temptation in florence 04 - expected in death (21 page)

“That's no problem. Pass him on. Thanks.” Garini pulled up a notepad and pen.

“My name is Hiroto Yokoyama.” The quiet voice was speaking careful English. “Am I speaking to the – the person in charge for the Tower Murder?”

That's how the press had called it – the Tower Murder. It had stuck in the minds and was the main topic of conversation at all the cafés and markets and shops everywhere in the country.

“Yes, I'm in charge of clearing up the Tower Murder. My name is Stefano Garini. What can I do for you?”

The Japanese hesitated, then he said, with a level voice, carefully enunciating each syllable: “I'm an engineer, working for the company Makanita. Do you know Makanita?”

“Yes, I do. They're famous for their cameras and professional filming equipment.”

“That's true.” Apparently, the answer pleased the Japanese. “I am on holiday. I was in Florence on Monday and came by bus.”

“On the
Piazzale Michaelangelo
?”

“Yes. It rained, but that didn't matter, because I have to test a new camera.”

“A new camera? With a special zoom?”

“No. A thermographic camera.”

“A thermographic camera?” Garini's eyebrows climbed. He knew the technology that allowed to take pictures in the dark by registering the heat of an object, but these cameras were very expensive. “You're traveling with a thermographic camera?”

“Yes. It's a camera that takes pictures in the--” the Japanese was looking for the right word. “In the night, in the dark.”

Garini nodded though the Japanese couldn't see him. “I know how it works.”

The Japanese misunderstood him, probably because he was so used to the questions. “It works with infrared light. It shows the heat, you understand?”

“Yes, I do.”

“It also works in rain. And fog. And smoke. It's a very powerful camera. The latest in technology, with much clearer pictures.” The Japanese was gathering speed. “It also covers a greater distance than any other camera on the market today. It is a unique prototype at the moment, but we plan to launch it in two months. You can even insert an USB stick and save everything and replay it at any moment, and then you also have a double--”

Before the Japanese could throw himself into a full sales pitch, Garini interrupted him. “Are you telling me that you used this camera to film the Tower San Niccolò at the time of the murder?”

“Excuse me?”

“You used that camera on Monday?” Excitement mounted inside Stefano.

“Yes.”

“Why are you only contacting us now?”

“Because I . . . I didn't notice. I filmed the view and saved the file to show it at my company when I'm back. But then our tourist group leader said something about the Tower Murder and asked if we had seen something. But nobody in our group had seen anything of the view at all because of the fog and rain. But then I remembered that I had filmed the view with my prototype camera, and I decided to look at it. I did not have time before to do so, you see. There's so much to record. I wanted to look at it with time on the plane, on my way home. But when I showed the film to our guide, he said we would have to tell the police immediately, only by then, we were already in Rome. So he said we should go to the police station in Rome, and they would tell us what to do.”

“That was good thinking,” Garini said. “But when you looked at the film, what did you see?”

The Japanese man was silent for a moment. “No murder,” he finally said, very slowly.

Garini's heart missed a beat. “You didn't see a murder?”

“No.”

“Then what did you see?” He had to force himself not to shout the words.

“I'll send you a link to the video, yes?”

“Yes, please! Send it right away, will you?” Garini asked to get his colleague back on line and gave him his e-mail address. “Please send me the file immediately.” With bated breath, he waited until the e-mail arrived, then clicked on the link and waited for it to open. Just as the movie started, Cervi ambled into his office. “I say, Garini,--” he broke off as the saw the black-and white images on the screen. “What is this?”

Garini didn't take his gaze off the screen. “This is the San Niccolò Tower at the time of the murder, Monday at a quarter to five.” He pointed to a little sign at the left hand corner of the film that showed the date and time. “Filmed from the
Piazzale Michelangelo
with a new thermographic camera, the latest in Japanese technology. If this is what I hope it is, it'll prove that Fabbiola Mantoni-Ashley is innocent.”

The film showed the skyline of Florence in black and white. “The buildings are giving off heat, and this is recorded by the camera. It covers a greater distance than light and isn't influenced by fog and rain.”

“I know thermographic cameras; you don't have to explain them to me,” Cervi didn't bother to hide his irritation.

