It was almost four o’clock when Oscar and I got back to the villa, and by now, he was bone dry again, while I was sweating buckets. I rang the bell at the main gate and somebody inside must have recognised my face as the gates immediately started to swing open. A constable at the front door told me that I wouldfind Virgilio and the others in the garden at the rear of the villa. Oscar and I followed the gravel path around the side of the building until we reached the long back garden, and I made a discovery – or rather, Oscar made the discovery. I had paused to scan the high perimeter wall, and Oscar had wandered ahead of me. Suddenly, I heard a splash and I realised what lay at the back of the house. I hurried around the corner and found my very happy Labrador doggy-paddling about in a superb swimming pool. Alongside him in the water was the blonde head of Penelope Green, and the toothy grin on Oscar’s face couldn’t have been broader.
The grounds of the villa were bigger than I had imagined, and I spotted the three police officers sitting under a rose arbour some way further up the slope beyond the pool, so I went up to give them their sandwiches. These were greeted with grateful smiles, and I sat down with them for a few moments, keeping a watchful eye on my very happy dog still swimming about with the new love of his life, while I gave Virgilio the bad news.
‘I’ve had a call from Paul at Scotland Yard, and it appears that the British embassy in Rome will be sending somebody up to interview our friends inside.’ I couldn’t miss the sour expression that appeared on Virgilio’s face. ‘And he says he wouldn’t be surprised if the CIA put in an appearance as well. He also confirms that there were probably any number of foreign operators queuing up to murder Angel, so maybe we’re wasting our time here after all.’
Virgilio sighed and took solace in his sandwich, while I stood up and went back down to persuade Oscar to exit the pool. I was greatly helped in this endeavour by Penelope, who climbed up the steps of the pool at the same time, and he had no hesitation in following her. Once they were both out of the water, I took a few hasty steps backwards and warned her to do the same. Sureenough, Oscar then shook himself violently, sending water everywhere, but fortunately little of it reaching us. Penelope’s bikini exposed a lot of skin and as she turned to reach for her towel, it occurred to me that if Tristan Angel had used the pool, anybody could have seen his tattoo, so her knowledge of it didn’t necessarily imply an intimate relationship. Maybe she had been telling the truth.
She turned back towards me and looked me in the eye. ‘Who are you? Eddie says you’re a detective chief inspector from London.’ Seeing the surprise on my face, she explained. ‘He said he thought your name was familiar, so he checked you out on the Internet. I think he said you arrested somebody he knew. Does this mean the British police are investigating over here as well?’
I gave her a smile and shook my head, wondering idly which East End villain Eddie and I had in common. ‘The Met hasn’t got enough officers for its own purposes, let alone for sending abroad. No, I retired a few years ago and I have my own private investigation agency here in Florence. I sometimes help the local police when there’s a case involving English speakers, that’s all.’
She dabbed her face with the towel and then wrapped it around herself. ‘Who do you think killed Tristan? Do you really think it might be somebody here?’ She was sounding more communicative than she had done in the small lounge.
I decided to play down my part in the investigation. ‘That’s what Chief Inspector Pisano and his colleagues have to work out. Like I say, I’m just helping as an interpreter.’ Seeing as she appeared happy to talk, I thought that it wouldn’t do any harm if I did a bit of digging. ‘Can I ask you something? When DCI Pisano asked you if you thought the killer might be somebody here, I noticed that you didn’t say no. Does that mean you think you might have a murderer in your midst?’
Her eyes flicked apprehensively around, but there wasnobody to be seen apart from the three police officers further up the slope, well out of earshot. Even so, when she answered, she kept her voice low. ‘I don’t know is the honest answer. Things have been tense ever since we left London. Tristan was unusually short-tempered, and there have been a few flare-ups between some of the others.’ The façade of icy coolness had evaporated, and in its place, I felt sure I could sense uncertainty and maybe fear.
‘Flare-ups about what?’ This was interesting – not least as she had previously denied any knowledge of arguments among the TXA people.
She shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea. Nobody’s said anything to me. I think they see me as an outsider as I’ve only worked for the company for such a short time, while some of them go back to the time when Tristan was an officer in the British army.’
Somehow, this didn’t come as a great surprise to me. ‘Really? What was his rank?’
‘I believe he was a major in one of the Guards regiments.’
