Page 31 of Murder at Christmas

When we got out into the fresh air – and I had breathed a silent sigh of relief – it was to find that the sky had completely clouded over while we had been in the mine, and the few little snowflakes I had glimpsed through the ventilation window had now been replaced by beautiful fluffy flakes that reinforced the Christmassy scene. It looked like another failure for the TV weather people, who had predicted fine weather. Valentina and I exchanged glances, but she issued a warning.

‘Let’s hope the snow stays light. If we get a big fall on top of yesterday’s frozen snow, the risk of avalanches becomes really serious.’

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains, and trying to retrace our footsteps in the twilight was, if anything, even more difficult than trudging through virgin snow on the way here. It took us ages to get back to the main track, and by the time we got there, the light had all but gone. It was a lot easier to follow the track, walking in the gradually disappearing traces of where a couple of vehicles had passed by – or more probably a single Carabinieri vehicle that had come to collect Bartolomeo’s body and then left again. Even so, what with my skiing in themorning and now this, I was quite weary when we got back to the villa. By that time, all three of us looked like snowmen – or more precisely a snowman, a snowwoman and a snowdog – but because of the intense cold, it hadn’t melted on our jackets or Oscar’s back, and we were able to shake most of the snow off before we went inside.

On the way, I had asked Valentina what she intended to do with the cobalt samples and had been pleased to hear that she thought it best not to make this public knowledge. We both agreed that if word of the discovery were to get out, there was every chance that mineral hunters from far and wide would descend on the mine. While she went off to show the rock samples to her brother, I headed straight for the lounge, hoping for a beer. I checked my watch and saw that it was only five-thirty, but my exertions had meant that I was sweating and definitely needed rehydration – and beer seemed like the perfect solution. I headed for the lounge, where I found Marina and, when she spotted me, she reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle without being asked. Presumably, I had a look on my face that she recognised.

‘Marina, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you so much.’ She offered me a glass, but I just tipped the contents of the bottle down my throat before wiping the sweat from my brow and checking who else was in the room. The first people I saw were Anna and Cinzia Naselli sitting on a sofa, so deep in conversation that it wasn’t until Oscar trotted over to say hello that they looked up.

‘Dan, you’re as red as a beetroot. Have you been working out?’

I followed Oscar across to her and nodded.

‘It certainly feels like it. It’s been a hard day – although the old mine was fascinating. How have you been spending your afternoon?’

Anna indicated the wife of the Head of Accounts beside her. ‘I’ve been having afternoon tea with Cinzia. I hadn’t realised that she’s a history teacher as well – she works at a high school in Turin. She’s been telling me about thecoppelle, the strange indentations in the big rock where Bartolomeo died. He took her up there last month and showed them to her when there was no snow, and she tells me that they’re definitely man-made and probably date back to the Mesolithic period.’ Seeing the uncertain expression on my face, she clarified. ‘We’re talking seven or eight thousand years ago and, although opinions vary, it may well have been a sacred site up there.’

I was pleased to see Cinzia looking a bit more relaxed, but I couldn’t help reflecting that this indicated, not only that she had been well aware of the location of Bartolomeo’s Crows’ Nest, but also that he and she had known each other well enough for him to introduce her to his favourite spot. Might this indicate a closer relationship with the victim than I had assumed, and might it offer an explanation for her evident grief at his passing? I added her name to the ever-increasing list of possible suspects that I had been building up in my head, wondering if I would ever find a trace of evidence against any of them. Without some definite proof, it was going to be very difficult to tie any of the people on my list to the murder – if, indeed, it had been murder.

I looked over to the side table where William normally parked himself, but there was no sign of him. He was definitely next on my list of people to be interviewed, closely followed by Umberto. I needed to find out exactly what Captain Birdseye had intended to do when he confronted his brother, or whether, despite what he had told his wife, the confrontation had taken place after all… and had led to Bartolomeo’s death.

Unfortunately, at the moment, there was no sign of him either, so I left Anna and Cinzia to their historical chat and went upstairs for a shower and a change of clothes. When I came backdownstairs, I went to the kitchen in search of Paolo. I found him sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee in his hand. When he saw me, he beckoned me in. He had news.

