Page 36 of Murder at Christmas

His eyes rose slowly from his hands, an expression of abject horror on his face. ‘You think I killed Bartolomeo? I would never do something like that. I’m no killer.’ He crossed himself three times in quick succession. ‘Good God, no. What do you take me for?’

I sat there in silence, doing my best to process what he’d said and my reaction to it. The fact was that I tended to believe him, but I needed to be sure. ‘On Tuesday afternoon, after your meeting with Bartolomeo, you went out for a run, didn’t you?’ He nodded and I continued. ‘I want you to think very carefullybefore you answer this – what time did you go out and what time did you come back?’ I piled on the pressure. ‘You originally said that you went out for a short run just after one and were back by one-thirty or so. Are you sticking to that story? You’re facing a murder charge, Calogero. Think very carefully and tell us the truth, the whole truth.’

After another, shorter pause, he replied in a low, half-choked voice. ‘That wasn’t true. I went out around two and came back as soon as the snow started, say two forty-five. When I heard what had happened to Bartolomeo and you started asking us all where we were between one-thirty and two-thirty, I panicked. I was terrified you would find out about the money, and then – just as you’ve done now – accuse me of his murder, so I lied and gave you the wrong timings.’

This was a significant change. This meant that he would have been able to track Bartolomeo to his favourite viewing point and push him to his death immediately prior to the arrival of the snow. In spite of his protestations, was Calogero not only a thief but a murderer?

I pressed him some more, still sounding uncompromising. ‘What route did you take on your run? Did it take you to the boulder where Bartolomeo was found dead? Only he wasn’t dead when you went there, was he? I put it to you that you murdered him in order to stop him from discovering that you’d been stealing from the company. Are you a murderer, Calogero?’

He dropped his head into his hands, and it sounded as though he was almost sobbing when he replied through his fingers. ‘No, no, no, I swear I didn’t. I went west, up the path to the place where I met you the other day. I didn’t go near the boulder. I didn’t see Bartolomeo and I certainly didn’t kill him. You have to believe me.’

He sounded quite convincing, but I wasn’t letting him off the hook yet. ‘Your wife confirmed your original story. Presumably,this means you asked her to lie for you. Do you realise that by lying in a murder inquiry, she was committing a serious offence that could see her go to prison?’ In fact, I doubted very much whether she would get more than a caution or a suspended sentence at most, but he didn’t need to know this. His shoulders began to shake and it looked as though he was in tears.

I sat back and considered everything he had told us. He had admitted being responsible for the theft of over a million euros and that, in itself, could see him end up in jail. He had a strong motive for committing murder, but somehow I tended to believe him when he had denied that. The problem I now had was, if he didn’t do it, who did?

24

THURSDAY MORNING

We sent Calogero Naselli off with strict instructions not to leave the villa and, after the door had closed behind him, Orlando and I looked at each other. He spoke first.

‘What do we do now? He’s admitted taking the money but he seemed genuinely appalled at the idea of having committed murder. What do you think?’

‘I tend to agree with you. I don’t think he murdered your father – although I’m not ruling him out completely. If he didn’t do it, that leaves us with the question of whether somebody else did or whether it really was an accident as the Carabinieri have decided. As far as the missing money’s concerned, there’s no doubt at all that what he did was serious fraud and, whatever his motives might have been, I imagine he would receive a custodial sentence for stealing an amount like that. It’s up to you what you do. I’m no longer in the police so I’m under no obligation to report this to anybody. You decide. You’re the boss of Aquila now, remember.’

He sat there for a few moments and I felt sorry for him. He had suddenly been catapulted into a job that he didn’t want and now found himself alone at the top. The Head of Accounts, whoshould have been his trusted advisor, was out of the equation, and the buck now stopped with him. I could tell that he was conflicted so I decided to offer him some advice – if he wanted it.

