Elegant Death Page 4

  Again, Enzo and Carlina exchanged a look. Unless you don't want to present her to the family yet.

  “When was that?” Stefano asked.

  “The day I called you. She wondered why I hadn't told her earlier about the wedding, and I told her it was short notice.”

  Fabbiola snorted. “Very short notice.” She gave Carlina a reproachful glance.

  “How did you get to know Dorotea?” Carlina asked. “Or does it hurt you too much to talk about it?”

  Enzo shrugged. “It's okay. As she told you, I met her while selling the material for our shirts to her. You know I've been working with my company for three years, and normally, I only meet my key customers twice a year to present the new collection. With Camicie Di Silva, it was different. They wanted to develop a completely new material with us, so we had workshops and regular meetings every four weeks. I'm not sure if I ever told you, but my predecessor quit because of burn-out. He hated the Snow Queen, as he called her, and he was horribly afraid of her. He told me she was the reason he threw in the trowel.”

  Stefano lifted his eyebrows. “But you fell in love with her.”

  Enzo nodded slowly. “Not at once. In the beginning, I was careful, reserved, because I'd heard so many nasty things about her. But I had something that my predecessor didn't.”

  Fabbiola nodded. “You're a Mantoni, after all.”

  A weak smile twisted Enzo's mouth. “I doubt she'd ever heard of the Mantonis, mamma. And if she had, it wouldn't have cut any ice with her. No, what she liked about me was the fact that I don't care.”

  His mother leaned forward. “What on earth do you mean? You don't care about what?”

  “I don't care about fame, about money, about big cars and all that trash.”

  “I don't get it.” Fabbiola frowned.

  “I'll try to explain.” Enzo bent his tousled head and looked at his hands. “She was always surrounded by people who were in awe of her, who did anything she wanted, no matter how ridiculous. They might have hated her, but they never dared to do anything she didn't want to do. They all envied her and wanted her position. They wanted her fame, her power. I wanted to have fun.”

  Fabbiola stared at him. “You don't want to have money?”

  “I want to have money so I can be free,” Enzo said. “That's different. And the minute I have enough for my simple needs, I stop.”

  “What do you mean, you stop?”

  “I stop working hard.” Enzo grinned. “My first goal in life is to be happy. And I don't mean happy when I retire and have made enough money to enjoy it all. I mean being happy right now.”

  Carlina nodded. This was how her brother worked. He'd always been like that. A happy-go-lucky type who did as he pleased. She admired him for it, even if it sometimes exasperated her because he could have gone farther if he'd only tried.

  Enzo looked at Stefano. “This kind of attitude sets me free. I'm good at my work, I like it, and that's why I do it. I know I can have other jobs at any time, but I prefer to sell quality material. Anyway, when Dorotea and I had worked for some time, she dropped the gloves and started to put pressure on me. I told her to back off. I told her she wouldn't get any results if she kept going through sales-people like tissues, only to be thrown away when limp, and I told her I didn't mind if she complained about me to my boss because I could walk away at any time.”

  Carlina blinked. “Wow. What did she say?”

  Enzo smiled. “She started to laugh. And then she asked me to define success. I told her success was when I could be at the beach in shorts and flip-flops. She laughed even more. And from then on, we got on fine. She respected me. We had a great time, we managed to develop this new material, and it was a huge success. I got an amazing bonus and took off some months to travel through China and southeast Asia.”

  “Last year,” Fabbiola nodded. “I was very worried about you. It's a wonder you didn't lose your job, gallivanting about the world like that instead of showing your potential. There are many people in line, waiting to take your job when you take off like that.”

  He grinned. “I wasn't worried. Nobody else knew how to deal with the Snow Queen. They were grateful when I was back. She had driven two other sales-men to distraction in the meantime.”

  “But when did you become a couple?” Carlina shook her head. “It sounds like a difficult partnership.”

  “When I came back, she was relieved. Told me she'd never enjoyed working with someone else as much. Well, that flattered me, of course, but I never thought she'd be interested in more, until she invited me to a weekend tour on her yacht in Cagliari.”

