Death in Autumn Read online

  'I've got Captain Maestrangelo on the line for you, Marshal.'

  If it was that wretched Vogel woman . . .

  'Put him through—No, wait, I'll come to my office.' So much for his nap. 'Captain?'

  'I need your help on the Vogel case.'

  'I see. Has something happened?'

  'Yes, something has. This morning the Substitute gave permission for the seals to be removed from her room. The manager had been making a fuss and there seemed no good reason to refuse. The seals were removed immediately before lunch and after lunch the chambermaid went up to get the room ready for the next occupant. I won't go into all the details which you'll hear when you get there. The point is that somebody's been into that room and searched it. I want to know who and why.

  'I'd go there myself,' he went on, 'but I've got four men out tailing a smalltime pusher we haven't seen around before, a Moroccan. I think we're finally getting somewhere and I want to be in constant radio contact with them.'

  It was only partly true. This drug case wasn't just taking up a lot of his time but all his mental energy, too, which made it difficult to concentrate on anything else. And he was also convinced that Guarnaccia was the one person capable of sniffing out the truth about the Vogel woman.

  The Marshal himself had no such conviction. He put down the receiver and began struggling grumpily into his holster. The worst of it was that the protagonist of this episode was sure to be that wretched little chambermaid who only read the horoscopes and who thought nothing of telling him to mind his own business.

  'Lorenzini!' He stuck his head round the duty room door.

  "Marshal? Is something wrong?'

  'No . . . no. Everything under control?'

  'Fairly quiet. The patrol car's just been called up to Forte di Belvedere. The residents are complaining about a funny smell.'

  'They should have called the vigili.'

  'They did. It was the vigili who called us.'

  'Hmph. Well, I don't see why . . . What sort of funny smell?'

  'Di Nuccio said cheese . . .'

  'Cheese? That's all we need.' He was fishing for his dark glasses in one pocket after another. 'I'm going out.'

  Perhaps it was just to avoid the chambermaid's confusing and irritating him right from the start that he decided to talk first with the manager, who was hovering anxiously in the reception area when he walked into the Riverside Hotel.

  'Please come this way.'

  'I'd rather talk here, if it's all the same to you.' The Marshal had an undefined feeling that the reception hall was the key to this whole business if he could only work out how.

  It was obvious that it wasn't all the same to the manager who would have much preferred to keep the uniformed intruder out of sight of his guests, but he could hardly say so. The Marshal walked round and lifted the wooden flap to go behind the desk. There he sat himself down heavily on the receptionist's stool and stared about him in silence. Someone had almost certainly managed to leave this hotel with a body dressed in nothing but a fur coat. From where he was sitting he could see straight into the breakfast lounge which wasn't partitioned off. A little to the left was the lift, which had a glass panel in the door, and next to that the service lift and the wide, blue-carpeted staircase. To his right were the revolving doors of the only exit. A group of four middle-aged tourists got out of the lift and went out, laden with guidebooks and cameras.

  'Where's the receptionist?' he asked after a moment.

  'In my office waiting for you with the chambermaid and the cleaner. I've been keeping an eye on things here. I presumed you'd want to speak to them.'

  'Yes.' But he didn't move. His big eyes went on moving slowly over everything in his view. The idea of anyone trying to go through the revolving doors with that cumbersome burden and at the risk of bumping into someone immediately outside was absurd. The lift, then. Straight down to the garage to a waiting car? But he could see into both lifts quite easily and the noise of one of them going down would be heard clearly in the early hours of the morning when the hotel was silent. Mario Querci, the night porter, insisted that he had seen and heard nothing though he had been sitting right here.

  'Where does he go,' said the Marshal, almost to himself, 'to relieve himself?'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'The night porter. He can't sit here all night without going to relieve himself. Where does he go?'

  'I see. Behind you, in the same corridor as my room and the accounts office. There's a staff toilet between the two.'

  'Hmph.' Even so, nobody waiting upstairs for the chance to get out with the body could have had any way of knowing .. .

  After waiting with obvious impatience for a few more moments the manager said tersely, 'I don't quite see what that has to do with—'

  'What?' The Marshal interrupted him, coming to himself quite suddenly.

  'I was going to say that your question doesn't seem to have much to do with what's just happened.'

  At least they might send somebody a bit brighter to deal with things!

  'No . . .' the Marshal admitted slowly, 'probably not. . .'

  For the first time he looked carefully at the manager who had remained on the other side of the desk and was looking decidedly agitated. He was a big, imposing man with iron grey hair and piercing eyes.

  'You're from the north. . .?' It was more of an observation than a question.

  'From Milan.'

  'That's right. . . Captain Maestrangelo mentioned it. . . And the owner of this place—'

  'Is also Milanese. He has another hotel up there. Would you like to come through to my office or are you intending to question my staff here? I must point out that in consideration for my guests—'

  'That's all right,' said the Marshal equably. 'That's all right. I'll talk to them in your office if that's what you prefer. By the way, what happened to the dog?'

  'The dog? Ah, Signora Vogel's dog. We had it put down.'

