Aged for malice, p.13
Aged for Malice, page 13
“Here I am, sitting at the local bistro, and I suddenly thought I need company for lunch. Where are you?” Charlotte asked.
“I’m heading there. Give me two minutes,” Olivia said.
As she drove back into the village, she felt grateful for the impromptu get-together with her bestie. Investigation was hungry work, and Charlotte always had good ideas. Hopefully, she’d be able to suggest a new angle to explore.
She squeezed into the same parking bay she’d vacated a short while ago, before hurrying back to the bistro, guessing Ugo would be surprised to see her again so soon.
There was Charlotte! She hugged her before sitting opposite.
“Have you found the killer yet? I suppose not, or you would have called,” Charlotte said.
Ugo materialized with a jug of sangria topped with chopped fruit and ice.
“Welcome, welcome! What can I get you to eat?” He winked at Olivia as he set it down, clearly deciding that her previous visit must remain confidential.
“I’ll have the insalata verde, please,” she said. It was a tasty dish, spring-themed and packed with delicious greens, spring onions, croutons, olives and mozzarella cubes. Even though it sounded healthy and slimming, Olivia happened to know that in this bistro they included a thick slice of home baked ciabatta bread, and a generous pat of butter. Plus, the dressing was rich with olive oil, balsamic and herbs.
“Make that two,” Charlotte decided wisely.
Olivia resumed her conversation as soon as Ugo had left.
“I have just interviewed a brilliant suspect. Unfortunately he wasn’t the killer and had a rock-solid alibi.”
“Oh, dear.” Charlotte sounded troubled. “Who was he?”
“He was the first person who tried to claim the wine. The one who arrived at the winery.”
“Well, you can see why he has a motive. But there were three claimants, weren’t there? What happened to that lowlife who interrupted our restaurant dinner and robbed me of my tiramisu cheesecake? What was his name? Raul Porzio, I think.”
Grumpily, she poured their sangria.
“That’s a good point,” Olivia said. “Raul also has a strong motive. And given that his distant family actually owned the land, he might have felt entitled to arrive at night and snoop around. Perhaps he bumped into Heberto. I still don’t know how two people ended up there.”
“It’s very puzzling. But I think that you should check out all the claimants and see where they were last night. After all, if somebody was motivated enough to approach you in public with a fake story, they would be motivated enough to try and steal the wine. And even if they didn’t plan to kill anyone, it might have happened in the heat of the moment,” she added thoughtfully.
“I would have to find out where he lives,” Olivia said, wondering how she would do that. She’d been lucky that Francesca had Pablo’s details at her fingertips.
“Well, why not look in the phone directory?” Charlotte asked.
“The what?” Olivia stared at her friend in surprise.
“The phone directory. Remember, those old fashioned paper books with everyone’s number in? They still have them here in the post office, and a few other places. And also, there’s an online version which Artoro uses to track down witnesses and suspects. He says it’s a wealth of information and that the simplest way is usually the best way.”
“Well!” Olivia said. She felt embarrassed that the simplest solution had escaped her, even if temporarily. Perhaps she would have thought of it later.
The waiter brought them their salads.
“These are so scrumptious. And proof that it’s impossible to diet in Italy,” Charlotte said happily.
“Look at that butter, and the amount of cheese. And they’ve put my favorite black olives in.” Feeling hungrily content, Olivia dug in. She felt thrilled that this impromptu break had not only provided her with highly nutritious calories, but also clear guidance on the next step to take.
As soon as she’d finished every bite of this scrumptious meal, she was going to pin down Raul Porzio, and subject him to harsh and unrelenting questioning about his whereabouts last night.
But as she attacked the delicious salad, Olivia suddenly realized that the conversation at the restaurant had fallen silent. Glancing up, she startled so violently that a rocket leaf fluttered off her fork and landed in her sangria glass.
Detective Caputi was standing at the bistro door. Her arms were folded and there was a grim expression in her eyes.
“Olivia Glass,” she said. Her voice was not loud, but it carried all the way across the room. “I need to have a word with you. Come here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Her fork clattered down onto the plate as Olivia scrambled up and hurried nervously across the room. Detective Caputi was not alone, but with another plainclothes investigator, a tall man, who looked just as stern.
What did they want? Dread flooded her as she wondered if she was about to be arrested. They might have heard she’d been asking questions after being told to stay out of the investigation. Or perhaps they’d found evidence to incriminate her. If they locked her up now, it would mean the end of everything, starting with the cellar roof.
“I have a question for you,” Detective Caputi said. She spoke slowly, as if savoring the words.
“Yes? I’ll do my best to help.” Olivia’s mouth felt dry.
“We have picked up an inconsistency in your version of events,” the policewoman said, her voice harsh.
Olivia felt her heart accelerate to warp speed. The outcome she’d dreaded most had happened. Her small glossing over of the sequence of events had become glaringly obvious to the police – somehow.
“What did you notice?” she said as innocently as possible.
“You said that you saw an intruder running past the farmhouse in the dark and that you and your boyfriend then headed straight to the cellar. We have evidence to the contrary.”
