Elegant Death Read online

  “You speak as if you've been head of the company for years,” Carlina said.

  Enzo made a grimace. “That part isn't hard. I've always been fascinated by the production and the material, and when I developed the new material with Dorotea, I spent a lot of time in the workshop. It's the rest that tires me – the fiscal and administrative stuff, the politics, the emotions.”

  He leaned back and stared into space. “Ever since we parted on Sunday, I couldn't stop thinking. Who could it be?” He swallowed. “Let's face it, Dorotea wasn't particularly popular, and she's made countless enemies. Trying to find her murderer is like looking for one particular needle in a mountain of needles. At least, that's what I thought at first.”

  Carlina bent forward. “But then? You've found a clue?”

  He shrugged. “It's not really a clue. But the murderer had to know she would be in Florence on Saturday night. We can agree on that, right?”

  “Of course.” Carlina nodded.

  “And thanks to the short notice of your wedding invitation,” he gave them a crooked grin, “and our last-minute decision to join, there can't have been many people who were aware of that, so that reduces the circle quite a lot.”

  Stefano nodded. “Sound reasoning.”

  Enzo pulled out a drawer and slapped a list in front of them. “As far as I know, these are the people who knew where she would be on Saturday night. I'm not sure it's complete, but at least, it helps us a bit. I was here in Milan on Friday, and we met for lunch. I mentioned you were spontaneously getting married, and that's when she said she would come along.”

  Carlina blinked. “You said so before, but I couldn't really believe it. You mean you didn't ask her?”

  He shrugged. “No. I thought she had other plans. There was a golf tournament or something. I hate golf, so I didn't plan on joining her. But when she heard about the wedding, she said she would cancel everything, and that's what she asked her secretary to do on Friday afternoon.”

  “So the secretary is on that list,” Carlina said.

  “Yes. Her name is Liza Martini. She's half-American, like we are. She's the first on the list.”

  “How long has she been working here?”

  “Just a few weeks. She's still in her trial period. The last one had a burn-out. So had the one before.”

  “Sheesh.” Carlina shook herself. “But if we take her as a starting point, couldn't she have told anyone? News spreads fast in a company. Everyone loves to gossip.”

  Enzo shook his head. “Dorotea was very clear about her privacy. The secretary had to keep absolutely mum about any things she booked. It's even written in her contract.”

  “Why was Dorotea so secretive?”

  “I don't think that's unusual. If you're a celebrity, and here in Milan, she definitely was, then the paparazzi are sometimes willing to pay high bribes in order to get inside information, trying to get pictures of you at private locations and that sort of thing. So it was standard procedure.”

  “I see.”

  “In the afternoon, she had her monthly meeting with the directors. It was supposed to last from two to four, but in reality, it often lasted until six. They all hated the monthly director meeting.”

  “How do you know?” Stefano asked.

  “Dorotea told me.”

  “She knew they hated it?”

  “Yeah, but she said it was important to keep it that way. Diamonds are only created if the pressure is great enough. That was her motto.”

  “It sounds dreadful.”

  Enzo gave his sister an inscrutable look. “And yet, most people in the industry would have given their eyesight to work for her.”

  “But why?”

  “Because the brand has an immense standing. And because she was a genius.”

  “Some genius, who breaks the people who work for her.”

  Enzo nodded. “That was her greatest failure. She didn't value friendship or trust at all. She was very lonely.”

  “But did she feel it?” Stefano asked.

  He slowly shook his head. “I don't think so. Anyway, she told me she'd mentioned her trip to Florence to the directors.”

  “Why did she do that?” Carlina narrowed her eyes.

  “Well, Camicie Di Silva has recently bought a competitor, the company, Camicie d'Oro, and their headquarters are in Florence, or the province, as she used to call it. Apparently, there was some work to do in connection with the takeover, and she said since she'd be spending the weekend in Florence anyway, she could just as well re-schedule her Monday meetings, stay a bit longer and take care of the issues at the Florentine office.”

  “So all the directors are on the list, as well. What did she do after the meeting?” Stefano asked.

  “She worked until eight o'clock and then went home.”

  “Is that far away?”

  “No. It's on Via della Spiga, and she usually commuted by car as she didn't go to the office during rush hour. If you're stupid enough to take your car during rush hour, a trip that usually only takes you fifteen minutes can take you over an hour. You're even quicker if you walk.”

  Carlina frowned. “Isn't Via della Spiga the street where all the luxury labels have their showrooms?”

  He made a grimace. “Yeah. The house is a typical Milanese palazzo, built around a courtyard with a fountain, a mosaic floor, palm trees in tubs and so on. In the front part is the show room of Camicie Di Silva. You are only allowed inside if you ring a bell. Upstairs, there are store rooms and offices. Her private apartment is in the back of the building. It's huge and pristine white, of course.”

  “And now it belongs to you.”

  “Yeah.” Enzo shook himself and took a deep breath. “Anyway, she told me she stayed at home that night and worked some more. The next morning, she came back here, to use the sports studio on the top floor. That was her usual Saturday morning routine. Later, she was flown down to Florence with her private plane. I met her at the airport, and we drove straight to your wedding.” Enzo moved in his seat. “Why do you look like this at me, Stefano?”

