Chapter 12
WEDNESDAY MORNING
I was in for a surprise when I walked into the magnificent large lounge at Villa Botticelli, and Mr Nelson from the British embassy looked even more surprised. As he saw me, he jumped to his feet and advanced towards me, both hands extended in greeting.
‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t you, Dan, of all people. Fancy bumping into you here after all these years!’
I recognised him immediately, although at least twenty-five years had passed since we had last met.
William Nelson, known to everybody at Lewisham police station as Billy the Kid, had been my contemporary in the force, and we had worked together for quite a few years before he had joined Special Branch, and I had moved on to Scotland Yard.
I hadn’t heard of him since and I wondered if his appearance here meant that he was now working for the security services.
I held out my hand, and he pumped it up and down enthusiastically in both of his as I returned the greeting.
‘Hi, Billy, this place is a bit of a change from Lewisham nick.’ I indicated our luxurious surroundings: the intricate-patterned marble floor, the monumental fireplace and the tapestry of horsemen in Renaissance costume on the end wall.
‘I’m glad to see you’re still working. I retired three years ago. So what are you now? Secret service?’
He grinned back at me, and it was easy to see how he’d got his nickname.
Even though he was fast approaching sixty like me, he still had an amazingly youthful face.
I remembered how all those years ago, he would often be asked for proof of age when trying to buy a pint of beer in a pub.
In comparison, I probably look like Methuselah nowadays.
‘Me, secret service? No, I’m in the consular section at the embassy. I’m just a pen-pusher these days.’
Knowing him and the intensely ambitious streak beneath his benign exterior, I didn’t believe a word of it, but I just gave him a hint of a wink and brought the subject around to why he was here. He explained – or, at least, he gave me the official version.
‘I’ve been sent by the defence attaché to see if TXA needs any support. They’re an important exporter, and the country needs all the trading partners it can get.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Especially in the wake of Brexit.’
This didn’t come as a total shock. Business is business after all, but I couldn’t help commenting all the same.
‘As I understand it, TXA also have some other decidedly dodgier trading partners. We’ve been wondering whether maybe one of them might have been responsible for the murder of Tristan Angel. ’
He caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. ‘When you say “we”, does this mean you’re involved in the investigation?’
Virgilio, who had been standing quietly alongside me, listening to the conversation, fielded the question.
‘Good morning, Mr Nelson. My name’s Commissario Virgilio Pisano, and I’m leading the investigation.
Dan’s helping us, as he has done on a number of occasions in the past. He’s fluent in Italian and English, plus, with all his experience, he’s a valuable partner.
’ His tone became more businesslike. ‘Dan asked an interesting question. We’ve been trying to assess whether the murder of Tristan Angel was committed by one of his close associates, or whether he might have been the victim of a foreign power or even a terrorist organisation.
Do you have anything you can tell us that might help our investigation? ’
Billy immediately looked more serious. ‘I’m not sure I know much that can help.
What I can tell you is that he certainly wasn’t killed by us.
As far as the British authorities are concerned, TXA is a bona fide trading partner with links to respectable companies like BAE Systems and others.
The company has enjoyed the support of the UKDSE, the government body that seeks to promote defence exports to friendly countries around the globe.
As such, there’s no question of the UK or any of our close allies wishing to harm either the company or Mr Angel.
’ He paused and glanced over his shoulder, but the door was firmly closed.
‘What I can tell you, however, is that over the past year or so, we’ve begun to receive reports, not all of them substantiated, of the company also working with other, less reputable operators.
I can’t name names, but it’s conceivable that Mr Angel may have made enemies, and that his death could be the direct result of that.
I’m sorry I can’t help you more, but I would agree that it is something you have to consider as a possibility, maybe even more than that. ’
Virgilio and I exchanged glances. If the murder in the duomo had been committed by a foreign operator, particularly if this had involved agents of a foreign government, the chances of identifying and apprehending the perpetrator looked slim.
