“If that’s where it happened. But it didn’t. It happened, I think, at another house. A house that no one talks about, because they say there never was another house.”
“Who says there was another house?”
“Patrizia. She said it was closer to the sea, and claimed that she first worked for the Vannoni family in the Maremma, where she came from.”
“Then it must be there.”
“Unlikely, at that time. The Maremma then was a wild, uncivilized place. Patrizia may well have come from the Maremma, but any great house must have been on the edge of the area, to the north or to the east.”
“So, Gil was killed because he told a fiction he thought his own, that was a fact about your family. What about Toni?”
“Ah, Toni. An oversexed son of a bitch who would have sold his soul for the right price. I have asked myself whether he gave away something to — oh, I don’t know, somebody working on the movie — for forty pieces of silver.”
“Who, Giulia — who?”
This time it was Giulia who stood up, towering over Sydney. “Who. The big question, yes. I think — I think it could be Donatella. Oh yes, I think it could be. Not on her own, perhaps, but with the help of someone else. Gianfranco perhaps, although I think he has not enough courage. I think you, but especially Mario and Monty, should be careful.”
“Shouldn’t you warn them?”
“And have Donatella find out? That is why I cannot tell Moretti and you must not. He will have to work it out on his own.”
“Why daggers, Giulia? It could be someone crazy.”
“Oh, they are crazy all right — crazy enough to use a specific weapon, because they are saying something to those in the know. Come on.” Giulia pulled Sydney to her feet. “Let’s get you back to your hotel before the police send out a search party for you. And you know what is the only thing worth remembering from this conversation?”
“To keep my mouth shut?”
“That whoever it is, is crazy. That’s the only thing worth remembering, Sydney. Carry the key I gave you, always. No one in my family has keys to this place, and no one knows that you have one.”
Night was falling when they left Giulia’s castello. Against the darkening sky the Martello tower took on a more sinister aura as its shadow against the ground reached out to touch the two women walking the Ducati to the gate. Sydney could hear the sound of her own breathing, swift and shallow with tension. Beside her, Giulia lengthened her stride.
Chapter Eleven
September 19th
“She fooled you all right, PC Brouard — Mrs. Ensor doesn’t smoke. Fortunately she got safely back, and we know where she went because of how she got back. On a Ducati. We’ve also had her destination confirmed by the taxi driver.”
The morning sun filtered in through the windows of the crowded incident room at Hospital Lane. The place was full and there was electricity in the air, which had something to do with the sensational nature of the investigation and more to do with the anticipated arrival of Chief Officer Hanley at any moment, and the real possibility of a clash of personalities between Moretti and the head of the forensics crew, Jimmy Le Poidevin.
Jimmy Le Poidevin was a heavy-set man in his forties, short of both fuse and stature, given to bombast. His outbursts were usually because he objected to having his forensic conclusions and insights questioned by anyone, and because he tended to step out of his own field of expertise and interpret the medical evidence. Although Moretti knew this was tempting because there was no coroner on the island, he always attempted to rein in Le Poidevin’s flights of forensic fancy.
Most officers at Hospital Lane tended to back off and leave him alone because he was good at his job, but Moretti saw that as no reason not to push from time to time. And Le Poidevin, being an emotionally volatile extrovert himself, had assumed that Moretti’s customary reserve hid a docile and acquiescent nature. Discovering in one spectacular confrontation that he was wrong did not stop him repeating the behaviour.
Moretti transferred his attention from the mortified PC Brouard to Liz Falla, who was sitting beside him, her notepad open on the table in front of her. “DC Falla’s inquiries confirm that Gilbert Ensor took a taxi to the manor at about eleven-thirty, and the driver dropped him near the trailers used by the film crew.”
“Yes.” Liz Falla took over, and Moretti was again aware of the depth of her voice. “The driver says he was, I quote, ‘Full of himself and on and on about himself.’ He doesn’t seem to have said anything too specific about what he was up to, but the driver got the impression he was meeting a woman. When I asked him why he said, ‘You don’t get in the state he was in about a bloke.’”
There was a ripple of laughter in the room, quickly suppressed as Moretti held up his hand. “Because of the large number of people involved in this film project and the number of alibis and statements we have to check, I have Chief Officer Hanley’s permission to get some extra help. My main concern is that information we have withheld stays that way, which is why I have called this meeting. The second dagger, for instance. Go on, DC Falla.”
From under her notebook Liz Falla pulled a handful of papers. “These are printouts of various Internet websites selling daggers of all kinds. The one used in the Albarosa murder, and the hotel patio and costume incidents, is a copy of a seventeenth-century Italian dagger in the Wallace Collection in London — almost. It is described as ‘designed for the thrust and is often viewed as the favorite of assassins,’ and it looks as if the attacker had these specially made for him, or her. The dagger in the Ensor murder is the genuine article, carried by some members of the Hitler Youth in the war, and that gets trickier. Not everyone selling something like this is that keen on publicizing it. I’ve checked with the Underground Hospital, the Occupation Museum, and La Valette Museum, and there’s nothing missing from their display cases. Nor has anyone made inquiries about purchasing a similar dagger. I was reminded more than once that there may be others in private hands on the island.” Liz Falla turned to Moretti, who took over.
“Apart from the fact that DC Falla had to make inquiries about the Hitler Youth dagger, we have withheld that information and I want it to stay that way. As you know, the murder of Gilbert Ensor has attracted attention, and we have a few members of the mainland press on the island. Now, PC Brouard, a chance to redeem yourself — you’re a computer buff, I’m told, so I’m giving you the task of going through every site you can find, anything you can find, about daggers made to order. Possibly in Italy.”
Moretti picked up Liz Falla’s papers and held them out to a stunned PC Brouard, who took them without comment.
“PC Roberts, PC Le Mesurier, PC Clarkson — divide up all the statements between you and go through them with a fine-tooth comb. What are you looking for you’re going to ask me, right? The answer is — I don’t know. There are dozens of people without alibis because both murders took place at night. But watch out for inconsistencies, discrepancies, stories that seem too pat, or stories that seem too alike. Okay, Jimmy,” The tension in the room went up, “go over the basic nuts and bolts stuff from the murder scenes — similarities, differences, that sort of thing.”
Jimmy Le Poidevin raised an eyebrow. “You want me to tell you what you already know, Moretti? We’ve been