“Yes, but this is an amazing new model. I've never seen such a clear picture before.” Garini bent forward. His stomach clenched as the camera zoomed in onto the tower. He could clearly see the battlement, could see one person moving around on the platform. “This is Olga.” He pointed at the female shape.

“How can you tell?”

“I knew her. I know how she walked.”

Cervi nodded and bent forward. Everybody on the force was trained to notice details and to remember how a person walked. As this was one of the most difficult things to hide and change, the police paid special attention to it.

In silence, they watched as the focus of the camera shifted from the tower and concentrated once again on the
Duomo
in the background. Garini groaned. “Come on, get back to the tower.”

The movie made a little jumpy movement as if the photographer had sneezed, then the camera slowly panned from left to right, taking in the full panorama. However, in the lower half of the picture, they could see the top of the tower San Niccolò. A second woman now appeared on the top platform, rising like a genie from a bottle. First, her head became visible, then her shoulders, then her upper body. Garini knew from his visit to the tower that she was mounting the stairs.

She stopped when she reached the platform and looked around. While she was still standing rooted to the spot, the woman in the background climbed onto the battlements and threw herself down.

Cervi made a strangled noise in his throat.

The woman at the stairs turned in one quick move toward the spot where the other woman had disappeared, then ran to the edge and looked over it. Her hands in front of her mouth, she turned on her heels and rushed downstairs again, disappearing from view much quicker than she had appeared. The movie continued for another five seconds, finishing the full panoramic view of Florence in a slow arc. It was clear that the photographer had only focused on the background and had never even noticed what had gone on right in front of him. Then the movie stopped.

“It happened exactly as Fabbiola told us.” Garini's mouth was dry. For an instant, a mix of relief and excitement made him dizzy. He turned to his boss. “The second woman was Fabbiola Mantoni-Ashley. There's no mistaking her. She must have heard Olga's shout, and that's why she turned around. It's pity that this camera doesn't record noise.” He closed his eyes for an instant, gratitude for the Japanese and their technology washing over him. He could release Fabbiola now.
I can't wait to tell Carlina.

“Can this movie be a fake?” Cervi's voice sounded grim.

Garini's eyes opened in a flash. “What? Of course it isn't a fake! How can a Japanese fake how two women walk, two women he's never met in his life?”

“You don't know that he never met them,” Cervi pointed out. “Did you check out his background? Maybe he's an ex-lover of Fabbiola Mantoni-Ashley.”

Yes, and I work for the Russian Secret Service.
Garini choked down the words.
Some things you can't say to your boss, even if it's obvious that he's clutching at straws.
“I'll check out his background immediately, though the colleagues from Rome already did that, and they confirmed that everything is legitimate. I'll also find out if the Mantoni family has any Japanese connections.” He couldn't help himself; his voice sounded too sarcastic.

“You'd better do this quickly,” Cervi said. “We've already lost too much time by arresting the wrong person if this video can be trusted. I don't like to be made to look like a fool.” He turned on his heels before Garini could open his mouth.

However, when Cervi stretched out his hand toward the handle, the door opened all by itself and Gloria shoved first her ample bust and then her face through the opening. “Stefano, your girlfriend was here.”

Stefano lifted his head with alacrity. “Carlina? What do you mean, she was? Has she left already?”

“Yes.” Gloria rolled her eyes. “She was very impatient. Said it's urgent. And she was rude, too.”

Cervi looked at Garini with a reproachful expression on his face. “You should have talked to her. I know it's not easy to face the relatives, but it's part of our civic duty to do so.”

Stefano clenched his teeth. “I would certainly have talked to her immediately if I had known that she were here.” He turned to the receptionist who had inched into the room and now stood next to his boss with her chest pushed forward as far as it would go without making her topple over. “Why didn't you tell me immediately, Gloria?”

Gloria studied her fingernails. “I thought you were busy. You didn't go out for lunch, and whenever you don't do that, you're usually buried deep in a case, and besides, I thought it was only private, and we shouldn't spend office time talking to friends,” she gave a sly look to Cervi, “so I--”

“When was she here?” Garini interrupted her.
One more word, and I'm going to strangle her.

Gloria pouted, then sighed. “I don't know. Some time ago. Half an hour, maybe?”

