Elegant Death Page 15

  Stefano whistled. “But he couldn't?”

  “Well, in theory, he could have done it. Of course, such a contract is full of pompous legal language, but the basics were already there, and he could have given the final version to another lawyer to check for legal snares, after having agreed on the basics. However, it's a document of twenty pages, with tons of annotations and remarks, and someone once told me he never reads anything that's longer than three paragraphs.”

  “What!” Carlina gasped.

  Enzo nodded. “Dorotea knew that, so early on, she moved the paragraph about the future brand name down into the middle of the contract, to the part where your eyes start to become heavy and where you wish you'd chosen another profession. It's the famous and hateful fine print.”

  “And that's what she meant when she talked in her sleep?”

  “Yes. Today, I got an e-mail from an advertising agency who had already gotten the job of creating a new logo from Dorotea. Camicie d'Oro was going to become Oro Di Silva. It worked well in combination with our logo, Camicie Di Silva, but she kept the colors of the old logo and the star, so customers wouldn't get too confused. I nearly fell out of my chair when I saw the design drafts.”

  “But she only signed the contract last week!”

  Enzo gave her a wry smile. “Dorotea never let the grass grow underneath her feet. I guess she had the briefing all ready, and the second she got the signed contract, she mailed it to the agency.”

  Carlina and Stefano exchanged a glance.

  “But that's a perfect motive for murder,” he said.

  Fabbiola banged her fist onto the table, and they all jumped. “Yes, it is! She kicked his heritage with her feet, and she lied to him and cheated on him. Poor Alessandro Stellini. If he did it, I'll congratulate him. She didn't deserve anything better, that woman.”

  Stefano sighed. “In a civilized society, we have distanced ourselves from self-administered justice.”

  “But you wouldn't have had a chance to get her by following the laws! After all, he did sign that contract, didn't he?”

  “Oh, yes, he did.” Enzo nodded with a dazzled look in his eyes. “I saw the original in her desk.” He swallowed. “But I'm not sure I agree with you, Stefano. Yes, at first glance it seems it might have been a motive for murder. I know him, and his heritage is extremely important to him. It wasn't easy for him to sell the company, and it's just his bad luck, or one might say his inherent laziness, that he didn't pay enough attention to the details. But on the other hand, I wouldn't have pegged him as a violent type.”

  “Even non-violent types can be driven to murder,” Stefano said.

  “What about other recourses, once he realized she'd outwitted him?” Carlina asked. “Did he have a leg to stand on, I mean legally?”

  Enzo shook his head. “I shouldn't think so. We could ask signor Belfiore, but when you sign a contract, one assumes you know what you're doing. He drew up the contract, by the way.”

  “How about verbal agreements?” Fabbiola frowned.

  Enzo shook his head. “One of the paragraphs explicitly said, 'No verbal agreements have been made outside of this written contract.' So no chance.”

  “Morally, it was reprehensible.” Carlina said.

  “Indubitably.” Enzo shrugged. “But you can't go to court on moral grounds.”

  “So the all important question is if Alessandro Stellini knew about Dorotea's plans to change the name of the brand as early as Saturday.” Stefano frowned.

  “Yes.” Enzo nodded. “And I've wracked my brain, but I'm not sure.”

  “What was she like when she told you on Saturday?”

  “Well, in the car, she only mentioned the contract was signed and that she would stay over in Florence for the weekend.”

  “Did she say where she would stay?” Carlina asked.

  “At first, she proposed staying with me.”

  “With you?” Carlina had a brief vision of the Snow Queen in Enzo's bachelor apartment. It had twenty-four square meters, barely enough room for beer and pizza in the fridge, and an old sofa in brown corduroy that sagged in the middle like a hammock. The most modern thing in the whole place was an immense flat TV-screen to watch soccer games. She blinked.

