Page 19 of Murder at Christmas

The other thing I did was to start making a careful search of the ground all around the rock, looking for footprints in the snow. It very quickly became obvious that this was a waste of time because even my own footprints from five minutes ago were rapidly disappearing under the unrelenting dump of snow. It looked as though the weather forecasters’ prediction that the snowstorm should start moderating around now had been wrong.

With Oscar glued to my legs, I managed to find a modicum of shelter from the strengthening wind and I wondered, yet again, exactly what had happened here. Was this a crime scene? Therewas, of course, always the possibility that he had taken his own life, but I would have assumed that he had been a man with everything to live for. Of course, I reminded myself, his excessive drinking might have been a sign of depression, which had overflowed and caused him to end it all. Anything was possible.

My musings were interrupted a few minutes later by the return of Paolo with the sledge. This turned out to be a real antique, made of wood and leather, that had obviously been used in the past for hauling timber and other supplies up the valley. Between the two of us, we lifted Bartolomeo’s body onto the ancient, but still serviceable, contraption and secured it in place with some old ropes. It looked as though the sledge had originally been pulled by a horse or mule, and there was a robust leather harness attached to the front. We hooked the straps over our shoulders and found it relatively easy to follow the rapidly disappearing tracks made by Paolo on his way down here, and we were back at the villa in less than ten minutes.

Word had spread, and we were met at the front door by all the residents, and I made sure that I studied them surreptitiously to gauge their reactions to Bartolomeo’s death. Valentina and Fiona were in tears. Marina, Selena and Anna weren’t crying, but they looked stunned. Big brother Umberto’s expression was one of shock rather than grief, while William was as white as a sheet. Calogero Naselli looked understandably shocked, and his wife, Cinzia, looked as though she had been crying, but the others were more interesting – to a detective.

Orlando’s face displayed absolutely nothing – no visible emotion at all – and Ingrid’s expression was exactly the same as his. They could have been studying a painting or reading the newspaper. There was even one person who looked pleased at this development – Umberto’s glamorous wife, Gloria, whose slightly curled lips betrayed a hint of a smile.

Leaving Oscar with Anna, Paolo and I carried Bartolomeo’s body upstairs to his room on the top floor, where we laid him on the bed. Paolo went off to call the police, while I dug out a pair of disposable gloves from my breast pocket, peeled off the dead man’s thick jacket and subjected the body to close scrutiny. His chest was still slightly warm to the touch, and this confirmed, not only the excellent insulating properties of the Aquila jacket, but my estimate that he had been dead for barely an hour or so. The sole wound I could see on him was the massive head trauma, and I couldn’t detect anything on his lips or fingernails that might have suggested poison but, as I say, I’m no pathologist. Certainly, at first sight, it would appear that he had died as a result of falling from the top of the massive boulder and striking the rocky outcrop with his head. Nothing suspicious – apart from the fact that he had been telling me only a few hours ago that he was in fear for his life.

I felt in his pockets and retrieved a bunch of keys and a near-empty hip flask. There was nothing else apart from a couple of tissues. All I could do for now was to turn off the radiator and let the room cool down. I checked the four keys on the key ring and tried one of them in the door lock. It worked, so I went out, closed the door behind me and locked it, pocketing the keys.

When I got down to the hall, I saw Marina standing there helplessly, still looking shell-shocked. I went over and laid a comforting hand on her arm, adding a few words of support. ‘At least he would have died instantly. When he fell off that rock, he suffered a massive blow to his head. He wouldn’t have known anything about it. Paolo and I have laid him on his bed, I’ve turned off the radiator and I’ve locked the door. Do you have another key?’

She blinked a couple of times and roused herself. ‘Um, no. In the kitchen, we have a master key that opens all the internaldoors in the house – but not his bedroom or his study. I need to get the key from him each time before I can go in and clean.’

I released my grip on her arm and pulled out the keys to show her. ‘I’ve got his keys and his phone here. I’ll hang onto them until the police come. All right with you?’

If she thought it strange that one of the guests had taken the owner’s belongings, she didn’t show it. I made no mention of my true occupation as I still felt it best to act as though I were just another guest – for now.

At that moment, Paolo emerged from the kitchen and hurried along the corridor to us. ‘I’ve spoken to the Carabinieri and, predictably, they say they can’t send anybody at the moment. The road up to San Giorgio is currently impassable until the authorities can free up a snowplough to get on it, and they may even have to wait until the snow abates. I told them the circumstances of Bartolomeo’s death, and they sounded confident that it had been an accident. They asked if it might have been suicide and I told them straight that there was no chance of that. He would never have taken his own life and, besides, why would he? He had it all. To be honest, the police sounded fairly relaxed about his death.’

Paolo glanced around. There were just the three of us, but he lowered his voice all the same. ‘Are you a detective?’

I had no option but to give him a nod of the head.

‘I had a feeling Bartolomeo would have sought help from a professional, and you have that look about you. He was really shaken up by the death of Signor Vincenzo, and we advised him to get himself some protection.’ He caught my eye, and I couldn’t miss the implied criticism, so I did my best to explain.

‘I’m a private investigator, not a bodyguard. I told him I don’t provide that sort of protection and that if he was really worried, he should get himself a proper bodyguard but, to be honest, I thought that he would be safe in a remote location like this. Tellme, Paolo, what’s your gut feeling about today? Do you think it was an accident?’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I really have no idea. Everything points to it having been a tragic accident but, coming so soon after the death of Signor Vincenzo, who knows?’ He glanced at his wife. ‘What do you think, Marina?’

