Aaron Elkins - Dying on the Vine

“Give us a chance to get going, Luca,” Rocco said, smiling. “We haven’t even—”

“ Faida ,” Franco murmured darkly. “The marriage.”

“That’s always possible,” Rocco said. “We’ll be looking into that angle.”

“Oh, but do you really, honestly think that was it, Franco?” Linda asked skeptically. It was her first contribution of the afternoon. “It was so long ago.”

“There’s no statute of limitation on faida , Linda, no sell-by date. It never ends. Now think about it. Someone might have wanted to kill babbo for one reason or another. That’s certainly possible. And, conceivably, someone might have wanted to kill Nola, although I can’t think of any reason why. But can you come up with any possible reason, other than the old vendetta, that someone might want to kill both of them?” He shook his head. “No, you cannot. They have a very long memory in Barbagia.”

Nico snorted. “Give us a break, Franco. “This is 2011, not 1911.”

“Well, then why? Who?”

Rocco waited a few seconds to see if anybody would respond. When no one did, he said: “As long as you’ve raised the question, though, Franco, let’s give it a little thought. Who do you think might have killed your father?”

“I just told you. The families back in Barbagia—”

“No, I’m not asking you who might have killed them both, just your father.”

“Just my father?” Franco seemed confused by the question. “I have no idea. Why ask me?”

“Because you said you did have an idea.”

“No, I explicitly said I didn’t have any idea. Other than faida .”

“No, you said you had no idea who might have killed Nola .”

“No—”

From his chair near the wall, Martignetti interrupted, reading from his shorthand notes. “‘Someone might have wanted to kill babbo for one reason or another. That’s certainly possible. And, conceivably, someone might have wanted to kill Nola, although I can’t think of any reason why.’”

“‘Certainly possible,’” said Rocco. “It seems to me that suggests—”

“It was just a figure of speech, for God’s sake. Oh, I suppose I might have been thinking of various feuds babbo had over the years. With other vintners, distributors, some of our own people . . . He could be a difficult man to get along with.”

“I see,” Rocco said, unimpressed.

“I can give you some names, if you want, although, really, I doubt—”

“Let’s be honest for once in our lives,” Nico said. “If you’re looking for people with motives, Lieutenant, you’re sitting in a room full of them.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Franco exclaimed angrily “Us? We had motives to kill babbo ? That’s a hell of a thing to say. I can’t believe—”

“Whoa, calm down, buddy,” Nico said, putting a placating hand on Franco’s shoulders as if to keep him from exploding off the settee they shared. “I’m not saying anybody here killed him, God forbid. I’m just saying the motive was there. It was, Franco. He’s gonna find that out anyway, and I just figured we might as well tell him about it now.”

“ What motive? Are you crazy? I don’t—”

“Humboldt-Schlager,” Nico said quietly, which shut Franco down in mid-sentence.

“Humboldt-Schlager,” Luca said musingly. “Yeah, the kid’s got a point, Franco.”

“I think,” Rocco said pleasantly, “it would be really nice if somebody told me what you’re talking about.”

Gideon and John shared a mildly amused glance. Rocco had said it in all innocence, just as if Gideon hadn’t told him all about the Humboldt-Schlager affair not even three hours earlier.

“Go ahead, kid,” Luca said to Nico. “You started this.”

“Okay. In a nutshell, Humboldt-Schlager—you know, the brewing company—wanted to buy the winery, and babbo was gonna sell it.”

Franco had his arms folded. “We don’t know that for a fact.”

“Yeah, we do,” Nico said. “Get real, Franco. Of course he was; it was written all over him. Am I right, Luca?”

“You’re right, Nico.”

Franco shrugged.

“And none of you wanted him to do it?” Rocco asked.

The three brothers looked at each other for a second before Franco replied. “We did not. We felt the terms were inimical to the interests of the family.”

Luca hooted with laughter. “Translation: they were gonna boot us out on our asses. The minute the contract was signed.”

“And Linda, how did you feel about it?”

“I felt the way Luca did.”

“I see,” Rocco said. “Okay, guys, telling me about it was the right thing to do. We’ll be following up with you on this.”

“May I point out that Nola was also murdered?” Franco said. “And Nola had nothing to do with it, so how is it relevant?”

But Rocco was tiring. He’d had enough. “I think we can wrap this up for now. Thank you all for your cooperation. Franco, I’m gonna want to confer with the maresciallo here for a minute. Okay if we just stay here?”

“Actually, I think the small conference room might be better suited, Lieutenant. You remember where it is?”

“Sure, fine, whatever,” Rocco said, annoyed. “Any chance of having some coffee sent over there for us? I’m flagging.”

“That might be problematic. I’m afraid Maria is tied up in the refectory kitchen with Luca’s—”

“I’ll take care of it, Franco, don’t sweat it,” Linda said, getting up, and then under her breath: “Sheesh.”

As people filed thoughtfully out, Luca caught Gideon and John. “Tonight the group is on its own for dinner. How about you and the girls join Linda and me for something special? I want to take you to the best restaurant in Tuscany.”

“You’re too late,” John said. “We already found it. I had pizza carnivora . Fantastico , tremendoso !”

Luca responded with a hearty, appreciative laugh. “I think maybe we’re talking about different places. Eight thirty okay? We’ll be driving to Arezzo.”

EIGHTEEN

INthe conference room, Rocco leaned back in one of the pearl-gray Aeron conference chairs with his feet up on another. He sat with his hands clasped behind his neck, a Marlboro between his lips. Across the table Martignetti jotted notes in his pad.

“You think there’s anything to this Cesare angle?” the lieutenant asked, blowing smoke toward the matte white panels of the fluorescent-lit ceiling. “You think he could have killed them both? On account of the will?”

“I’d say he’s our best bet right now. Better than the beer company angle.”

“You think he’d kill his own mother for a few thousand euros?”

“He’s a cokehead, Tenente ,” Martignetti said, as if that was more than enough to explain things.

Which it was, in Rocco’s opinion. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said sleepily. “Look, you come right through the Santa Croce district to get to work. Why don’t you pick him up on your way in tomorrow morning and bring him in? I’m interested to meet the guy.”

At which point Linda swept in with a tray on which were two espresso cups, a glass pot of coffee holding an additional three or four cups of coffee, and a plate of almond-orange biscotti.

“Linda, God bless you!” Rocco said. “I was just gonna fall asleep. You saved my life.”

She set down the tray. “If Franco saw you with your feet up on one of his chairs like that, your life wouldn’t be worth much, Lieutenant.”

Rocco, leaving his feet on the chair, poured the coffee for himself and Martignetti. “But you won’t tell him, will you, sweetheart?” He drank the entire cupful and sighed with pleasure. “The heart begins to beat again,” he said. “The blood flows.”