David Hewson - The Villa of Mysteries

“You should have called her, Toni,” Peroni said. “You got to bury these things sometimes.”

A skeletal finger cut through the air in front of Peroni’s face. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do. Don’t go places you don’t belong. That woman walked out on me for no good reason. She can rot in hell for all I care.”

Peroni’s face lit up at Martelli’s reaction. “She left right around the time Barbara joined up, didn’t she? Any connection there?”

“Just get out of here.”

It wasn’t grief that was eating the man up. It was hatred, and fear maybe.

“Is there something we can do?” Costa asked. “Help make arrangements?”

Martelli’s eyes fixed on the carpet. “Nope.”

“Is there nothing at all you want to tell us?”

He didn’t say a word.

Peroni leaned back and closed his eyes. “This is such a nice apartment. I wish I could afford something like it. You know, I could just sit here all day, smoking, thinking. You got anything to eat, Toni? You want me to send the boy out and fetch something in while we wait for you to get your voice back? Couple of beers? Some pizza?”

Martelli shook his head. “She was thirty-two years old, for God’s sake. A grown woman. You think she told me everything? It just makes no sense. She got here around three thirty after she came off duty. A little while later there’s a call and next thing I know she’s putting on that leather gear of hers, off for a ride. Hell, it was a nice day. I thought maybe she was doing it for fun. Maybe she was going to meet someone. I don’t know.”

“She didn’t say anything?” Costa asked.

Martelli turned to look at Peroni. “Where did you get Junior? Is this one of them work experience things the schools do?” The bony finger jabbed at Costa from across the room. “If she’d said anything I’d have mentioned it. I didn’t do the job you think you’re doing for more than thirty years without learning to put one foot in front of the other.”

“Of course,” Costa nodded and thought again: where was the grief ? Was Toni Martelli just holding it all inside? Or was there something that overwhelmed even that? Fear? A sense that his own skin might be at risk now too?

“We could get someone round to talk to you. We could get you counselling.”

“Send round some grappa and a few packs of cigarettes. Counselling? And they wonder why the force has gone to pieces.”

“We could get you protection,” Costa suggested.

“Why would I need that?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. Barbara had secrets. That much we do know. Maybe some people think she shared them with you.” Costa leaned forward. “Maybe she did.”

“Don’t try fishing with me, kid,” Martelli snapped. “Ate up minnows like you for dinner in my time. You ask something sensible or you get the hell out of here. I was planning to watch some football.”

It was as if what had occurred was an everyday event. Or that Martelli refused to allow it to touch him, scared perhaps of the consequences. Costa couldn’t begin to understand this strange old man at all.

Peroni looked at his watch then at Costa. They both knew they were getting nowhere.

Costa persisted. “Tell me, Mr. Martelli. Did Barbara have a boyfriend?”

The bleak, old eyes glared at him. “Nothing special.”

“Any names? Did you ever meet them?”

“No.” He lit a cigarette, took a deep gulp then closed his eyes. “None of my business. None of yours either.”

Peroni nudged him, smiling. “It is now. We got to pry into Barbara’s bedroom, Toni. We got to do that for her sake as well as ours. Did she always come home at night? Or did she stay with them?”

“You two getting off on this?” Martelli asked.

Costa was unmoved. “Did she leave any phone numbers where you could contact her when she was out?”

The old man went silent again, staring at them sullenly. He was thinking, though. There was some kind of revelation going on inside his head.

“She didn’t go for men,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong. She didn’t go for women either. She wasn’t interested. Not for a long while now. I…”

Just for a moment he looked pained. “I wish she had fucked off with someone, got married, had kids. Instead of all this shit. All this lonely, lonely shit…”

“Why was she lonely?” Peroni asked. “Barbara of all people? I mean, she could have had any man she wanted. Why wouldn’t she try a couple out just for size?”

“I dunno,” he grunted, recovering his composure. “Why ask me? She never told me nothing.”

Nic Costa felt an intense dislike for this desiccated man. Peroni had hit on something too. Barbara never did go out with anyone, though she must have been asked all the time. Was she scared of men? Had something happened that made her incapable of maintaining an everyday relationship?

“I wasn’t interested in you,” Costa said. “Not directly. If it’s at all possible, Mr. Martelli, try to imagine yourself outside all this for a moment. I was asking about Barbara. We’ve only got three possibilities here. Either she did this of her own volition, just acting alone, for what reason none of us could begin to guess. Or she did it as a private favour. Or someone from one of the mobs kept her sweet over the years and used her to do jobs in her spare time. And paid her.”

Martelli sucked desperately on the cigarette and blew a cloud across the room. Costa waved away the smoke.

“You’re her father,” Costa continued. “You were a cop. Where’d you put your money?”

The cigarette burned brightly again.

“In fact,” Costa added, “talking of money, where are Barbara’s bank accounts? Where are yours for that matter?”

“They took them,” Martelli snapped. “Last night. They’re clean. Not a hint of anything bad. Do I look like an idiot?”

Costa stood up. “You don’t mind if we search the apartment again, Mr. Martelli? In case they missed something?”

The old man turned his miserable gaze on Peroni. “I’ve had enough of this shit. You’ve got no papers that give you the right to do this.”

Peroni shook his head. “We’re not going away empty-handed, Toni. There must be something. Something you remembered after they left last night. Otherwise we go out for the beer and pizza. I promise you.”

“Thanks,” Martelli said with a scowl. “Tell them this. She was a good daughter. She cared for me. She always knew her family came first. I wish I’d appreciated that more. I wish—”

His voice broke. His eyes filled with tears.

Toni Martelli was crying for himself, Costa thought. None of this was supposed to happen. The company he kept had saved him from prosecution before. He must have thought himself untouchable, and believed, by implication, this sense of immunity applied to his daughter too.

“It would be a terrible thing to live with,” Costa said quietly. “Knowing the events that led to your own child’s death came from you.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Martelli croaked. “The pair of you. And don’t come back.”

Costa thought of arguing. But there was no point. The old man felt protected. As long as he could stay inside the big empty apartment in the Lateran he could continue to fool himself into believing the world would never intrude upon his private hell. None of this could last, and he knew that as well as they did. It was just one of the reasons why he was steeped in such terror.

They didn’t say anything as they left. The two men stumbled outside into the daylight. The morning was growing painfully bright under the strong sun. It hurt the eyes. It made the city harsh and two-dimensional.

“We need to work on this ”good cop, bad cop“ routine,” Peroni suggested as they walked to the car. “I got confused about my role in there.”