you have a look of an absolutely darling English bulldog I once had. Died of distemper, poor bugger. Do you know much English?’

'No, none, I’m afraid.’

‘Pity. Could have shown you an article about him in an English magazine. It’s worth reading. Sit down. Do you mind sitting out here? It’s such a pleasant day. I love winter sunshine and just look at the crocuses. I don’t think they’ve ever made a better show. If only Olivia were here.’

They sat on wrought iron chairs at a rustic table with a fine view of the dogs’ unsuccessful attempts at distracting the grazing pony among the olive trees. It was indeed a pleasant day. Every so often, a big grey cloud blotted out the sunshine and the Marshal took the opportunity to blot his eyes before replacing his dark glasses.

‘Must you wear those things?’

‘I’m afraid so. It’s an allergy I have.’

The huge brown dog came bounding back to them and stood panting before the Marshal with a hopeful gaze fixed on him.

‘No, Caesar. We’re not going. We have to talk. Go and play with the others. Go on! What sort of allergy?’

‘I—ah, the sun. The sun hurts my eyes.’

‘That must make life difficult. Sicilian, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. From Syracuse.’

‘Ah. Still, you don’t seem a bad sort.’

‘Thank you. Can I ask you about Caterina Brunamonti?’

‘Poisonous bloody girl. Never say so in front of Olivia, would be more than my life’s worth. What about her?’

‘Well…that, I suppose. Do you feel she’s jealous of her mother?’

‘If you like. Lot of girls are, if the mother’s successful—and of course, Olivia’s a beautiful woman, too. But Caterina’s problem is she’s barking mad like her father. Have they told you she won’t part with a penny?’

‘For the ransom? No. I’ve just been discussing the problem with Mister Hines but we … we didn’t discuss money.’

‘Why not? Money’s what this is about. Those two kids have got twenty thousand dollars each invested in the States—I shouldn’t be telling you this but somebody’s got to speak up and I’m giving every lira I can lay my hands on in the time to save Olivia, so to hell with it. Leonardo’s already offered what he’s got but she won’t cough up a penny. Do you know she sold Olivia’s jewelry? Everything Patrick gave her—most of the Brunamonti stuff went years ago to pay off Ugo’s debts but the few bits that remain the little madam will keep herself—have you seen those diamonds she’s wearing? That’s her mother’s engagement ring from Ugo and it was his mother’s. Nor will she give her signature to a mortgage on what she calls her father’s house. Can you believe that?
Her father’s house!
The family inheritance shouldn’t be touched for someone who is, after all, an outsider. Olivia’s business should be borrowed on or sold up instead—it’s so shaming to have the family name dirtied by trade. You follow?’

‘And a Brunamonti wife doesn’t go out to work … someone told me that’s why her husband left her.’

‘Quite right. And since Caterina has no talents, no qualifications, and no skills, it has been decided that a Brunamonti daughter doesn’t go out to work, either.’

‘And university?’

‘I should have added “no brains”. Won’t last the year out.’

‘I’m afraid you’re right. She told me she’s already left…’

‘Blaming Olivia’s kidnapping?’

‘Yes. Yes, she did say—’

‘Barking mad. Olivia tried to fit her into the business in a dozen different ways but it was always a disaster. So she decided it was beneath her dignity. She’d like to push the fashion workshops out and shut herself into that great house and play the Contessa Brunamonti for all it’s worth. It’s all she’s got.’

‘But how would she survive?’

‘How did her father survive? He didn’t and neither would she. I must say, though, that dear old Ugo was adorable as a young man. Mad but fascinating. I was a bit in love with him myself when we were teenagers.’

‘You didn’t marry then?’ She wore no rings.

‘Four times. Tedious business. Most men are boring. No time now, not with the dogs. Besides, I have much more fun with my women friends like Olivia. Olivia’s a wonderful woman and I really admire her. That’s why I’m lending them money but it’s not enough. I’d like to know where they got the idea that Olivia was worth eight billion lire!’

The Marshal told her.

‘That dreadful man!’

‘You know him?’