Evidence? How had Caputi obtained it? Olivia felt overwhelmed with panic.
Breathing deeply, she fought to keep her nerve. Most probably, she told herself, the evidence was inconclusive and Detective Caputi was seeking confirmation. Perhaps she was hoping Olivia would confess to the facts, blurting them out in her fear. She needed to keep her cool and not play into the detective’s hands.
“It was a very tense and scary time. I’m sorry if I might have gotten a minor detail wrong. But as far as I can recall, that is what happened. I don’t recollect anything else.”
“My sergeant was re-examining the footprints, based on your account of the evening,” Caputi continued relentlessly. “He noticed something interesting.”
“What’s that?” Olivia asked faintly. Deep breathing wasn’t working as well as she’d hoped. Running away seemed like a far better option. Using all her fortitude, she forced herself to stand her ground.
“When following the direction you pointed, he found clear footprints that crossed the edge of your vine plantation, some way from the house. The soil was soft there, and the prints could be clearly seen. They were from a worn men’s running shoe, European size 43. But he also picked up on another set of prints, in a size 39, most probably from a ladies’ loafer. You were wearing loafers at the scene; I took note of your attire. You will recall from previous investigations that we used your shoes to take a sole print. I went and checked up, and that’s your size.”
Caputi’s gaze pierced Olivia. Her salad was curdling inside her.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, giving a confused, innocent frown.
“You could not have proceeded directly to the cellar if you, and you alone, chased after the running man. Only one set of footprints is in pursuit – yours. That casts doubt on the timeline of events. Did you arrive at the cellar as the same time as Danilo? Or did you arrive later?”
Olivia knew she was on dangerous ground. She was going to have to stick to her version, even if it meant that she wasn’t being truthful with Caputi. This could get her into trouble and she hated doing it, but she had to try and protect Danilo.
“I can’t recall running in that direction that night,” she said firmly, using poor memory as a convenient excuse. “However, I chase my goat out of the vineyard all the time. She tries to play there while I’m working. Surely the prints could have been from earlier in the day?”
Detective Caputi looked annoyed. Her eyes narrowed determinedly and Olivia knew she had done no more than buy herself a few moments of time.
But then, the police walkie-talkie crackled. Clearly, it was an even more urgent matter than her pressing need to arrest Olivia, because she grimaced in disappointment.
“No, we haven’t yet notified the victim’s next-of-kin,” she spoke briefly into the mouthpiece. “We are having difficulty tracing them. I will come back now and meet with you.” Then she turned back to Olivia, looking more cheerful again. “You will make yourself available at your farmhouse at four p.m., together with the shoes you were wearing that night. And Signor Danilo must also be there. I will re-interview you both, in light of this new evidence. It may well happen that the case will then be closed,” she said in satisfied tones.
Olivia turned away and headed back to the table, feeling numb with anxiety. This was a far more serious predicament than she’d imagined. She was at risk of implicating Danilo if she changed her story and agreed with the police version. The only alternative was to implicate herself.
No wonder Caputi had looked so confident at the prospect of an arrest.
“What did she want?” Charlotte asked curiously.
Olivia sat back down and stuffed salad into her mouth. She wasn’t hungry but she was stressed, and the food was soothing her.
“She wants to arrest one of us, and she’s trying really hard,” Olivia muttered. “Danilo and I have to be at the farmhouse at four p.m. for an interview with her. I guess that’s so she can decide which of us to put in the back of the van.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened in concern. “It’s already half past twelve.”
“I know. That gives us only three and a half hours.”
“But if the next hour goes well, you might have a new suspect to present to her.”
“I hope so.” Olivia put down her fork and stuffed the last of the bread into her mouth.
“The sooner you can do it, the better,” Charlotte encouraged.
While Olivia was chewing, she rummaged in her purse and put down money to pay for the meal. Then she grabbed her jacket and headed out of the restaurant at a run.
Every moment that passed now was critical.
This was her final chance to find the killer. Otherwise, at four p.m., Detective Caputi would use Olivia’s own innocent white lie to accuse her of the crime – or worse still, accuse Danilo.
Would her next suspect be the killer, and could Olivia make him confess in time?
*
Fifteen minutes after leaving the bistro, Olivia strode determinedly up the paved pathway that led to the spacious villa where Raul Porzio lived, according to the local phone directory at least. With the minutes ticking by, she hoped that her quick research was accurate and that he was still living here.
This wasn’t a small house, Olivia observed, feeling bemused by people’s greed. Clearly Raul was not wanting for money. It was a big, fancy house set in tracts of a prettily maintained garden, a few miles from the village and bordering picturesque farmland. The garage door was open and the gardener was taking out a large, ride-on mower. The shiny black SUV parked inside was another sign that actually, Gina’s nephew was doing very well for himself without needing to claim a wine collection that wasn’t his.
Well, seeing he’d been eating at the area’s most expensive restaurant, it was clear at the time they’d first met that he was loaded.
The ornate electric gate was closed. Olivia rang the buzzer and waited for it to open.
It didn’t. Instead, the intercom crackled.
