While Virgilio retrieved a post-mortem photo of the man’s face – he had been a good-looking man, but I didn’t recognisehim – and sent it across to me with a couple of close-ups of the shoes, I looked up the phone number of Thatcher and Schooner and checked my watch. It was just after half-past twelve here in Florence, so in London, it would be late morning. I wondered if Mr Thatcher would be in his usual position, sitting on a high stool behind the fine old mahogany counter. I pressed the call button and heard it ring. It was answered almost immediately.
‘Thatcher and Schooner, how can I help you?’ It was a woman’s voice.
I decided to take a chance. ‘Would it be possible to speak to Mr Thatcher, Mr Theodore Thatcher, please? My name’s Dan Armstrong, and I’m calling about a police matter.’
‘Of course. I’ll put you through.’
A few seconds later, I heard a voice that I immediately recognised. It had probably been at least fifteen years ago when I had met Mr Thatcher, and he had looked as if he was nudging eighty then. His voice was still remarkably strong, and his accent posher than most members of the royal family – and certainly far posher than mine. When he answered, I soon realised that, in spite of his advancing years, there was nothing wrong with his memory.
‘Inspector Armstrong, what an unexpected pleasure. Don’t tell me you’ve finally decided to get yourself a pair of proper shoes.’
‘It’s good to hear your voice again, Mr Thatcher. I trust you’re in good health.’ I went on to give him a brief summary of what I was now doing here in Italy and how I was calling on behalf of the Florence police. Mention of Florence sent him off into a nostalgic account of his visit to the Uffizi Gallery many years ago, and it took me a minute or so to get him back on track.
‘I was wondering if I could send you photos of a murder victim and the shoes he was wearing, in the hope that you might have an idea of his identity. I’m afraid it’s a post-mortem photo soit’s a bit grim. He was found without any ID and the police here are stuck. About all they have are the shoes with your label in them.’
‘We’ll do our best. Obviously, if we had the shoes in front of us, we could compare them with the lasts that we prepare for every customer and this would make our job easier, but, yes, send me the photos. I’ll see what I can do and get right back to you.’
I thanked him and emailed the photos to him. In the meantime, the police officers had been talking and Virgilio included me in the conversation. ‘Thanks, Dan. Hopefully, we’ll get some kind of result from London. We’ve been checking and there’s no report of a missing person here in Florence yet, but it’s still early.’
I looked down at the photo on my phone again. It was as grim as most post-mortem photos are, but at least the photographer had managed to get a shot of the victim’s full face without revealing the wound to the side of the head. ‘What sort of age do you think he was? In his forties maybe?’
‘It’s hard to tell. He had good teeth, in fact very good teeth, and Gianni tells me his fingernails had been manicured, and there were traces of hair dye around his temples. He looked very fit, as if he worked out regularly, so he might be older than he looks.’
‘No distinguishing marks, apart from the tattoo you mentioned? And absolutely no personal possessions?’
‘That’s the interesting thing. There was no sign of a wallet or phone, and all that was left in his pockets was a tissue, but on his wrist there was a gold Rolex watch. Forensics have checked up on it, and they say it’s a limited-edition gold Submariner with a blue face. These apparently can cost upwards of fifty thousand euros, some double that. Unless the killer was extremely unobservant – and the victim was wearing a short-sleeved shirt so thewatch would have been all too obvious – this seems to rule out robbery as a motive. We assume the killer took the wallet and phone to delay identification while he made his escape.’
I whistled quietly and Oscar glanced up from the sergeant’s knee in response. ‘Gold watch, handmade shoes and a manicure. This guy was loaded.’
Before I could say any more, my phone started ringing. I was pleased and surprised to see that it was old Mr Thatcher already.
‘Inspector Armstrong, of course we know who he is. He’s one of our regular customers.’ A note of regret entered his voice and this probably had as much to do with the loss of a customer as simple pity for the dead man. ‘We will miss him.’ He lapsed into silence and I had to give him a prompt.
‘And his name?’
‘Angel, Mr Tristan Angel.’ He said the name as if he thought it should mean something to me, but it didn’t, so I queried it with him and he elaborated, his tone an interesting mix of admiration and disapproval. ‘They say he’s… he was one of the richest men in the world. Have the Italian police found out who murdered him?’ Interestingly, he didn’t sound terribly surprised that the man had been murdered.
‘I’m afraid the investigation is in the very early stages at the moment. Thank you very much for the information, but tell me something – how come he was so rich? Was he a tech billionaire or something like that?’
‘I only know what I read in the papers, but I believe he was involved with selling arms.’
This was potentially very significant information. Suddenly, this opened the door to the murder having far broader implications than just a local Florentine matter. This must have been reflected in my voice when I replied to Mr Thatcher as I saw Virgilio’s eyes narrow. ‘An arms dealer – I imagine somebody likethat must have had numerous enemies. Anyway, thank you very much indeed, Mr Thatcher.’
‘You’re very welcome, Inspector, and don’t forget, come and see me when you want some good shoes, and I’ll give you a good price, a very good price.’
The call ended, and I translated what I’d just heard for the sake of the three police officers. The man’s name and the angel tattoo made the identification all but definite.
Virgilio gave a snort. ‘An arms dealer? That’s all we need. Next thing I know, I’ll have those secret service idiots all over the place.’
I shot him a little smile. ‘You’re not a fan of the intelligence fraternity?’
‘Intelligence? That’s a misnomer if ever there was one. In my experience, they all think they’re James Bond and they’re dying for an opportunity to shoot first and ask questions afterwards. The problem is that they don’t care too much about who they shoot.’ He glanced over at the other two officers. ‘What do you think? Does this put a new complexion on the case?’
Marco Innocenti answered first. ‘It has to, doesn’t it? How’s this for a scenario? The victim arranged to meet one of his dodgy contacts at the duomo, maybe to pick up something or to hand something over, but he was double-crossed and murdered.’ He turned towards the sergeant. ‘What do you think, Dini?’
The sergeant sounded a bit more cautious. ‘It certainly opens up a whole lot of possibilities and you might well be right. Of course, it could equally well have been a personal matter. He was a good-looking man who obviously took trouble over his appearance. Maybe there was a woman involved, maybe a jealous husband? Until we know more about his personal circumstances, who knows?’
Virgilio nodded approvingly. ‘Good point, Dini. We need tofind out everything we can about this man. Working on the basis that he was quite probably a British citizen, start by checking when he arrived in Italy and find out where he’s been staying. Dan, if you don’t mind, could you give your friend at Scotland Yard a call and see if there’s anything significant we should know about this guy? I’ll do it through the usual channels as well, but your way will probably get speedier results. As for me, I need to go and brief thequestore, before this blows up into some sort of international crisis. Marco, get the team onto finding out everything they can about the late Mr Tristan Angel.’
