Page 10 of Murder at Christmas

He looked genuinely surprised. ‘I’m sure there very definitely is a connection, but how did you know?’

I gave him a reassuring smile. ‘It’s all right, I don’t have any insider knowledge. It was just something that occurred to me when your brother mentioned that you had a lot more work to do now that your partner has died. He told me it was a road accident. Would I be right in thinking that you don’t believe it to have been an accident?’

‘Vincenzo was an excellent driver. In all the years that I’ve known him, he never once so much as scratched any of his cars. I believe that modern terminology would describe him as a petrol head. He had a fine collection of cars and they were all scrupulously maintained. The accident took place on the way down from the ski resort of Cervinia on a dry road, no rain or snow. He was driving his beloved old Aston Martin – the same sort that James Bond used to have – and the police say that his brake lines frayed, his brakes failed, and that sent him off the road at a hairpin and plummeting into a gorge. They dismissed it as an accident, but I’m convinced it was murder.’

On the face of it, I tended to side with the police, assuming their tech people had done a good job in analysing the vehicle, and I felt sure there had to be something more that Viviani hadn’t told me. Either that, or he was suffering from rampantparanoia. ‘You sound very sure about it having been murder. Does this mean that you have an idea who might have been behind it?’

I found his expression hard to read. For a moment, what looked like a defensive shield appeared on his face, before he dropped his eyes and reached for his glass. ‘This is where I need your discretion – and I mean that, Signor Armstrong, not a word to anybody. You see, I believe that Vincenzo’s death was the first move in a seditious attempt to replace the two senior partners in the company, and I’m to be the next victim.’

I asked the obvious question. ‘And who would benefit from these deaths?’

He looked around warily and lowered his voice. ‘There are two people – Vincenzo’s widow and my son, Orlando.’

I was genuinely shocked. ‘You think your own son might want to kill you? Surely that’s preposterous?’

He shook his head sadly and took a large swig of whisky. ‘It’s an appalling thought, I know, but who else is there? I suppose there might conceivably be somebody with a grudge against the company who’s behind this, but I doubt it. I have a successful, profitable company, and success brings envy and jealousy, but I’m at a loss to think of anybody else who would wish me serious harm.’ He took a big mouthful and lapsed into silence.

‘If something were to happen to you, Orlando would inherit?’ It still sounded far-fetched.

He nodded. ‘My children, Orlando and Valentina, jointly take over my share.’

‘So, in that case, surely your death would benefit Valentina as well? Why not include her as a possible suspect?’ This was all sounding a bit too much like an ancient Greek tragedy, and maybe he realised.

He shook his head decisively. ‘Of course not, she’s little more than a girl.’

I didn’t bother reminding him that Valentina was a grown woman in her twenties, and I had come across any number of killers who fitted that description during my years in the murder squad so, however unpalatable it might sound, I added Valentina’s name to the list of potential killers, but I took what Bartolomeo had told me with a generous pinch of salt. I sat back for a moment and took a long, hard look at him as he took yet another sip of whisky. Selena had originally described him to me as being paranoid, and it certainly looked as though she had hit the nail on the head. There had to be more to this than he was telling me, so I did my best to wheedle as much information out of him as possible.

‘What about your former partner’s widow? You said she’s inherited his share. Where is she now?’

His answer came as a surprise, considering his earlier allegations. ‘She’s here. You’ve met her – Ingrid, lovely Ingrid.’ His tone was disdainful, and it was clear that there was no love lost between him and the stern-faced woman I had seen earlier.

I pressed him further on this. ‘But why on earth would you invite her here if you think she might want to kill you?’

A more cunning expression appeared on his face. ‘Remember the old saying: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Besides, I wanted you to have the chance to see both of them for yourself.’

This struck me as beyond belief, but there seemed little point in commenting on his decision for now.

‘Has she been actively involved in the company and is she planning on getting involved now?’

‘Ingrid was Vincenzo’s second wife and they only married three years ago. Up until now, she has had no involvement with the company – she’s been too busy having a good time – but it’s obvious that she intends to take over Vincenzo’s role now that he’s gone.’ His tone was sour and the expression on his face oneof distaste. Irrespective of whether she might or might not be a murderer, this didn’t bode well for the future of the company, and I tried to find out the exact composition of the senior management of Aquila Sports.

‘The company is owned by you and now Vincenzo’s widow? Is that correct, or is there anybody else?’

He shook his head. ‘As it stands, Ingrid and I are joint owners.’

‘Did you and Vincenzo share the decision-making?’

‘Yes, although his was a minority share. I have a controlling interest in the business with two thirds of the shares so, in effect, I make the final decision on everything, although I listened very closely to Vincenzo. He was a wise counsellor, and a lot of the success of the business is down to him.’

‘How do you anticipate things working out if Ingrid steps into his shoes? It looks like the next months and years might be a bit tricky for you.’

He shrugged with an attempt at insouciance, but I sensed that it was fake. ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, but for the moment, I’m more interested in ensuring that I live to see the next months and years. I’ll sort Ingrid out, I’m sure.’ He didn’t look convinced, and neither was I.

I had one last try at getting some sense out of him. ‘Are you absolutely sure there’s nobody else who could have a reason for wishing the two of you dead?’

‘God only knows. As I told you, I’m not aware of having any enemies, certainly nobody who would do something as radical as commit murder.’ His eyes once again dropped to his twitching fingers on the desktop.

I couched my next question as diplomatically as possible.