  Fabbiola put a hand across her heart. “In beautiful Sardinia!”

  Enzo nodded. “I thought it was a party of several people, so I accepted. But it was only us, plus the staff. That was in the end of June.”

  “So it was then you fell in love with her?” Carlina insisted. She had a funny feeling about this.

  Enzo sighed. “I was flattered, as I said. She was beautiful, and I guess she turned my head. So we became a couple.”

  “But?” Carlina didn't take her gaze off her brother.

  “But I had the underlying feeling there was something else. On the one hand, she liked the fact that I stood up to her, but at the same time, it infuriated her if I didn't do as she expected. A week ago, on Saturday, she offered me a job at her company. I refused. We had a huge fight about that, but I didn't want to become dependent on her. On Sunday, she offered me an island.”

  Fabbiola gasped. “An island?”

  “Yes. There's a small one off Sardinia, where she has a summer house. The perfect place for my flip-flop dream, as she called it. Actually, that's where we went that weekend, and I fell for it. It's really a magical place.”

  “But you didn't want it?”

  Enzo shook his head. “I didn't want to be the golden boy, and I felt I would become too dependent on her if I accepted all these gifts. I had a feeling each gift would bind me too close to her, if you know what I mean.”

  Stefano nodded.

  “She didn't get that at all, so we had more fights. When I went out to the garden at your wedding, I . . . I needed a bit of time for myself. I needed to think.”

  “Were you thinking about breaking up?” Carlina asked.

  Enzo nodded. “Yes. She was a fascinating woman, and I was proud as hell to be seen with her, but she had to be the one in control, and I was weary from all the fighting. I just wanted to relax. She wasn't a good person to relax with.”

  “I dare say.” Fabbiola muttered. “But I could have told you as much after five minutes.”

  Enzo grinned. “Maybe I should have presented her to you much sooner, mamma. Maybe it was seeing her in the middle of the family that finally made it clear to me. She was beautiful, and I always felt taller, having her at my side when thousands of men wanted to be in my place, but in the end, it wasn't worth it. We would fight every inch of the way, and I found it way too exhausting. However, I knew she had the potential to turn nasty if I dropped her. No doubt I would have to find a new job, and while I had other options, I didn't feel like it. You see, I had established my position, and I didn't want to start over again at zero. So I hesitated and wondered what to do.”

  “And that's what you thought about while you were in the garden?” Carlina asked with a sinking heart. This wasn't good.

  “Yes. And when I came back, she was dead.” Enzo blanched at the memory. “I couldn't take it in. I just saw that blotch of red and couldn't believe it. It wasn't her. She would never have allowed anything like that. She hated red.”

  Stefano cleared his throat. “Did you tell Cervi about all this?”

  “Oh, no. I just told him where I was and where I went. But all these thoughts kept going round in circles in my head, and when Cervi had gone, I told mamma, and she said we had to talk to you right away, so you could advise us.” He spread out his hands. “I feel . . . kind of guilty. As if I wanted it to happen.”

  Carlina glan
ced at her husband. The expression on his face could only be described as wooden, but she could imagine what was going on in his mind. Of course you needed to know a lot more about all the people involved in a murder than their sheer actions during the critical period of time. The more you knew about their feelings, motivations and their past, the better you could piece the puzzle together, could judge what behavior was in character and what was unusual. However, if Enzo told Cervi all about his emotions, it didn't make things better. Cervi was known for preferring the easiest solution, and a fight between the lovers was fodder for his mill. She addressed Stefano. “How often has it happened that someone shoots a lover instead of breaking up with her? It's not exactly an easier way out of a relationship, is it?”

  “Carlina!” Fabbiola stared at her daughter. “How can you say such a thing about your brother?”

  Stefano ignored Fabbiola and answered Carlina's question. “Depends.”

  Enzo frowned. “On what?”

  “On all the other circumstances of the case.”