  Enzo grinned. “I know what you're thinking, and I told her it wouldn't work. She'd never even touch my sofa, though it's so comfortable. So I told her to book a room at the Garibaldi Hotel in Florence.” He swallowed. “In fact, it was the thought of her being in my room that made me balk at our relationship. She didn't fit into my life, and that was the moment when it became blindingly clear to me.” He spread his hands. “So I didn't pay a lot of attention to what she was saying. I noticed she was really pleased about the deal, and I know she expected huge growth from it, but I can't tell you anything else.”

  “Did you see when she sent that briefing to the agency?”

  He shrugged. “No, but I can look it up. I've got access to her e-mails now.”

  Stefano nodded. “You do that, and then you'll inform Cervi. He needs to have all this background information. He also needs the name of the agency and if a confidentiality agreement was signed. It would be best if he had the names of all those who worked on that project, and if someone admits to having talked outside of the agency. It's a matter of very fine timing, and it might save your neck.”

  Enzo blanched. “All right. I'll let you know.”

  “Oh, and could you check with your human resources department if anybody else but Liza was fired in the last months?” Carlina added. “Maybe we've been focusing on the wrong person all along. I've got this funny feeling that we're all barking up the wrong tree.” She had the impression they held an important piece of the puzzle in their hands but just didn't know where it would fit, so it was meaningless, or misinterpreted. She scratched her head. Something, somewhere . . .

  Enzo shook his head. “I still think we're going about this in the right way. It must have been someone who knew she would be at the wedding, and that limits the circle extremely. Besides, we already have two really good suspects, Marco and Alessandro Stellini. Both had excellent reasons for murder, and both knew she would be in Florence.”

  “But how did they know the exact address?” Fabbiola asked. “I mean, the wedding wasn't announced anywhere, and it was only given out at very short notice.” She sniffed with disdain.

  “They might have used a tracking device. Dropped it into her handbag or something.”

  Stefano frowned. “It would have been found later.”

  “Would it really have been found?” Aunt Violetta shook her head. “Is this boss of yours careful enough to go into that?”

  “Cervi might take some things too easily, but checking everything at the scene of a murder is a matter of routine, and of course, the contents of Dorotea's handbag would have been documented.”

  “How about her clothes?” Fabbiola asked. “Maybe someone managed to fix that device into the hem of her trousers or so.”

  Carlina swallowed. “That sounds like a professional criminal.”

  “It was a professional job.” Stefano's voice was quiet. “And we already know it was a premeditated murder, so that isn't a bad idea, Fabbiola.”

  Fabbiola beamed.

  “I'll ask Sergio to double check her clothes.” Stefano nodded.

  Carlina sighed. “I can't get rid of the odd feeling that we're forgetting something essential. Something that's been in front of our eyes all the time, but we just don't see it in the right way.”

  Stefano shrugged. “That's how I feel most of the time when I'm investigating a case. It is possible there's still some unknown person who knew about Dorotea's plans to travel to Florence.”

  “I say!” Carlina sat up with a sudden movement. “How about the lawyer?”

  They all stared at her.

  “The lawyer?”

  “Yes! Signor Belfiore!”

  “Why on earth do you suddenly suspect him?” Enzo asked.

  Fabbiola made a dep
reciating gesture with her hand. “He looks highly respectable.”

  “That's just it! He looks so respectable, but nobody knows what's going on underneath. Maybe he had a secret passion for Dorotea and couldn't stand that she now went out with Enzo.”

  “That won't wash, sis.” Enzo shook his head. “I was by no means the first man at her side. If that had been his problem, he should have murdered her several times over already.”

  “Okay, but maybe he realized how important you were when she made the will in your favor.” Carlina gave him a triumphant smile.

  “Nothing doing. Belfiore told us she made wills in other people's favor all the time, so that was nothing new, either.”

  “We only have his word for it. He might have invented all this will-business. It's highly improbably anyway. I mean, a woman like that, giving away her fortune to random people? That doesn't sound logical, does it?”

  Stefano frowned. “I admit it sounds odd, but the truth isn't always logical, and people are still less so. Frankly, I don't think Belfiore told us a lie about Dorotea's wills. After all, her latest will proves that she did have the oddest notions.”