There was, however, the question of the death of Donald Hicks, which almost certainly must have been an inside job by somebody here at the villa, making Angel’s death also potentially an inside job.
I saw Virgilio shake his head slowly in frustration before addressing Billy again. ‘Thank you, Mr Nelson. Now, is there any way in which we can assist you?’
Billy shook his head. ‘No, thank you, Commissario, I just need to sit down with a gentleman called Donald Hicks, and then I’ll be out of your hair.’
I broke the news to him. ‘I’m afraid there’s been a very recent development, Billy. Hicks was found dead in his room this morning, and the pathologist has just confirmed that it was murder.’
His eyes opened a little wider. ‘Well, well, well, I wasn’t expecting that.
’ I saw his eyes glance out through one of the big windows into the grounds of the villa with its imposing high walls all around.
‘Of course you guys had this place under surveillance.’ He didn’t wait for an answer.
‘So it’s looking as though Hicks’s killer must have been somebody here, rather than a foreign operator. Is that what you’re thinking?’
I nodded. ‘Exactly, and we’re seriously considering whether Tristan Angel’s murder yesterday might have been committed by the same perpetrator.’
I saw him pause before replying while he thought through the ramifications of this latest information. ‘That certainly seems like a realistic possibility. Tell me, gentlemen, who do you think is next in line for the throne?’
Virgilio answered. ‘I’ve been wondering the same thing. I would think it’s probably Vincent Archer, the head of finance, but it’s possible that Alexander Murray, the head of sales, will be the one to take over.’
‘Right, if you don’t mind waiting to speak to Archer, I’ll sit down with him first and find out if he’s in charge now. If so, he and I can discuss the company’s future and then I’ll leave you to your investigation unless, of course, I can be of any help.’
A thought occurred to me. ‘I tell you what, Billy, if Virgilio agrees, I wonder if you could get your people to do an in-depth check on a few suspects for us.’ I caught his eye.
‘We’ve asked the Met, but I imagine that you have contacts who might be able to give us a bit more than we can get through official channels. ’
Billy gave a little nod. ‘I’ll see what I can dig up.’ Clearly, if he really was a pen-pusher, he was a pen-pusher with contacts.
Virgilio and I quickly filled him in on the investigation so far.
We gave him the names of the people here at the villa, along with Angel’s ex-wife and her boyfriend, and Billy made copious notes before promising to get onto it as soon as he had finished with Archer.
I felt sure that he would. He had always been a very thorough and meticulous officer, and I was confident his people – and I was increasingly convinced that he was now involved with the security services – would be able to dig up more than the average police record check could provide.
We exchanged business cards and I wished him well.
A constable then escorted him off to see Archer, and Virgilio and I sat down in a couple of magnificent armchairs, every bit as grand as those at the Four Seasons.
I studied the tapestry on the end wall more closely.
It was about my height and roughly square, hanging on the wall like a large and complex painting.
There were riders on horseback, hounds racing among the horses, peasants with sticks acting as beaters, and an unfortunate stag visible not far ahead of the hunt, looking back anxiously.
If it was an authentic medieval or Renaissance piece, it was probably worth an absolute bomb, and if it was a reproduction, it had been impeccably done and had no doubt cost a considerable sum.
Everything about the room smacked of opulence.
Not for the first time, I found myself wondering how much human misery had funded Tristan Angel’s lavish lifestyle.
There was a tap at the door, and Marco Innocenti came in, accompanied by Sergeant Dini.
‘Some good news for a change.’ Marco was beaming. ‘We’ve been able to track down Tristan Angel’s personal lawyers, and they’ve sent us over a copy of his will.’ He handed his iPad across to me. ‘Here, Dan, what does it say?’
I glanced down the page. It was an unexpectedly simple will and, to an old cynic like me, it came as quite a surprise. I read through to the end and then gave the two officers a summary.