  The animated conversation that was in full swing when the manager opened his office door ceased abruptly at the sight of the bulky uniformed figure behind him.

  'I'll talk to the chambermaid first,' the Marshal said with an almost audible sigh. He waited until the door closed behind the others before sitting down heavily in the manager's revolving chair and fixing the girl with a stare that dared her to start giving him any cheek. As it turned out, he needn't have bothered. She was a puny creature with a thin colourless face and she kept nervously twisting up strands of limp black hair that had escaped from an elastic band.

  'Gave you a fright, did it?' the Marshal asked after observing her for a few seconds.

  'I should think it did, Gino said I could easily have been attacked, even killed.'

  'Gino said that, did he? But you didn't see whoever it was?'

  'No.'

  'Then I don't think you need worry. Tell me what happened from the beginning and don't leave anything out, even unimportant things.'

  'Well, somebody came this morning—just before lunch, it was—to tell the manager he could use the Vogel woman's room again. There were two men and they took the seals off the room.'

  'Do you know what time exactly?'

  'Not exactly but it was going on for twelve o'clock because they were still up there when I went to the kitchen for some lunch.'

  'Did you eat with your friend Gino?'

  'No, he has to eat at eleven because he waits at table. Afterwards I went out and had a coffee.'

  'Who with?'

  'With my mum. She's a school attendant just near here and we always go for a coffee together when she comes out.'

  'Always in the same place?'

  'Nearly always. It's the only place round here where tourists don't go and where you don't have to pay extra if you sit down.'

  'And did you tell your mother about the seals being taken off the room?'

  'Of course I did. Nobody said I shouldn't!'

  'All right, all right. Did you tell anyone else?'

 
'I didn't see anybody else. Everybody in this place knew. They were cracking jokes about there being a curse on the room. The manager got annoyed. I suppose he was scared of the guests hearing something.'

  'What happened when you got back to work?'

  'The manager told me to get the room ready and I went to the linen store to get sheets and towels.'

  'Was there anybody in the bedroom when you arrived?'

  'No—I mean yes. I didn't see anybody, but even so . . .'

  'Describe what happened when you went in.'

  'I went straight through the sitting-room to the bedroom and laid the sheets and stuff on the bed. That's when I noticed that one of the dressing-table drawers was slightly open. I called out to Dina who was in the bathroom—I mean I thought that's who it was. Just imagine if I'd gone in there and—'

  'Why did you think the cleaner was there?'

  'I heard her. At least, I heard a noise of somebody moving in there and her bucket was propping the bathroom door open.'

  'What did you call out?'

  'I can't remember . . . something about her playing at carabinieri . . .' The girl reddened. 'I thought she'd been looking through the Vogel woman's room because of the drawer . . .'

  'I see. And nobody answered, I take it?'

  'I didn't wait for an answer. I'd started to put a pillow case on and I noticed one of the seams was split. I went off to get another one. That's when I met Dina. She was coming out of the store where they keep soap and stuff, with a bottle of alcohol in her hand.'

  'Where is this store room?'

  'On the fifth floor, next to the linen store.'

  'And Signora Vogel's room is on the third, is that right?'

  'Yes, so it couldn't have been Dina who was in there, could it? I told her I'd heard somebody and she said we should call the manager.'

  'You didn't go straight back to the room to check if there was anybody still there?'

  'Not likely! We sent for the manager and he went. Gino says I did right. He says—'

  'Never mind Gino for the moment.' They had certainly given the intruder plenty of time to get away, but he could hardly blame them. 'Are you sure nothing else had been touched in the room except the dressing-table drawer?'

  'The manager said after that the wardrobe door was slightly open, too, but I didn't notice it.'

  'All right. You can go. Send me the cleaner.'

  The cleaner, a plump woman in her fifties, confirmed everything the chambermaid had said and declared stoutly that she had nothing to add. The Marshal took almost half an hour getting her to admit that the five minutes she claimed to have been away from the room to fetch the alcohol were really more like fifteen. She had managed to get in a quick coffee with some crony of hers down in the kitchen before going up to the fifth-floor store room. With the receptionist it was the same story as the night of the murder. He had been at his post the whole time and had seen nobody come past to the stairs or lift.

  'Not a soul. At that time, those guests who have lunch here are in the dining-room. Those who eat out at midday either don't come in until evening or they come back for a rest in the afternoon but not as early as that. It's my quietest time of day.'

  'What time do you eat?'

  'At twelve. The manager takes over here as a rule. He never eats until two-thirty when the guests have finished.'

  'Did you talk to any of the guests about this business of the seals?'

  'Absolutely not. The manager forbade us to talk about it. That dreadful woman's brought us enough trouble already, without—'

  'Were you alone at your desk the whole time?'

  'Of course.'

  'You're quite

  'You're quite sure you weren't distracted, chatting to anyone?'

  'No! That is, Querci, the night porter, called in to collect his shoes but I promise you he wasn't talking to me for more than one minute.'

  'Why, don't you like him?'

  'He's all right. Quiet, keeps himself to himself. I can't say I've anything against him.'

  A rarity, the Marshal thought.

  'Does he often call in in the afternoon?'