  “I'm wondering.”

  “What about?”

  “Well, you said you had a fight with Dorotea last Sunday.”

  “That's right.”

  “Did you see her at all during the week?”

  “No. I needed some time to cool down and to think about . . . everything.”

  “But on Friday, you had lunch together.”

  “Yeah. Well, I was in town anyway, and I felt it would be strange not to get in touch, so I called her.”

  “And?”

  “And she was friendly and relaxed, as if we'd never had a fight at all.” He made a grimace. “When we met, she even alluded to it, saying that apparently, I had gotten over my bad mood. She made it sound as if I was a film star, someone who had mercurial temper swings without any real reason. It made me angry again.”

  “But you didn't start another fight?”

  “No. I didn't want to start a scene at the restaurant where she is well known, and . . .” He blushed.

  “And?”

  “Well, she looked fantastic that day. I . . . I was pretty much bowled over. She could be very charming when she wanted to be, you know.”

  “And then she said she would accompany you to the wedding.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you feel about that?”

  Enzo lifted his hand as if he wanted to scratch his head, remembered his carefully flattened curls just in time and dropped the hand again. “At first, I didn't like the idea. I'd been looking forward to a good time with old friends and the family. But then I thought, what the heck. It would help me to make up my mind if I saw her in another setting, in my world. So far, I had only seen her in her own world, and I was confused about my feelings.”

  “And during the wedding?”

  “When I heard how snotty she was to everyone, I felt ashamed, and suddenly, I fell out of love.” He stared at his sister. “Has it ever happened to you?”<
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  Carlina nodded. “Yes.”

  “It's so scary, because up to a point, you are convinced this person is the most wonderful human being, and you're so impressed, but then, it's as if a golden statue is turned around and suddenly, you see the slimy backside, rotten and disgusting.”

  “And that's why you went out to the garden?” Stefano's voice was deep.

  Enzo nodded. “I needed to clear my head. And I needed to make a decision.”

  “But when you came back, the decision was taken out of your hands.” Carlina swallowed.

  “Yes. It felt totally unreal. I couldn't take it in.”

  “Were you relieved?” Stefano asked.

  Enzo flinched. “If I say yes, will the noose around my neck tighten?”

  “Yes.” Carlina didn't hesitate. “But I would still prefer to learn the truth.”

  “So, yes. Yes, I felt relieved. And guilty because I felt that way.”

  “But you didn't kill her?” Stefano asked.

  “I didn't kill her. I swear.” Enzo sat up straight. “And I told you so before, so you needn't ask me again all the time. My answer won't change.”

  Stefano nodded. “Fair enough. But allow me one more question. If you made up with Dorotea during lunch on Friday, why didn't you stay together for the night?”

  This time, Enzo pushed his hand through his hair without thinking and withdrew it with a disgusted expression on his face.

  Carlina handed him a tissue.

  He took it and started to rub the gel off his fingers. “I had to return to my apartment in Pisa to get my good suit for the wedding. Besides, I had planned to visit some customers in the south next week, so I had to take my car down anyway. Dorotea hated driving in a car; she flew everywhere. That's why we decided to meet at the airport of Florence the next day and to spend the rest of the weekend together.” He shook himself. “That's enough about me, I think. You're here to find the real murderer. So far, we have five people on the list. The secretary and the four directors. I'm not sure if Dorotea told anybody else about her plans, but I don't think it's likely. I'll tell you about the four directors.” He lifted one finger. “Number one. The director of finance and administration, Marco Riva. He's been with the company for five years, and he's a stiff stick who never laughs. If you ask me, he's the perfect murderer, but I'm basing my estimation only on my instant and deep dislike and the fact that I don't understand a word when he opens his mouth. I only met him yesterday, and I think the dislike is mutual.”

  Carlina and Stefano both took out notebooks and started to scribble down the information.

  “Number two, the production director Silvio Orlando. He's a good egg, knows what he's doing, and keeps his people motivated even if they have to do night shifts. Dorotea didn't like him much. She said he was too friendly to the staff, but she had to accept the results, so he stayed. He's been with the company for three years.”

  “So you've known him for some time?” Stefano asked.

  “Yes, I worked with him when we created the first samples made of the new material.” Enzo lifted another finger. “Number three, the director of sales and marketing, Benito Bellini. Arty type, always walks around with a scarf and gloves.”

  “Gloves?” Carlina lifted her eyebrows.

  Enzo shrugged. “Yeah. He claims he's got very sensitive hands. He's gay, and he's got pretty amazing ideas. Dorotea liked his work a lot, even though she used to fight with him all the time. He's got a temper, and I think he's probably the only one who dared to tell her what he really thought – but only when she'd enraged him. Maybe that's why she made it a hobby to make him angry. He's really more a marketing type than sales type, and I know the salespeople don't like him. They feel he doesn't represent their interests sufficiently, but Dorotea didn't want another director. She said four was enough. Instead, she directly talked to the global head of sales whenever she felt the need to get it straight from the horse's mouth. His name is Franco di Rosa.”