‘I don’t know him, but Olivia dragged me to that ghastly exhibition of his with all those weird pictures of Caterina. That girl’s so stupid she thought he’d pay her for modelling but all she got was a signed picture of herself in a ballet frock.’

‘Yes. I saw that.’

‘You did? Well, that’s all you’ll see her doing in a ballet frock. Posing. And poor Olivia spent a fortune on her dancing lessons—five days a week and enough fancy outfits for a prima ballerina—until the crunch came and she was politely asked to remove herself. Can you imagine her dancing? Could never sit a horse, either. Groom I had years ago was supposed to teach her to ride here. Drove him mad. You should have seen the fancy riding outfits Olivia bought her! She’d arrive here and while the groom was riding Pegasus in for her she’d sit there criticizing his riding! Then, as soon as she was in the saddle, it was “I want to get down! Get me down!” Pegasus eventually obliged, dumped her in a ditch, and we were saved any further nuisance. No doubt, you’ve been shown the photograph of her on horseback, too.’

'Yes. Yes, I saw it on her wall ‘Looking like she’s got a broom handle stuck up her ass—isn’t that what Americans say?’

‘I don’t really—’

‘I married an American once. Fun while it lasted but then he would insist on going back to America so we had to part company. He liked sailing. Drowned. Pity, really. It’s getting chilly out here. Can I offer you something in the house? Whiskey? I’ll call Silvia.’

‘Silvia?’

‘Olivia’s maid. I told you I was going to bring her here. I’m keeping her until Olivia’s home. She’s pretty useless, as a matter of fact, but I have her help me wash the dogs. Whiskey? Or something else? Do you prefer red wine?’

The Marshal refused the wine but he went away as cheered and warmed as though he’d drunk it. The woman alarmed him a bit but he trusted her, trusted her heart and her intelligence. After a word with the Captain, it would be worth trying to convince her to let them treat the banknotes she passed to the family, in the hope of tracing them afterwards. It did happen, though much depended on the recycling possibilities of the kidnapper, which, in the case of Puddu, would be legion, given his contacts in every part of the criminal fraternity. Yet again he had reason to wish that the kidnapper had been Salis.

At home that evening, he showered and changed out of uniform before appearing in the kitchen. Teresa was relieved. He had been absentminded and low-spirited for about as long as she could bear without losing her temper. And if she asked him what was wrong, all she got was the usual repertoire of how was he to manage if his men kept being taken for duties not rightly theirs and Lorenzini running the place single-handed …

She began cautiously, ‘You look well. Good news?’

He gave her a hug from behind but no news.

‘I’m hungry.’

‘Well, that’s certainly not news. It’s just a slice of steak and tossed beets but I got you some of those nice floury rolls you like so much.’

He ate his supper with relish and, after it, allowed himself to be propelled into the boys’ room to give the long promised lecture to Toto about studying more and improvising less. He thought he did it rather well. It was very solemn, about three lines long, and accompanied by a ferocious stare.

Toto said, ‘Oh,
Dad…
.’

The only snippet of news he told Teresa at bedtime was about Tessie, believed dead, found living happily in a country house.

‘Oh, Salva, let’s hope that poor woman will soon be safe at home. Is there no news of her?’

‘The Captain feels sure she’s still alive. The family is intending to pay up, I think, but they don’t seem to have the full amount and they’ve cut us out, which may put the victim in danger.’

‘But can’t you do anything?’

‘Not until we know exactly where she is, and even then it would be very risky.’

If he didn’t talk to her about the Contessa Cavicchioli Zelli, though he knew she loved to hear about such characters, it was because it would be bound to lead to their talking about Caterina Brunamonti. The question of Caterina Brunamonti had blocked his vision of the facts in the case up to now because he had been unable to acknowledge what he suspected. Now he was unable to speak of what he had acknowledged.

Nevertheless, he slept better than he had since the case had begun. No muddled dreams of dogs and photographs tormented him, and, however unpleasant a morning awaited him, he faced it with the quiet determination that comes with clarity of vision. He had to start all over again, listening to the people he had already listened to, but this time fitting the words to the subtext and understanding them. Though he was in no way obliged to do it, he took things in their original order, so getting the worst over first.