There was the sound of a door shutting, and we both spotted a figure emerging from what was most probably the kitchen door. It was only Rosina with a tablecloth that she set about shaking vigorously, but Penelope clammed up all the same, gave Oscar one last pat on the head and headed across to a row of empty sunbeds on the far side of the pool.
I returned to the three police officers and passed on what Penelope had just told me, as well as mentioning what Eddie had said about the South African mercenary.
Virgilio nodded pensively. ‘I tend to agree that the most likely candidates for Angel’s murder are probably former customers – or their victims – but finding them is going to be far from easy. As for what Penelope Green’s just told you, it sounds as though Eddie’s story of the people here all being one big happy familymaybe isn’t completely true after all. I wonder what the problem might be. Could it be that Angel was aware that he was in danger? Had he been getting threats? Maybe they came here to get away from what they saw as potential danger in the UK.’
Diana Dini produced a suggestion of her own. ‘Or maybe Angel deliberately brought this group of people because he believed that one of them might be a traitor or a thief?’
Virgilio nodded. ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. You might be right, Dini. But the idea backfired on him when the guilty party took pre-emptive action and murdered him.’ He glanced over at me. ‘The interviews we’ve just had this afternoon didn’t throw up anything earth-shattering. Nobody knows who Angel was meeting this morning or, if they do know, they’re not saying. Alexander Murray is the head of sales, and Liam O’Connell describes himself as Technical Director, whatever that means. Sinclair, the American, is their PR manager, and the big guy – he’s German, by the way, Peter Schneider – just says he’s security, but he didn’t do much to help his boss, did he?’
I told them what Eddie had said about Schneider being too visible as a bodyguard when Angel had been out and about, and how the task of shadowing Angel had been Eddie’s responsibility – but not today. Or so he said. I had little doubt that, beneath his cheeky cockney grin, Eddie Smith could be a hard and ruthless man. Maybe even a killer.
Virgilio carried on his debrief to me. ‘Vincent Archer – he’s the older, bald man – is financial director, and it’s pretty clear that Hicks is now in charge, and it looks as though Archer has taken his place as second in command. You won’t be surprised to hear that none of them could come up with any idea as to why Angel should have been murdered.’
‘Were any of them in the duomo this morning?’
‘As far as we can tell, they all called in at some time, exceptfor Peter Schneider and Alex Murray. So if we add in Donald Hicks, Emilia Cortez and Penelope Green, that means almost all of them were in the right place at the right time.’
Virgilio’s phone started ringing and he answered it. The call lasted barely ten seconds and his expression visibly darkened. As soon as the call ended, he broke the news to us.
‘Our security service friends from the AISE have arrived. Dan, if you’ve got any sense, you’ll head off now before they start shooting.’
I jumped to my feet and gave him a grin. ‘That sounds like an excellent idea. Good luck, and if James Bond arrives from the British embassy in Rome, don’t mention my name.’
8
TUESDAY EVENING
I called Lina, who told me there was nothing urgent waiting for me in the office, so I drove straight home. My house is halfway up one of the hills south of the river Arno, a twenty-minute drive to the south-west of Florence – traffic permitting. It used to belong to a farmer and it’s bang in the middle of vineyards and olive groves. Behind it is a little bit of land on which I’ve planted a small vegetable garden, but I’ve been wondering about maybe putting in a few olive trees of my own – although I’d probably be in my eighties before I start getting any fruit off them. Access is up a dusty, potholed track, but it’s worth the uncomfortable ride for the view alone, back over the valley of the River Arno to the green bulk of the distant Apennines.
I pulled up in the shade at the side of the house alongside Anna’s car and in the mirror saw Oscar pull himself to his feet, shake himself, and start wagging his tail in anticipation of getting out of the van.
Anna and I spend most of the summer months living out here in the country, and the winter months living in her lovely old apartment a stone’s throw from the Ponte Vecchio. Florencein high summer can be suffocatingly hot, but out here in the hills, there’s usually a breath of wind rustling the leaves and providing at least some relief from the heat. I went in and made straight for the fridge, while Oscar headed first for his water bowl and then to Anna in the hope of convincing her that I’d forgotten to feed him and he was dying of starvation. She gave me a kiss and him a biscuit, and I asked what she was doing. When she told me she was preparing a salad of fresh artichokes, fennel, black olives and quails’ eggs to accompany the ribs she wanted me to grill on the barbecue, my stomach reminded me that the sandwich in Fiesole hadn’t been that big.