There was a pause before she replied, her eyes trained on Oscar at our feet. ‘From what you’ve both said, it sounds like it was an accident, and I agree that he would never have taken his own life, but I suppose it could have been murder.’ She looked up towards me, wide-eyed as the implications of what she had said began to dawn on her. ‘But we’re the only people here. Does this mean somebody here in the villa might be a murderer?’ She looked around apprehensively. ‘Is somebody here a killer… and might they kill again?’

Her voice began to rise in pitch, and I was quick to step in to reassure her. ‘I’m sure you and Paolo have nothing to fear. If it really turns out to have been murder, whoever did this didn’t pick their target at random. Bartolomeo was killed for a reason.’ I did my best to produce an encouraging smile. ‘Besides, it wasn’t necessarily somebody here at the villa. I don’t think he would have climbed up on that boulder in the snow, so Paolo and I reckon he died around about the time the snow started. The valley was accessible to anybody until the snow came, so somebody could easily have come up the valley to kill him.’ I remembered the other thought that had occurred to me. ‘Like the man who burst in here uninvited last night, for instance. It’s my job to work out what reason somebody might have had to murder Bartolomeo but, and I can’t stress this enough, at the moment, all the signs are pointing to it having been an accident, so don’t let’s get ahead of ourselves.’ Now it was my turn to look around to check that we were still alone. ‘I’d like you both to do something for me, please. To the best of my knowledge, the onlypeople here to know my true profession are my wife and Selena and now you two. Please, as far as everybody else is concerned, I’m just another guest. All right? And the other thing I would ask of you is to play down any hint of foul play until we know more. As far as anybody else is concerned, it was an unfortunate accident. All right?’

They nodded in agreement and went back towards the kitchen, while I headed for the lounge. When I got there, I found the atmosphere heavy, the mood understandably subdued. They were all here, some sitting on the sofas, some standing, and most with glasses of liquor in their hands. The tears appeared to have subsided, but Valentina, in particular, was still looking distressed at her father’s death. Standing by the window with a glass of whisky in his hand, her brother couldn’t have looked more different – his expression impassive. Ingrid, sitting alone on the far side of the room, was flicking through a magazine, apparently without a care in the world.

Calogero and Cinzia Naselli were sitting in a corner, looking stunned, while Umberto and Gloria were side by side on a sofa, engrossed in a hushed conversation. Neither looked particularly visibly upset. Anna was sitting on one of the sofas between Fiona and Selena, with Oscar sprawled at their feet, apparently dead to the world. I went across to them and they both spotted me at the same time, jumping up to greet me – Oscar enthusiastically, Anna more tenderly.

While I fended off Oscar with one hand, Anna caught hold of my other arm and wrapped herself around me, stretching up to murmur in my ear, ‘How’re you doing? Was it horrid?’

I kissed her softly on the top of the head and repeated what I had told Marina, conscious that Fiona and Selena and maybe others might hear. ‘He must have died instantly, which is a consolation. No, it wasn’t horrible, just sad.’ I could have told her that I’d seen far worse in my time, but that would haverevealed my background as a police officer to anybody listening in to our conversation. Instead, I tried to sound a more positive note. ‘A tragic accident, but at least he died in his favourite place. He told me last night that he loved to come here to the valley to recharge his batteries.’

‘Come and let me get you a drink.’ Anna led me across to the bar and reached into one of the fridges for a bottle of beer. ‘Here, have this – or would you prefer something stronger to warm you up?’

I took the beer willingly and swallowed half of it before replying. ‘To be honest, I’m sweating. It isn’t as cold out there as it was last night, and,’ I gave her a wink, ‘don’t forget that I’m getting a bit old for carrying heavy weights around.’ I checked, but we were now well out of range of any inquisitive ears. ‘Marina and Paolo now know I’m a detective, but nobody else apart from you and Selena. I’d like to keep it that way for now.’

She nodded. ‘Was it an accident?’ She spoke in hushed tones.

‘I honestly don’t know. So far, everything points towards it having been an accident, but I’m not totally convinced. Coming so soon after the death of his partner, you have to agree that it is one hell of a coincidence.’ I try not to talk shop with Anna as far as possible and I hadn’t mentioned Bartolomeo’s suspicions about his children and Ingrid. She nodded again, and I carried on. ‘What I need to do now is to try and find out where everybody was this lunchtime. By my calculations, he probably died around two o’clock, give or take half an hour either way. The problem I have is that as soon as I start asking those kinds of questions, my cover will be blown, and if there is a murderer here, they’ll retreat into their shell.’ I gave her a little smile. ‘Any help gratefully received.’

Help – if that was what it was – arrived from an unlikely source as Umberto’s voice echoed across the room. ‘Well, ChiefInspector, what do you think? Did my brother jump or was he pushed?’

So much for my plan to remain anonymous. I saw all heads turn towards me and realised that my secret was out. At least, I told myself, I could now start asking the questions I needed to ask – one of which would be how Umberto had learnt of my former profession.

I produced a friendly smile. ‘It’s ex-Chief Inspector, Umberto. As for what I think, it looks as though it was a tragic accident. He slipped and fell. What about you or your wife? Do you have a view on what happened?’