‘Orlando, the decision is yours and yours alone, but if you like, I could tell you what I think I would do in your position.’ He looked up with interest and nodded twice, so I carried on. ‘You say that you don’t want bad publicity for the company, so it’s in your interests to hush this thing up. At the same time, you need that money back. If I were you, and I repeat that it’s totally your call, I would sit down with Calogero and find out where the money is. If he hasn’t yet bought the villa, tell him to repay the money and resign from the company. There’s no way he can stay here after something like this. It’s a position of trust and, whatever his reasons, he has betrayed that trust. If you get your money back and he leaves, I would be tempted to draw a line under it and leave it at that but, I can’t stress this too strongly, you’re the boss, so it’s your decision.’

He sat quietly for almost a minute and Oscar, sensing that he was struggling, pulled himself to his feet and trotted around the desk to sit down beside Orlando and rest his head on his knee in solidarity. Orlando ruffled his ears and then looked up at me.

‘Thanks, Dan, that’s sensible advice. I’ll talk it over with Valentina and then I’ll sit down with Calogero.’ He got up, came around the desk and offered me his hand. ‘I appreciate everything you’ve done.’

We shook hands and I left him there to come to terms with his new responsibilities. I stopped at the door and glanced back. ‘By the way, the person you really should be thanking is William. He’s the one who uncovered what had been happening and he appears to have an excellent head for figures.’ As if as an afterthought, I added, ‘It occurs to me that you’re going to need a new Head of Accounts, aren’t you? Why not ask your sister if she can suggest anybody?’

I left it at that.

I went upstairs to our room and found Anna sitting on the bed with her history book. She looked up as I came in. ‘Ciao, Dan. How’s William?’

‘Walking wounded. He’s on crutches, but he’ll be fine.’ I hadn’t mentioned the missing money to her and I didn’t intend saying anything about Calogero Naselli. To my surprise, she then brought up the subject of Calogero’s wife.

‘I’ve just been having a session with Cinzia. She’s in a terrible state.’

I assumed this was because her husband must have told her about the embezzlement but, as Anna elaborated, it rapidly emerged that it was something completely different. ‘You know when we were in the breakfast room yesterday morning and Cinzia suddenly ran out, looking very pale?’ I nodded and she carried on. ‘That looked very familiar to me and, this morning, in conversation, I asked her if she might be pregnant. For a moment, I thought she was going to faint. She looked absolutely terrible and she had to sit down. Luckily, the two of us were alone in the games room, so I rushed off to the kitchen, got her a glass of water, and then sat down beside her. It took her some time, but she finally confirmed that she was six weeks pregnant. I would have expected her to be happy but, instead, she looked… frightened. I tried to get her to talk about it, but she wouldn’t say a word. I can’t work it out.’

My head was spinning. I thought back to the first night here. Cinzia had been sitting alongside me. Although we had been served some excellent wines, she had been drinking only water. Also, as Anna had noted, her sudden departure from the breakfast room had been another sign. Cinzia had said she was pregnant, but her husband had just told me that he couldn’t have children, so the question was… who was the father?

Suddenly, Cinzia’s obvious grief at the death of Bartolomeo was explained, as was the frightened expression on her face when talking to Anna. The fact that Bartolomeo had taken her to his favourite spot had also indicated a close relationship between the two of them. It was all fitting together. Her husband had been out running at the time of Bartolomeo’s death, and this meant that he had no alibi for that period, butneither did she. Might she have followed Bartolomeo or gone with him to his Crows’ Nest? If so, what had happened up there? Had she gone there to break the news of her pregnancy to him and, if so, how had he reacted? What if he had reacted badly – and with everything I’d been learning about Bartolomeo this week, it wouldn’t have surprised me – and she had deliberately pushed him to his death? Maybe his premonition that he was to be murdered had been right after all.

Was Cinzia the murderer?

‘Dan, you’ve got that look on your face again. What’s wrong?’ Anna’s voice shook me out of my thoughts.

‘What’s wrong is that Calogero’s just told me that he can’t father a child.’ I didn’t need to spell it out. Anna’s eyes opened wide in shock.

‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying? Do you think Bartolomeo might have been the father of Cinzia’s unborn child?’ Anna dropped her book and jumped to her feet as her brain put two and two together. ‘Might she have been up on that rock with Bartolomeo on Tuesday? You aren’t saying she killed him, are you?’ She sounded appalled, and I did my best to play down the gravity of the situation.

‘No, I’m not – at least, not yet – but I need to talk to her as soon as possible.’