  “Oh.” Carlina sagged a bit. “But you have to admit his showing up on Sunday just a few hours after the murder was fishy.”

  Enzo shrugged. “He told us how it happened: heard it on the radio, took the first train down, talked to the police, hey, presto. Nothing fishy about that.”

  Stefano looked at Carlina. “Why do you think he had something to do with the murder, Carlina? What's at the root of this feeling?”

  She scratched her head. “I don't know. I can't put my finger on it.”

  “You know what? We'll go see him at his office tomorrow. Maybe when we see him in his usual surroundings, we'll learn something new.”

  “And what will we give as a reason for our talk?” Carlina frowned.

  “Simply that he knew her very well, and so we thought he might help us to understand much better how the company was set up and structured.”

  Carlina nodded. “It sounds a bit weak, but if he gets suspicious, we'll simply tell him we have an out-of-the-box approach that looks at the communication structure of a company from all kinds of angles.”

  Enzo grinned. “I think you can soon start as a full-time consultant, my dear. You've already got the lingo down pat.”

  So at nine o'clock the next morning, Carline and Stefano were standing in front of the lawyer's office on Via San Vittore. It was a traditional but slim house, with iron bars that protected the ground floor windows but green shutters on the top floor, where the house ended in a gabled roof. The wooden door was high and heavy, flanked by pillars that ended with elaborate stone ornaments before supporting the jutting upper floor.

  Carlina slipped her hand into the crook of her husband's arm. “I don't want to go in there.”

  He looked down at her. “Don't tell me it intimidates you?”

  “Not really. But as a rule, I don't like lawyers, insurance companies, and banks.”

  He smiled. “That's quite a lot. Why not?”

  “They make me feel helpless. I feel they have the whip hand, no matter who's morally right. Besides, they always have the most expensive buildings. Isn't that proof that they're taking more money than they should?”

  He laughed. “I guess. Well, let's dare to enter the lion's den.”

  But when they'd pressed the bell and the door clicked open, a totally unexpected view presented itself to them. The glossy parquet floor was covered with odds bits of paper, as if a whirlwind had gone through it. A window at the back of the hall had been smashed, and the glass shards were distributed all over the floor, blinking in the bright light of the alabaster lamps. In the middle of the chaos, a young receptionist stood with the expression of a seal surrounded by killer whales.

  “Oh, Madonna!” Carlina blinked. “What happened here?”

  The young woman swallowed. “We had a burglary last night. He came in through the window,” she pointed to the back, “and he took all the files.”

  “All the files?” Stefano had already switched into his professional mode. “He must have used a truck, then.”

  Her eyes widened. “Not all. Just all we had here, in the office. The ones we're working on.” She shook her head. “But he didn't pay a lot of attention. He dropped half of them on his way out.” She pointed at the loose papers on the floor. “I found one on the sidewalk. The wind blew it against my legs, and when I peeled it off, I was horrified to see it was one of our letters. One I had typed myself. I couldn't believe it.”

  A door to the left flew open, and a young man rushed out. “I can't log on to my computer! There's just a black screen, and a little mouse that eats cheese.”

  Carlina gave him a startled look, thinking he must have been on something, but he didn't look drunk. His hair was disheveled, but he was freshly shaved, and his eyes were wide and clear.

  The young man looked at the secretary, not even noticing the visitors. “Does your computer work, Anna?”

  “I don't know! I haven't booted it yet. I was still trying to collect all the files strewn around.” Anna ran to her desk behind the reception and switched on the computer. She eyed the screen while biting her thumb nail, and if drawn by a magnet, they all followed her and stared at it.

  The usual whooshing sound came, then a pause.

  “That's normal,” Anna said.

  A little mouse appeared in the lower right hand corner of the black screen and ran to a piece of cheese that materialized in the upper left hand corner.

  Anna gulped. “That isn't.”

  The young man stared at her. “We've been hacked.”