“Who is that, please?”
It was a woman’s voice. Olivia had no idea if it was a housekeeper, or one of Raul’s family.
“Is that the home of Raul Porzio?” she asked, replying in careful Italian.
“Yes, it is,” the woman confirmed.
“My name’s Olivia Glass,” she said, feeling encouraged. “I’d like to have a word with Raul, if he’s in.”
“Sure, he is in. Hold on.”
Expectantly, Olivia braced herself for the moment when the gate would swing open and she could power her way up the long driveway and make a start with this important interview.
A minute passed by and then another. Olivia began shifting from foot to foot, wondering if the woman had got sidetracked. Perhaps she should ring the bell again.
Then the intercom crackled once more.
“I am sorry. He is not available,” she said regretfully.
Olivia let out a frustrated sigh. “Not available? How do you mean? Must I come back later? What time can I see him?”
There was another short silence, and Olivia got the strong impression that a muttered conversation was taking place in the house.
“I do not know. I must go now,” the woman said regretfully and the intercom cut off.
“Dammit,” Olivia seethed. She’d been an idiot to say her real name, but using a false one wouldn’t have got things off to a good start if he had allowed her in. There hadn’t been a way to win this, she realized sadly. Raul was now secluded in his house and she was outside. Clearly, he didn’t want to see her.
Olivia nodded to herself as she realized this was a definite sign of guilt. An innocent man would have had no problem answering a few simple questions. If he wouldn’t speak to her inside, she was going to have to lure him out. But how?
Staring longingly at the post box, she wished she could open it and search through the mail. That would give her a clue about where to start. Unfortunately, though, her conscience wouldn’t allow her to do that. It felt like going a step too far to read through someone’s personal correspondence. She reluctantly abandoned the idea, knowing that Charlotte would have done it in a flash.
Having abandoned the ‘What Would Charlotte Do’ prognosis, Olivia then thought of what Erba would do.
There was a trash can near the gate, waiting for emptying. Erba would have nosed the lid off, and been inside, in a split-second. But Olivia didn’t want to go through people’s trash looking for a way to get through to them. It seemed wrong.
Although, she had to admit, the pressure of the four p.m. deadline was rapidly causing her to rethink her definition of ‘wrong.’
As she prowled around the trash can, trying to work herself up into Erba’s impish frame of mind, she noticed that next to the can was a clear bag that had been set out for recycling.
It contained a number of empty wine bottles, and she recognized a few from good local estates. Clearly, as well as being a lover of pricey restaurants, Raul was an appreciator of fine wine.
At that moment, Olivia had a brilliant idea. She had a way to lure him out successfully, and it needed the help of only one trusted person.
But would that person be willing to help out in this make-or-break scenario?
With nerves churning inside her, Olivia climbed in her car and sped off to ask him.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Olivia hurried down La Leggenda’s tiled corridor, feeling tense and expectant. So many things could go wrong with the plan she’d just dreamed up. But, if it went right, then her suspect could be trapped into a confession.
Marcello looked up inquiringly as she tapped on his office door.
“Olivia. You are back. Has there been any news?”
If only, she thought. She knew exactly what news he was hoping for.
“Not yet. But I have a strong suspect. He’s related to the previous owner of the farm, and he confronted us with a fake claim to the wine while we were at a restaurant, a few hours before the murder. His name’s Raul Porzio.”
“How are you going to find out if he is guilty?” Marcello asked. His eyes were alight with interest.
“He refused to come out of his house when I went there to question him, so I thought, what if we – or rather, you – issue him a surprise invitation to Collina Wine Week. Over a tasting you’d have the chance to talk to him, and with some wine inside him, he might open up about what he did.”
Marcello considered the idea. Olivia knew her level-headed boss would never agree to anything that would put her in danger, or compromise his beloved winery.
“I could hide out of the way and just listen in,” she added.
Finally, Marcello nodded in agreement.
“If you think this person is a strong suspect then we must do whatever it takes,” he emphasized. “I will call and invite him now. Since this is clearly urgent, I will say that the first few people to accept the invitation will receive a free case of wine.”
“Marcello, thank you so much. This might save the day! I’m sure he’ll jump at the offer of free wine,” Olivia said gratefully.
She hoped that Raul would accept the invitation immediately, because the deadline was closing in. It was nearly half past one.
While Marcello made the call, Olivia headed back down the corridor to chat to Jean-Pierre.
“How’s Wine Week been going? Busier since I left?” The tasting room was quiet at the moment but from the papers and used glasses he was tidying away, she could see it had been busy.
“Yes. People are starting to arrive. A lot of locals have made bookings for this afternoon,” he said.
Neither of them mentioned that it had probably taken a while for word to filter out that Olivia was not in attendance.
“I’m only here for a short time. We may have to close the tasting room briefly. We’re hoping that if the right person arrives, we can conclude the investigation soon,” Olivia said meaningfully, glancing at Marcello’s office.
Jean-Pierre’s eyes widened.
“I can ask Gabriella if we can relocate Collina Wine Week to the restaurant for an hour,” he suggested.