He rang her from his office and, as he waited for her to answer, he thought of that first sight of her, sitting bolt upright in the empty chair that faced him now, her head turned a little to one side, tense and watchful, the diamonds shining softly on her pointed hands.

‘Hello?’ As she spoke, her long white body in the doorway superimposed itself.
‘I
knew
you’d change your mind.’
The memory of the chilly, sneering voice made him shiver again. ‘Who’s speaking, please?’

He pulled himself together. He must keep a grip, tread carefully. The one thing that wasn’t yet clear was what she wanted from him. Barking mad, the Contessa had said. He felt afraid because he understood now how difficult it must be for her brother to defend himself or his unfortunate mother from someone so weak. Weak and demanding as an infant. The trouble was, she wasn’t an infant, she was big enough to do damage. He talked to her briefly, every sense prickling, alert, trying to work out what she was using him for.

‘Since they don’t want you coming here, I can come to your office, can’t I?’

Why?
Why?
‘It might not be a good idea to be seen—’

‘I don’t mind being seen. I’ve told everyone I’m the only person cooperating with you. Nobody can say it’s my fault if Olivia isn’t saved.’

So there was his answer. Keep the money and ostentatiously help the carabinieri so ‘nobody can say it’s my fault’

The Marshal felt his stomach turn cold. In an expressionless voice, he advised her not to ask the others questions but only to observe and report what she found out.

‘I’m going to,’ she said. ‘You’ll see.’

‘I’d like a word with your bro—’ But she had hung up.

He tried to get the brother again at intervals throughout the morning but the telephone was always answered by the sister and he never succeeded in getting past her.

‘He’s busy with other matters so I’m vetting all the calls. You’ve no idea how many people are pestering us all day long.’

‘I imagine they’re concerned about your mother.’

‘Well, there are far too many of them. The phone’s never free when I need to use it. It’s ridiculous. Some people have no common sense.’

He gave up.

He talked to Captain Maestrangelo in the Prosecutor’s office. Fusarri was alert and interested and smoking his tiny cigars at an incredible rate.

The Captain looked worried. ‘If you’ve lost the men and you don’t trust the daughter, what are our chances of marking those notes?’

‘Good,’ the Marshal said.

‘Who?’ asked Fusarri. ‘Cavicchioli Zelli?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought as much. Why do you say so?’

‘Because I trust her. And …’

‘And?’

‘Because it’s her money. It’s the only hope of ever getting any of it back.’

‘How many times have you seen her, as a matter of interest?’

‘Twice.’

Fusarri stubbed out a cigar and threw up his hands. ‘Maestrangelo, I don’t know how you discovered it but this man’s a genius!’

The Marshal frowned. He was accustomed to being made fun of but this was no time for levity. Fusarri got up and started pacing up and down his elegant office, stretching his legs and arms with relish as though ready for some interesting action.

‘I’ve known Elettra all my life and you have understood her perfectly. I’ll get her to let us treat the notes. Go on. The planner?’

‘If it’s the man I think it is…well, I thought perhaps you or the Captain—’

‘No. Too heavy. Don’t want him skipping town. What do you say, Maestrangelo?’

T think that’s true—that it would be too heavy, though I don’t think he’d leave. I arrested him for the villa art thefts. He’s cool and very, very arrogant. Guarnaccia suggests we go in on a routine check about a stolen painting, just take a look around.’

‘A stolen painting?’ Fusarri raised an eyebrow. ‘And do you have a stolen painting in mind, Marshal?’

‘No, no …’ Guarnaccia, deeply embarrassed, examined his shoe. He had expected the Captain to have carried on from here and felt put out. With any normal prosecutor he could have expected to be absent from this conversation entirely or waiting immobile in the corner, camouflaged by the solid antique furniture. Nobody helped him and there was nothing for it but to go on.

‘There was a painting stolen in Paris … that was what suggested…’