  “And someone broke into the office and stole everything.” Anna's voice rose to a hysterical pitch.

  The young man blinked. “And all the bosses are away.”

  “Where are they?” Carlina asked.

  He turned to her as if noticing her for the first time. “Who are you?” Shock had made him lose his poise, and he spoke simply, like a child.

  “I'm Caroline Garini. We've come to speak to signor Belfiore.” Carlina tried to look as if she'd booked an appointment ages ago.

  “But he's not here!” Anna wailed.

  “Where is he?”

  The young man replied with a distracted air, as if he was on autopilot. “There's a conference about a new set of tax laws that'll soon be ratified, and they decided to go there together, because it'll make a vital difference to our work.”

  “How many bosses are there?” Stefano asked.

  The young man already opened his mouth to answer when Anna gave him a nudge and lifted her chin. “I believe we first have to call the police before we can continue to chat.”

  “That's an excellent idea.” Stefano smiled at her. “I suggest you ask for signor Cervi.”

  Her eyes grew big. “Who's signor Cervi?”

  “He's the one in charge of investigating the murder of Dorotea Di Silva.”

  They both stared at him.

  “What does it have to do with the murder?” Anna finally asked.

  “Maybe nothing, but since signor Belfiore was Dorotea Di Silva's lawyer, a connection is possible.”

  “Who are you?” The young man frowned.

  “We're consultants and happen to work for Camicie Di Silva at the moment.”

  “And you want to talk to signor Belfiore?”

  “Yes.” Carlina nodded. “I think it would be best if you called him and told him to come here as soon as possible. This is more important than the conference.”

  “All right.” Anna swallowed. “But first, we call the police. What name did you say again?”

  “Cervi.” Stefano looked around the office while Anna placed the call. When she'd hung up again, he asked, “Can you check if the files from Camicie Di Silva are still here?”

  “The company files or the personal files?” she asked.

  “Both.”

  She started to nod, then she looked at him again. �
��I . . . I don't really know why I should give you any answers.”

  “You've got a right to ask.” Stefano nodded. “In fact, it's none of our business. I just wondered about it.”

  She smiled. “Since you've mentioned a possible connection, I'm curious, too. Let me check.” She hurried through a door to the right, then called out. “Oh, Madonna. Come and have a look.”

  All three hurried through the door and stood rooted to the ground as soon as they'd entered it. The parquet floor was old but beautifully kept, and it faintly smelled of beeswax. All around the walls there was dark wooden wainscoting that went up as high as Carlina's shoulders. Above it the wall was white, and farther up, just below the high ceiling, she discovered elaborate stucco plastering. A glittering glass chandelier diffused a gentle light, and this, combined with an expensive Persian carpet in vivid tones of blue and turquoise, made the room look more like a cherished living room than an office. A polished desk the size of a small bathroom dominated the center of the room, and behind it, half the wall was covered with a huge filing system.

  The wooden shelves were obviously made to order because the battered wooden boxes with the individual names of clients fitted without a millimeter to spare. Each box had a basic size like a standard sheet of paper and was about two hands' width high, and each had a hole beneath the name tag, so you could put your finger through it and pull it out. The names were written with fountain pen in an elaborate script that made you feel as if the families had used this lawyer for generations. The shelves in the upper third were untouched. Carlina could imagine what it had looked like before the thief got at them. Obviously, he'd not taken the time to pull up the knee-high wooden stepladder that stood at the side, so the top shelves had been spared. Instead, he'd pulled out all the boxes he could reach and had messed up the papers in such a way that most of the parquet floor was invisible.

  Stefano looked around. “What a quaint and impractical system.”

  Anna nodded. “Yes, it wasn't always convenient. The boxes are organized alphabetically, but if you're unlucky and you have two customers with an A at the same time, you spend a lot of time on that ladder. That's why signor Belfiore always stores the current ones on that extra sideboard.” She nodded toward the left, where something that looked like a discarded tea cart was pushed against the wainscoting. However, it didn't hold any files. They were all on the floor.