  “I didn't kill her.” Enzo said in a quiet voice that was strangely convincing.

  “Can't you stay and help us?” Fabbiola looked at Stefano with imploring eyes. “Your brother-in-law is in trouble, and we need you, Stefano.”

  Carlina took Stefano's hand. “We've been looking forward to our honeymoon for months, mamma.”

  Fabbiola crossed her arms. “I refuse to believe that. After all, you haven't been planning the wedding for months, so how come you've planned the honeymoon?”

  “I meant the vacation. Besides, Stefano can't do anything. Cervi already told him he can't take the case.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “Because he can't investigate his own in-laws, even if he's only had them for twenty-four hours.”

  Fabbiola shook her head. “I don't see the difficulty at all. Stefano can still ask questions and show his card, and he'll get more answers than any of us would. Not telling his boss, of course.”

  “I'm afraid that's out of the question, Fabbiola.” Stefano's voice was quiet. “If a colleague of mine should behave in such a way, worming his way into my investigation, I would be extremely angry. That's no way to work.”

  “But Enzo will be accused of murder! He'll end up in prison! That's no place for my boy. I know that, I've been there, thanks to you!” She glared at Stefano.

  Carlina bit her lip. Yes, Stefano had been forced to arrest her mother, but it wasn't fair to remind him of it at this point. Her mother was pulling out all the stops, and she found it hard to resist her arguments. But how much could Stefano really do? What were the options if they stayed here? She turned her head and looked at Stefano's profile, but before she could say something, the door bell rang.

  “Who's that?” Fabbiola jumped up.

  “No idea. It feels busy as the main station this morning, with people coming all the time.” With a wistful twist of her lips, Carlina thought of the romantic day they had imagined. They'd planned to unwrap the gifts, to remember the wedding and enjoy every second, but that was not going to happen. She followed her mother and opened the door. “Uncle Teo!” The man next to her great uncle was unknown to her. He was of middle height, with sparse hair and rimless glasses. His black leather case, three-piece pinstriped suit, elegant leather shoes, and a shirt from Camicie Di Silva shouted his profession . . . he looked like a lawyer from Milan.

  “Carlina, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but signor Belfiore urgently needs to talk to Enzo, and Benedetta told me he's here. Signor Belfiore is, I mean, was, Dorotea's lawyer.”

  Carlina swallowed. If Dorotea's lawyer managed to arrive in Florence in the middle of a Sunday, mere hours after her death had become known, he must have important news for her brother. Damn.

  Fabbiola put her arms akimbo. “What do you want with my son?”

  “I'm afraid that's personal business. May I come in?” His voice sounded like the rustling of dead leaves.

  Carlina nodded. “Certainly.” With a gentle movement, she pushed her mother out of the way and made room for the lawyer and Uncle Teo.

  When they entered the living room, Enzo looked up with a start. “Signor Belfiore? What are you doing here?”

  “I urgently need to talk to you, signor Ashley. I took the first train, as soon as I learned about Dorotea's death on the radio, and then I asked the police to give me your address.”

  Enzo blanched. “Why? What's the matter?”

  “Please sit down,” Carlina said. The sofa was getting a bit crowded, but she had a feeling this was going to take a while.

  “I would prefer to have a private talk with you, signor Ashley. Is there a room where we can be by ourselves?” The lawyer had a precise way of talking.

  “Never mind them.” Enzo made a quick move with his hand. “They're family.”

  “I really think it would be better if I could talk privately with you.”

  Enzo pushed his chin forward. “We can talk now. I don't want to go anywhere else, and I don't mind if my family listens in.”

  “Very well.” It sounded as if the lawyer would have preferred to say the opposite. He sat down with care, hitching his trousers by carefully pinching them between his thumb and his forefinger, then he bent slightly forward and fixed Enzo with a stare. “I have heard Dorotea was shot at three AM this morning, during a wedding. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know who did it?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have an alibi?”

  Stefano cut in. “I'm afraid I don't quite see the need for these questions, signor Belfiore. If I understand correctly, you're Dorotea Di Silva's lawyer, not a prosecuting attorney or anything. Is that right?”