  “But this Franco di Rosa wasn't present during the meeting on Friday afternoon?”

  Enzo frowned. “He was, at least partially. They called him in when they discussed the new marketing strategy.”

  “Was this the time when Dorotea mentioned her plans for the weekend?”

  “I think so.” Enzo picked up a pen and added the name to the list. “I'd forgotten him. So that makes six.”

  Carlina exchanged a look with Stefano. It seemed they had a lot to do.

  “How long has the marketing boss, this Benito Bellini, been with the company?” Stefano asked.

  “Two years.”

  “And the head of sales, Franco di Rosa?”

  “Three.”

  “So none of them was with her for a really long time.” Carlina frowned.

  “Yes, there is one, the director who's responsible for the purchase and quality departments. His name is Lorenzo Vitali. He'll retire in two months, and he's been with her from the very beginning. He'd already started to work with the company when her father was still alive.”

  “Four men as directors,” Carlina said. “And not a single woman.”

  “No.” Enzo shrugged. “The usual, eh? I'm not sure if Dorotea would have accepted another sun in her universe.”

  “All right.” Carlina closed her book. “We'll start with those six.”

  “Have you worked out how you'll set this up?”

  “Yes. Stefano and I will first do the interviews with each person, and later, if we need a more personal approach, we might pick them out individually, on a one-by-one basis.”

  “Well, good luck, then.” Enzo got up. “I'll take you on the tour and show you the offices of all the directors.”

  “That's good. Then we can see a bit of their character.”

  Enzo gave her an ironic look. “Don't expect too much. Dorotea didn't like personal touches in the office. Employees aren't allowed to hang up personal pictures or bring plants or pin up postcards or funny slogans or whatever. Whenever she saw them, she asked the employees to take them down immediately.”

  Carlina threw up her hands. “She seems to have been a real dragon.”

  He shrugged. “She was the queen of discipline, and she wanted the office as pure as the brand.”

  “Pure as the brand, my foot.” Carlina shook her head. “It sounds dreadful.”

  Enzo's information had been correct. He took them around the floor, and whenever he opened a door, the same image presented itself: a clear room, a desk, a steel-and-chrome filing system, and nothing personal at all. Carlina gave a sigh of relief when he handed them over to the director of production, Silvio Orlando who immediately took them down to the ground floor.

  The whirring of sewing machines, the faint smell of new fabric, and the large cutting tables in the vast hall made Carlina feel at home. It reminded her of her fashion design studies, when she'd worked as a trainee for another fashion company. Silvio Orlando was a rotund man with a balding head and gentle brown eyes. He explained the production process from the first drafts to the final stitches in the prototype. In one corner of the room, a long row of hangers showed the different prototypes, with fabric and paper samples attached to the semi-finished shirts. Carlina didn't have to fake her interest. She enjoyed the chance to speak with another industry professional and asked all the questions that darted into her mind until signor Orlando smiled and said, “For a consultant, you know quite a bit about our industry, signora Garini.”

  Carlina could feel her face going warm. “I studied fashion design before I – em – changed my career.”

  “That explains it, then.” He led them inside a tiny office and closed the door. The humming of the machines was shut out, and suddenly, the room was quiet. This office was different from the offices on the seventh floor because the walls were lined with cabinets which were stuffed full of all kinds of fabric samples and material books. “Take a seat.” Orlando saw Carlinas look and made a wry face. “I know the order in here is not as it should be. In fact, Dorotea
told me only last week I would have to clear it up, or she'd throw it all away.” He blinked. “I can't believe she's dead.”

  “I can well imagine that.” Carlina put as much sympathy as possible into her voice. “When did you learn about it?”

  “Lorenzo, I mean the director for the purchase and quality department, called me on Sunday morning. I was so shocked I had to sit down.”

  “How did he hear about it?”

  “The company lawyer informed him. He'd gotten it from the early morning news on the radio, but he knew few people listen to the six o'clock news on a Sunday morning, and he decided to inform the directors at once.”

  “So he called you at six o'clock?”

  “Lorenzo reached me at a quarter to seven.”

  Carlina wondered how she could spin out the conversation without appearing to be too inquisitive about the details. “It must be absolutely dreadful to be woken up on a Sunday morning, peacefully asleep at home, and to get such horrible news.”

  “Yes, and I wasn't even at home. We stayed with my sister, who has a weekend house at the lago di Garda. My wife and I had driven down on Friday night, right after the weekly director meeting was over.”

  If that was true, he might have a good alibi. They could check up on it. Carlina decided to throw caution to the wind and to set herself up as a gossipy kind of person who easily loses the thread of conversation. Stefano could do the silent and serious type. That fit much better to his personality anyway. She placed a hand over her heart. “Oh, how dreadful. I always think it's particularly sad if someone dies after a quarrel or hard words because you've no chance to make it up.”

  Orlando blinked. “Why do you think I quarreled with Dorotea?”

  “Oh, didn't you just say she threatened to throw out everything in your office?”

  He laughed. “That was normal behavior for Dorotea, nothing extraordinary to worry about.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at them. “But I'm sure you've got plenty of other questions for me. I don't know if I understood Enzo correctly. He said you're consultants?”