Chapter 7
TUESDAY AFTERNOON
I checked with the housekeeper, and she explained how to find an old track that would lead me up to Fiesole, rather than having to follow the busy main road.
It was a swelteringly hot afternoon and I was soon sweating as Oscar and I climbed ever upwards on a cobbled pathway that snaked between imposing stone walls that did at least offer some protection from the sun from time to time.
Partway up, we came upon a lovely old stone fountain where Oscar was able to stand up on his hind legs and drink deeply from the spout of water emerging from the hillside.
After quenching his thirst, he then stuck his whole head under the stream of cold water and let it run down his neck and onto his back.
Even though he was born here in Tuscany, it can’t be a lot of fun having a fur coat in thirty-degree heat.
By the time we started off again, I had a soaking-wet Labrador on my hands and I had come close to sticking my own head under the jet of water as well.
To compensate for the heat and the discomfort, the higher we climbed, the better the views back over Florence became, and by the time I reached the little town of Fiesole itself, I could see, not only the whole of Florence behind me with the duomo in the centre, but also serried rows of green hills reaching off southwards until they disappeared into the heat haze beyond.
In Fiesole’s sloping main square, just up from the town’s very own duomo, I found a café with tables outside on the pavement.
I sat down and relaxed while Oscar thudded onto the flagstones at my feet, panting like a steam train.
I took a good look around. The little town wasn’t actually on the top of the hill, as I could see cypress trees and the roofs of imposing villas further on up the slope, and I was glad I hadn’t had to climb any further to find some shade and a cold drink.
The last time I’d come here, there had been a market in the square, but today it was empty except for a few tourists braving the relentless sun.
When the waiter came out, I ordered a cold beer and four focaccia sandwiches – one for me and one each for Virgilio, Marco and the sergeant – filled with roast aubergine and goat’s cheese, and a couple of biscuits for Oscar.
As I quenched my thirst and munched my sandwich, I cast my mind back to the interviews of the people we’d seen so far.
Although I didn’t necessarily see Penelope Green as a killer, I had been struck by her lack of visible shock or grief, and I was left with the lingering sensation that she hadn’t told us the whole truth.
I had tended to believe Emilia Cortez, but not completely.
The hardness in her face and that momentary tightening of the lips made me think that she, too, maybe had something to hide, but I couldn’t for the life of me come up with a viable motive for murder in either of them – at least not yet.
As for Hicks, he was definitely top of my list of suspects for now.
He had had clear motive to do away with his boss and take over the arms empire – particularly as he already had a seat on the board – and there had been something about him that had rankled with me.
Maybe I was just getting more intolerant as I approached old age, but I hadn’t liked his arrogant attitude and I had little doubt that he would have been cold-blooded enough to commit murder in order to achieve his aims. Some of the other men around the table had looked even harder, but I was struggling to find a motive for any of them to have murdered the boss, though without fuller knowledge of the internal dynamics of the company hierarchy, it was impossible to be sure.
Of course, there remained the very real possibility that Angel’s murder had been committed by somebody outside the TXA family, maybe even by operatives working for another country, some shady terrorist organisation or the mercenary group Eddie had mentioned.
My suspicions along these lines were further reinforced by a telephone call from Paul at Scotland Yard.
‘Hi, Dan, I’ve been doing a bit of research on Tristan Angel for you, and there’s no shortage of foreign powers who would have been only too happy to see him dead.
Apart from the usual global players, it would seem that his company has been selling to some very unpleasant warlords in Africa, the Middle East and Latin America.
They, in turn, have been using weapons supplied by him to attack forces belonging to legitimate governments and even assets of major powers like China and Iran.
He and his company were skating on very thin ice. ’
‘Thanks for that, Paul. That doesn’t come as a surprise, but it makes me realise what we’re up against here.
’ I went on to give him a brief rundown of the latest events and mentioned the people here at the villa.
‘Could I ask another favour on behalf of Virgilio? Would you mind checking your files for any mention of the residents of the villa here? I’d just like to know if any of them have a record.
In particular, please could you check a man called Donald Hicks – he was the victim’s second in command – and an Edward Alfred Smith?
From his accent, I reckon Eddie’s from south-east London, and he reckoned he knew my name, even if his doesn’t ring a bell with me.
Please don’t waste a lot of time but just see if his name comes up. ’
He agreed willingly, although he repeated his belief that any number of foreign agencies could have been queuing up to get rid of Angel.
He had a point. Maybe the interviews at the villa would prove to be a complete waste of time.
I gave him the names of the suspects anyway and then mentioned the imminent arrival of the Italian security services, after which he produced another bit of bad news – at least for Virgilio.
‘As well as the Italian security services, I understand from a source at MI6 that they’re going to send somebody up from the embassy in Rome to do detailed in-depth interviews to establish what’s been happening, and what’s going to happen now that Angel’s dead.
And if MI6 are coming, you can bet your life that the CIA won’t be far behind.
Angel’s organisation was flirting with the lines of legality, but what if somebody with even fewer scruples were to take over?
You never know, maybe the people from Rome will be able to get some of the people there to spill the beans. ’
I wasn’t so sure. ‘The people here at the villa constitute the senior management of the company, so they should be able to provide that sort of information, but I’ve a feeling MI6 and others are going to be faced with a wall of silence.’
‘Well, let’s hope they manage to break it down. TXA have got multiple deaths on their consciences – assuming they have consciences – and the more we can find out about them, the better.’
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 would find 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.
Sure enough, 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.