Half an hour ago, and she'd said it was urgent.
He knew that Carlina wouldn't come to his work and say it's urgent unless something momentous had happened. Stefano jumped up. “The next time she comes, admit her immediately. No matter what I'm doing; no matter who's with me. Is that clear?” He grabbed his jacked from the back of his chair. “I'm going to see her right now.”

“Shouldn't you first be checking on the background of the Japanese?” Cervi's voice was dulcet.

Garini slipped past him and out the door. He was past the point of being polite to his boss. “If Carlina comes to the police station to see me, she gets first priority. The Japanese can wait.”

II

Carlina stared at the thin knife in Ugo's hand, then forced her gaze away. She clenched her jaw and hoped that her lower lip didn't tremble. Thank God Ugo had bound her so tightly, or she would have shivered in her seat like a little rabbit.
Attack is the best form of defense.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze straight on. “Yes, we're going to talk, Ugo, and you can start right away. How did you kill your mother?”

“I didn't kill my mother.” The hard muscles in his broad jaw combined with the small eyes made him strangely look like a shark.

“But you had a huge row with her on Sunday night, you'll admit that!”

“That's got nothing to do with it!”

“Oh, yes, it does.” Carlina gave him her best glare. “Because it gives you the perfect motive.”

He shook his head. “I didn't kill my mother!”

“You inherited a fortune; you had a row with your mother; and you have a temper you can't control.” Carlina didn't mince words. “Three perfect prerequisites for murder.”

His face turned an ugly red. “I can control my temper. And you shouldn't forget that your dear boyfriend arrested your mother, not me.”

Carlina hissed. “By mistake. They'll soon discover that.”

He bared his teeth in a grin. “I still think it's best if she stays where she is.”

Carlina decided not to pursue this line any further and came up with another reason why Ugo was the murderer. “Besides, you don't have an alibi. That's very suspicious. Instead of saying where you spent the day, you prefer not to say anything at all. That smells fishy.”

“I was with Francesca!”

“Ah.” Carlina tried to look arrogant but wasn't sure if she succeeded. “And why couldn't you say so?”

Ugo seemed stunned. “Because--” He broke off.

“Well?”

“Because my mother wouldn't have approved of Francesca.”

“But your mother was dead, Ugo.” Carlina wondered if he was more than dumb. Maybe he was mentally retarded.

Ugo pushed his lower lip forward like a petulant child. “I didn't want to involve Francesca. I – we had only just gotten to know each other.”

Carlina cocked her head to the side and considered him. Up to a point, the answer even made sense. She decided to return to her original question. “Why did you kill your mother?”

The red color in his face deepened. “I didn't kill my mother! How many times do I have to say that?” He lifted the knife and brought the tip to the side of her neck, where her blood pulsed through the artery.

Fear turned her brain to mush when she felt the slight pressure of the cool metal on her skin.
Keep on talking, Carlina! Keep on talking!
“You'd better be careful with that knife,” she heard herself say. “I've got an allergy to nickel, and I might break out into a rash.”

He frowned. “This knife if made of stainless steel.”

“That's what they say,” Carlina started to babble. “But who knows what kind of alloy they really use. I've recently read up on it because my allergy is bad, and there are new European laws that determine the amount of nickel you can use in anything that touches the skin. In the past, these laws were only valid for anything that was in constant touch with your skin, like jewelry, but nowadays, even other products have to be free of nickel.” Thank God she'd had nothing else to read during a boring afternoon at Temptation. Carlina launched herself with full steam into the next round on nickel. “Take ballpoint pens, for example. You know the little metal tip at the furthest end of a ball pen, right where the refill appears? It's made of metal, and you would say that it never really touches your skin, because you're not supposed to suck on your pen or press it against your forehead while thinking, I mean, it would be stupid, as you would turn all blue or black or red, depending on the refill, of course”
gosh, I sound like a maniac,
“but the new laws say that even this little bit of metal at the very tip of a ball pen has to be nickel-free.” She paused to catch her breath and was relieved to see that Ugo looked dazed and that the knife had descended somewhat. “So you see, if this knife is old, then it's absolutely possible that it'll have nickel inside because the new European laws weren't valid at the time when it was produced, and--”