  “That's right. I was her father's lawyer, and I've advised her on all business and private transactions ever since she took over the company. I've known her since she was a child.”

  Enzo nodded. “Signor Belfiore also drew up the contract concerning the new material my company supplied to Dorotea. That's how we got to know each other.”

  The lawyer looked at Enzo with an inscrutable expression. “Quite right.”

  Fabbiola scowled at the lawyer. “And what's so important that you took the first train to Florence? Wouldn't a text message or something have been enough?”

  The lawyer looked at her with faint distaste. “There are some things that shouldn't be communicated via text messages.”

  Fabbiola nodded with vehemence. “I quite agree. Like wedding proposals. And news about deaths. And –“

  “And wills.” Signor Belfiore opened his black leather case and drew out a paper.

  “A will?” Enzo blinked. “She made a will?”

  “Of course signora Di Silva made a will.” His voice was tinged with contempt. “A woman in her position had to think of all contingencies.”

  “But . . . ? When did she make a will?”

  “We reviewed her will every six months.”

  “Every six months? That's morbid.”

  Carlina suppressed a smile. Her brother had never in all his life contemplated making a will. Of that, she was sure. He didn't even plan next week.

  “Not at all, signor Ashley. Signora Di Silva had the habit of adapting her will to the changing circumstances of her life. In this case, you were extremely lucky. We only changed the will on Monday.”

  “Why, I . . . I had no idea.” Enzo shook his head.

  “Hadn't you?” The lawyer's voice was dry. “Well, let's hope the police will believe you.”

  “What do you mean?” Fabbiola started forward.

  The lawyer returned her pugnacious stare with a calm look. “Apparently, your son doesn't have an alibi for the time of the murder, or you wouldn't be so reluctant to tell me about it, and with him being the sole heir, he's got an extremely strong motive for killing her.”

  Enzo's mouth dropped open. “The sole heir?” His voice was a croak.
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br />   “Yes. I advised her against it, but she found it amusing.”

  “Amusing?” Fabbiola stared at him. “What's amusing about it?”

  “She said he didn't like to be encumbered with possessions, and that's exactly why he was worthy of her trust.”

  Enzo shook his head. “But . . . but . . .”

  Carlina swallowed with a dry throat. “Just what does this inheritance mean?”

  The lawyer said, “It's very simple. She made him the sole heir of all her shares in the Camicie Di Silva company, which is seventy-five percent of an eighty million euro business. On top of that he now owns her private fortune, which amounts to twenty-seven point three million euro at the moment. This does not yet include her townhouse on Via della Spiga in Milan, an apartment in Monaco, a chalet in Switzerland, a skyscraper in Miami, and an island close to Sardinia.”

  Enzo made a strangled sound in his throat.

  Fabbiola twisted around and beamed at her son. “You're a millionaire!”

  He looked at her as if he didn't understand.

  “A millionaire on the way to prison.” Stefano's voice was dry.

  “Stefano!” Carlina couldn't stop herself from glaring at him.

  He took her hand. “You've got to face it, my dear.”

  “I don't want her millions.” Enzo's voice sounded defeated.

  “You'll soon get used to them,” the lawyer said. “It's easy. I suggest we set up a meeting next week to discuss the next steps. You'll have to hand in your resignation at your current job, and you'll have to call together the board of directors of Camicie Di Silva, to discuss the next steps. The fiscal authorities have just announced an audit of the company, so you'll have to prepare everyone as well. Thank God the next Fashion Week will only be in February, so there is still a bit of time for you to find your feet.”

  Enzo jumped up. “I tell you, I don't want it! That's not the kind of life I want to live!”

  The lawyer looked as if he had heard something distasteful. “You'd be doing her a disservice if you didn't take over. At least, you know a bit about the industry and can make sure the company continues. You should also consider all the employees. They depend on you. The brand has to continue. That was Dorotea's highest priority from the very beginning.”