‘Ciao, Dan. The Carabinieri have been and gone, and they’ve taken Bartolomeo’s body away with them. I’ve just come off the phone with Luigi.’ He caught my eye and shook his head slowly. ‘I’m afraid you’re not going to like it, but he says they’ve decided that it was an unfortunate accident and, as far as they’re concerned, that means the case is closed.’

To be honest, I had half-expected this, but it was disappointing all the same. ‘What about the Americans? How did the interview with them go?’

‘They disclaimed all knowledge of, or involvement in, Bartolomeo’s death, and it turns out they know some pretty important people, including Carabinieri General Somebodyorother in Turin, whose word is law. He said drop it, so they’ve dropped it. I’m sorry.’

I shook my head in disappointment. Somehow, I had convinced myself that these two bearded thugs might have been our killers. With them out of the equation, the finger of suspicion was pointing even more firmly at the property developer or somebody here at the villa.

Suppressing a snort of frustration, I sought more clarification. ‘How come the Americans know the big chief?’

‘They work for a major international mining company, and it would appear that Piedmontese regional government policy decrees that anything that can bring employment to the valleys has got to be encouraged.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘They’re not wrong. I’m one of the very lucky ones who managed to get a job on home ground. Most of my school friends have had to move down to Turin or further away in search of work.’

‘And what about Gallo and his dream of an Alpine resort up here? Did he have anything to say for himself?’ He was my othersuspect from outside the villa, but I was to see this theory come crashing down as well.

Paolo shook his head. ‘He has a cast-iron alibi for all day Tuesday. He was at a meeting sponsored by the local authorities, no less. There’s no way he could have done it, although he could maybe have employed a hit man – but it’s unlikely. Interestingly, he already knew about Bartolomeo’s death. It appears that Orlando called him yesterday evening with the news.’

Although it was infuriating that Gallo appeared to have an alibi, what was fascinating was that Orlando had immediately called to inform him of his father’s death. This reinforced my feeling that the removal of Bartolomeo would now open the floodgates to the new development. There was no doubt about it – as far as Orlando and Gallo were concerned, Bartolomeo’s death had been providential.

Paolo, seeing my disappointment, reached over and picked up an open bottle of red wine and two glasses. ‘Here, Dan, try this. This evening, I’m makingBrasato al Barolo, and I’ve been using this wine. Tell me what you think of it.’

I gave him a little smile, grateful to him for trying to take my mind off my frustrations as far as the case was concerned. I picked up my glass and clinked it against his.‘Cin cin,Paolo.’

The rich, velvety red wine was predictably excellent and I told him so, all the time thinking about the case, wondering what I should do next. I still wanted to honour the commitment I had made to Bartolomeo. All right, I admitted to myself, it wasn’t so much because of the commitment to a dead man as more probably my own natural pig-headed curiosity that made me want to keep going for another day. The Carabinieri might think it had been an accident, but I wasn’t so sure – not, of course, that I could produce any evidence to support this theory. With the Americans and the property developer out of the equation, thekiller – if indeed there had been one – must still be here at the villa.

I drained the last of the wine and stood up.

‘Thanks for telling me, Paolo. Why don’t you go and announce it to everybody? I’m sure they’ll be relieved to know that there isn’t a murderer among us.’

He nodded and followed me out of the door. I stood to one side when we reached the entrance to the lounge and let him go in ahead of me. More people had arrived in the meantime and the only people missing were Umberto, Selena and William. I scanned the faces in front of me closely as Paolo made his announcement.

‘If I could have your attention, please. I’ve just come off the phone with the Carabinieri, who have informed me that, having made all their investigations, they are satisfied that Signor Bartolomeo’s unfortunate death was a tragic accident. They have found no trace of foul play and so they’ve reached the conclusion that it must have been an accident. The case is closed, and we are now all free to get on with our lives.’

Valentina and Fiona burst into tears, Anna and Marina looked serious, Cinzia Naselli looked as if she was weeping while Calogero, beside her, looked grim. I saw Orlando reach into his pocket for a tissue, while Gloria and Ingrid showed little or no emotion. At that moment, I heard a movement behind me and turned to see Umberto standing in the doorway. I addressed him in a low voice.

‘Did you hear…?’