  'No, only very occasionally. But he had to collect his shoes, the ones we wear indoors here, and take them to the mender's. He'd forgotten them in the morning when he went off.'

  'He changes his shoes to go home?'

  'We all do. Rule of the house. We have special light shoes that we work in.'

  'And how can you be sure nobody walked in here while you were talking to him?'

  'I'm willing to swear on the Bible! He took his shoes and went. Nobody could have walked past here without my noticing.'

  'Except other members of staff.'

  'I don't follow you.'

  'You wouldn't take any notice of some member of the hotel staff walking past you.'

  'I suppose not. . . but that's not what you asked me.'

  'I asked you if anybody walked past to the stairs or lift. What about the manager, for instance?'

  'Well, if you put it like that ... he may have done . . .'

  'Where was he, for instance, when the chambermaid and the cleaner sent for him?'

  'He was just coming out of the lift. I called to him .. .'

  'Exactly.' The Marshal stared at him and shook his head.

  'Listen ... I won't be expected to appear in court over this business, I hope. I did my best to answer your questions but you confused me!'

  The Marshal glowered at him. 'You can go. Tell the manager I'm using his telephone and I don't want to be disturbed.'

  He dialled a number, muttering to himself.

  'Captain? Guarnaccia speaking. . . Yes, I've just finished. No, nothing concrete, but there are some things that want looking into. I don't know if you've finished checking on the backgrounds of the staff here .. . No, I wasn't thinking of anything as definite as previous convictions but I think a call to our people in Milan might be a good idea . .. The other hotel, yes. When you've got some information we can make a move. Nevertheless . . . there's a lot missing. We know too little about the woman and what she was up to—and I'm still not happy about the goings-on at that villa. All those youngsters ... Anyway, I'll send you my report—What? The Substitute Prosecutor? I don't know what you can tell him that's definite. Wait. .. Tell him we need the room sealed up again, at least until we've heard from Milan. The manager here will be livid but I can't help that. I'll wait here until it's been done so there can be no more funny business. But I hope they won't be long, I want to get back to Pitti.'

  When he did get back the two boys on duty were waiting for him anxiously.

  'You're wanted up at the Forte di Belvedere, Marshal. Lorenzini's already gone up there. There's been a body found and he thinks it's probably another drug death.'

  The Marshal, who had begun to unstrap his holster, buckled it up again and went out without a word.

  Lorenzini broke away from the group of people standing by some tangled bushes on the steep narrow lane running up beside the city wall towards the fort.

  'I'll go back down if you can take over here.' He was looking a little green.

  'Is it a drug death?'

  'Probably. This is a popular spot for a fix. The doctor's taking a look now.'

  'All right, you can go.'

  The doctor was coming out from behind the bushes when the Marshal joined the group. People were looking out of their windows in the houses on the left side of the lane. The photographer must have already left but the vigile was still there with a magistrate whom the Marshal didn't know. The vigile was only young and he looked as green as Lorenzini had looked. The smell coming from the bushes was very strong and undoubtedly cheesy. An ambulance was waiting a little higher up the lane. The Marshal waited, impassive behind his dark glasses, while the doctor talked to the magistrate.

  'It's a pity the whole body wasn't immersed in the ditch. With the head being out of the water the rats have left you nothing to identify. As you can judge by the smell, the corpse is saponified
so it's been in that wet, warm spot for at least forty days or so, probably more like two months. I'd say it was a youngster but I'm going by the clothes more than anything. If you want to remove him . . .'

  The magistrate nodded to the two porters who were waiting at a distance, smoking. The Marshal, still silent, followed them behind the bushes and looked down into the ditch where the soles of a pair of gym shoes were the first thing he saw in the water. The spring was bubbling gently past the body, carrying dead leaves and scraps of rubbish with it.

  For all the care they took in moving the corpse which was heavy with absorbed water, the light, skeletal head broke away and had to be taken separately. One of the yellow, waxy hands had a sort of bracelet on it made of plaited leather.

  The vigile switched on his radio and began talking into it. The ambulance moved off. Some of the watching neighbours closed their windows.

  And still the Marshal hadn't said a word.

  CHAPTER 7

  'We think he suspects he's being followed!'

  'We're sure he does ...'

  'Even so, we kept on his tail and when he met up with the other two—'

  'Wait! Before that, he went in a bar and that's where I managed to get close up—'

  'One at a time,' the Captain suggested. His four plainclothes boys had erupted into his office at six in the evening and piled their radios on to his desk, all of them breathless and wanting to speak at once so that he constantly had to interrupt them.

  'Where did he meet up with the other two?'

  'On the other side of the Ponte Vecchio, under the tunnel.'

  'You could recognize them again?'

  'Easily! Especially the girl, she had a pair of. . . excuse me, sir—but she had a really low-cut sweater on.'

  These boys had only been with the Captain a few months. They were bursting with enthusiasm and had the energy and stamina that this sort of work required. But they were so young and had no experience. It was always the same problem. Men with the amount of experience desirable didn't have that tireless energy and couldn't blend in with gangs of drug addicts the way these could.

  'Why do you think he suspects he's being followed?'