Chapter 14
TUESDAY EVENING
When we got back to the villa with the two officers in the snowcat, we found everybody collected together in the lounge once more.
The fire was blazing, the lights on the Christmas tree were twinkling, reflecting in the crystal pendants of the chandelier, and there was a magnum of champagne in an ice bucket on the bar.
Everybody should have been relaxed and happy; instead, the mood was grim.
Everywhere I looked, I could see uncertainty and I could almost touch the foreboding in the air.
I had a feeling that I wasn’t the only person to have at least a suspicion that Bartolomeo’s death might have been murder, and the knowledge that we might be living with a killer in our midst didn’t do a lot to inspire Christmas cheer.
Paolo ushered the Carabinieri officers into the room with me and then disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. In the sudden silence, I decided I had better say something to break the ice. I spoke in Italian and then repeated myself in English for the sake of Selena.
‘These gentlemen are from the Carabinieri. They’re here to ask you all a few questions. Please don’t be alarmed and please try to answer all questions as fully and honestly as possible.’
I then stepped back and let them get on with it.
Oscar came trotting over to me, tail wagging, and I reached down to greet him while Maresciallo Croce introduced himself.
In the snowcat on the way back, I had agreed to act as interpreter if needed as Croce had described his command of English as being sketchy.
He addressed them in a businesslike way and, with me translating as necessary, he asked them all to be patient while he and Esposito conducted the interviews in the next room.
He said he would start with Selena, who spoke no Italian, and then William, who had told me his command of the language was a bit limited, with me helping out.
When Selena accompanied me to the TV room next door, I almost laughed as I saw young Carabiniere Esposito recognise who she was.
His eyes almost popped out of his head at the sight of a Hollywood legend.
Croce started by asking her to confirm that she had been lying down in her room between one-thirty and two-thirty – without anybody able to provide an alibi – but then she remembered something that went a long way towards clearing her of any involvement – not that I had been seriously considering her as Bartolomeo’s killer.
‘I spent most of that period on a Zoom call to my agent in Hollywood. You can check with him if you like.’
Croce made a note of the agent’s name and number and then went on to ask her about the victim.
‘Did you know Signor Viviani well?’
‘Not well. I met him once at a charity event in LA back in October, but I barely spoke to him on that occasion. My agent sent me here this week because Viviani was trying to put together a deal for me to work with Aquila Sports, helping to promote their products, and I accepted the invitation because he said he could guarantee me a few days of complete privacy – away from the public eye – and I love Italy. When he called me and told me about the death of his partner three weeks ago, I immediately suggested that he should ask Dan for his assistance. Apart from anything else, I knew it would give me a chance to see Anna and Dan again. I couldn’t believe that somebody might really be trying to murder him, and I thought this would give them a bit of a break – but it hasn’t worked out that way, has it, Dan?
’ I smiled ruefully and Croce continued.
‘Can I ask you, please, whether you found the victim to be happy, unhappy, depressed? What was your impression of his state of mind?’
‘As I said, he was very concerned for his life after his business partner was killed only a few weeks ago. He was definitely worried about that, but I wouldn’t have described him as depressed.
If you’re asking me whether I think he might have deliberately killed himself, then I can tell you categorically that my answer would be no.
He had a lot to live for and he wasn’t the kind of person who takes his own life. ’
I didn’t tell her that I had come across that very same description of suicide victims on numerous occasions in my time, but I had to agree with her in this case. Bartolomeo certainly hadn’t struck me as suicidal – although his alcohol habit had bordered on the self-destructive.
Croce then cut to the chase. ‘Given what you’ve just told me about his partner’s death, do you think this might have been murder?’
Selena took her time before replying. ‘Put it this way, Officer, I’m sure he didn’t take his own life and I would be very surprised if he stumbled and fell – he was fit, healthy and agile for his age.
On the other hand, he had been drinking an awful lot and he might have slipped in the snow.
Otherwise, I suppose that has to leave us with murder, but I’m totally at a loss to know who might have killed him or why. ’
The interview with William brought almost exactly the same response from him – a firm conviction that it hadn’t been suicide, scepticism about his boss tripping and falling but, similarly, disbelief at the thought that it could have been murder.
His Italian turned out to be a whole lot better than he had claimed, and he hardly needed any intervention from me.
He repeated that he had been in the lounge working, but he was able to mention that Marina had been in and out on several occasions during that time and so would hopefully be able to vouch for him.
When he left, I felt as confident as I could be that neither he nor Selena had had anything to do with Bartolomeo’s death – although there still remained a faint possibility that one or the other might have somehow managed to sneak out and back unobserved, although a motive for murder for either of them escaped me.
That left seven people plus Marina, Paolo, Fiona and Anna to be interviewed, and, of course, a question mark over the possible role of the property developer.
All the people left here to be interviewed were Italian speakers, and so Croce thanked me and let me go back into the lounge for a very welcome beer.
The first of these interviews were with Anna and Fiona, who told me they had simply been asked to confirm that they had been in the van with me at the time of the murder.
After that, the Carabinieri worked their way through the others, and it was almost eight o’clock by the time they finished.
I accompanied the officers through to the kitchen, where Paolo had been preparing dinner. He looked up as we came in.
‘What do you think, Luigi? Anybody suspicious?’
The maresciallo shook his head. ‘None at all. If it hadn’t been for the story that Signor Armstrong told us about last night’s argument involving Giorgio Gallo and the death of the other business partner leading to the victim’s fears for his own safety, I would be quite convinced that it was an accident, and I’m sure the public prosecutor would go along with that.
As it is, I’ll investigate the property developer before I hand in my report.
I’ll see what the prosecutor says, but I have a feeling that, unless some new evidence is thrown up in the meantime, the death will go down as an unfortunate accident, and that’ll be that. ’
His words didn’t come as a surprise, and I felt sure that if I had been in his position, I would have said the same.
I still had the nagging feeling that the coincidence of the two business partners dying within weeks of each other under similarly puzzling circumstances was too great for it to have been an accident, but I remained unable to come up with a convincing motive for murder for anybody other than Ingrid, Orlando or his sister, and maybe Gallo, the property developer.
Ingrid and Orlando had provided each other with alibis for part of the time, but both could have done it, either individually or even together.
They acknowledged being out at the time of the incident, but each strenuously denied any involvement in Bartolomeo’s death.
Although Valentina now stood to benefit from her father’s death, I had serious doubts about her being a murderer, but the fact remained that she had no alibi for the time of his death and so she had to remain as a suspect all the same.
Most importantly, we had no evidence against any of them.
All three remained prime suspects as far as I was concerned but, without proof, there was no way we could do anything more.
As for Giorgio Gallo, the only threatening behaviour during his encounter with Bartolomeo last night had come from Viviani, and I hadn’t picked up an aggressive vibe from the property developer.
Even so, he, too, had to remain in the frame for now, but I wasn’t optimistic of anything damning appearing against him.
I told myself that the sensible thing would be to accept that it had been an accident, but the idea that one of these people might quite literally get away with murder didn’t sit well with me.
I vowed to myself that I would keep investigating, but I had a feeling I might well be on a hiding to nothing.
There was a brief, and somewhat macabre, discussion about the best course of action with regard to Bartolomeo’s body.
The Carabinieri had also seen the forecast predicting yet more snow starting imminently and they were understandably reluctant to try and cram the body first into the snowcat and then into the back of the Land Rover, so the four of us ended up wrapping Bartolomeo in a sheet and sneaking him out of the back door into the cold store until the proper authorities could come to collect him.
It was a pragmatic and rather squalid solution, and it was just as well that none of the family or guests were aware of where he had been housed – sic transit gloria mundi.