By the time Ric arrives at La Casa dei Sconosciuti, Valeria is sitting out on her patio, gazing out to sea. She doesn’t turn towards him when he walks over; instead she sips from her glass and says, “You make enough noise for an army, Ric. Why don’t you make yourself a drink and freshen mine while you are there?”
He mixes them both Aperol Spritz, careful to pour it the way she likes it: Aperol over ice before adding the Prosecco and soda.
“I saw you talking to Il Velaccino,” she remarks, casually. “Did you ask him if he has taken what you have lost?”
“No, I didn’t need to.”
“You have found it?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
At this, she turns and studies him. “You have no need to speak in riddles, Ric. If you do not want to tell me who has found it, I am not bothered to know.” Her tone is a shade offhand, as if he has annoyed her by refusing to confirm something she has no doubt already guessed. She stubs out her cigarette, sips her Spritz and puts down her glass. “Ric, you should know that the police have been here asking questions about you.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he replies.
“It suggests they think you have some involvement in Candela’s murder.”
“What did they want to know?”
“Oh, the usual: how long have I known you, how do I know you and what sort of person are you? That kind of thing.”
“What did you tell them?” he asks, watching for the slightest change in her expression which might suggest she is not being straight with him.
“I told them the truth. I said you are a friend of Camille’s and that you are searching for your family history; that is all. But, this Commissario Talaia is no fool. He is not the kind to ask questions he does not already know the answers to.” Valeria pauses. “He asked me if I knew of any reason why you would want Candela dead or if it was possible that you were the kind of man who would be hired to commit a murder.”
“And?”
“And I told him that, as far as I was concerned, I could see no reason why you would want any part in this business. I hope you don’t mind, but I told him about your wife and what happened to her while you were in Afghanistan. I hoped by doing so, he would see that you have no motive.”
“What was his reaction to that?”
“He said, “Every man has motive; to find it is simply a question of understanding the man”. As I have just said, this kind of policeman is not a fool.”
“Thank you for being so direct with him. Let’s hope he’s got the message.”
“But,” Valeria replies sharply, “he also told me he has found the passports you told me about; the passports that are not yours…”
“Yes, I know. They are a bit difficult to explain away. The Commissario came to see me yesterday morning. And last night he was hanging around the Maddalena. I guess he was waiting to see if anyone was going to return to the scene of the crime. We had quite a talk, apostolic conundrums mostly. He likes to talk around the houses, does the Commissario.”
“So what do you think will happen?”
“Well, I would imagine he’ll find who the passports belong to and where the owners lost them; then, he’ll check where and when I became the owner of the Mara and put two and two together.” He thinks for a moment, before pointing out, “I’m beginning to get the most unpleasant feeling I’m being fitted up for Candela’s murder.”
“Forgive me for saying, Ric, the next thing you know the police will be saying it is your gun they have found.”
And again Ric struggles to remember whether or not he wiped the gun clean after that morning at Porticello.
Noticing his discomfort, she attempts to pour oil on his troubled water, “Oh, Ric, why would anyone want to drag you into this mess? There must be a queue of suspects as long as the Aqua Claudia Viaduct for that particular crime. Girolamo Candela may have promised Lipari much, but most people disliked him enough not to concern themselves with who killed him. We should be grateful some public spirited citizen has done us this kindness.”
“I didn’t realise he was that unpopular.”
“He was a politician. As I have told you, they are all unpopular.”
“Sure, I remember you saying. But just how unpopular was he? I understand some people believe he was in on the attempts to assassinate the President of Sicily.”
Valeria drags on her cigarette and thinks in silence for a few seconds. “He may have been; who knows? All I know is he was once a good communist and now he is no longer.”
“What about Candela promising this brave new dawn, this great hotel and the free power, doesn’t that count in his favour? Or do you think he’s ruffled enough local feathers for someone to want to shoot him?”
“Yes, why not?” she replies, as though it would be a perfectly natural event. “People have been killed for far less. But to get this hotel built, whoever is behind it would need very deep pockets. There would be many mouths to feed along the way.”
“How many?”
Valeria chuckles, a long, hopeless, inevitable chuckle, as though Ric is a child who, having just walked in through the school gate, has asked how long it will be before he can go home.
“To begin with, there is a succession of governing committees, all of whom think they should have a louder voice than the next. They cast their watchful eyes over the Aeolian Islands like Aeolus himself. There are the Ministries of Environment, Cultural Heritage and Foreign Affairs. Below these last two sits the UNESCO Commission for Italy and, after that, the regional committees, provincial committees, and even the consortium for ecological development. Of course, this is before you have climbed your way past the President of Sicily and the office for small islands, which answers directly to him.”
“Sounds like quite an extended family.”
She laughs, “Yes, it would be a long and very costly meal. These professori, ingenieri, avvocati and dottori are known for their appetites, and the only thing they like more than their food is the sound of their own voices. In Italy, nothing is simple; everything must be discussed. You are more likely to die of old age before a judge will sentence you to death. And obtaining planning permission can take even longer.
“But first, you would have to eat breakfast with the urban committee here in Lipari and most of the members of the urban committee have too much invested in this island to want to see someone else move in on their… what do the American gangsters call it? Their turf? The last time planning permission was requested was 2007, when some developers asked to build seven hotels on Lipari and one on Vulcano. They were laughed off the island.”
“Is Marcello on the urban committee?”
She glances at him again, clearly puzzled by where he is taking their conversation, “Yes.”
“And his brother?”
“Yes, his brother too.”
“What’s his brother’s name?”
“Claudio. Why?”
“No great reason,” Ric shrugs. “It’s just that I see Marcello about the town all the time, but I’ve never seen or met his brother.”
Valeria frowns and replies, “There is no reason why you should see Claudio; he is the little brother. He is not capable in the same way as Marcello. Claudio has a negozio di ferramenta in Canneto.”
“When you say not capable, what do you mean?”
“What I mean is he stands in his brother’s shadow. He is not an alpha male; Claudio is not built like a bull, not like his brother. He is what some would call the piccolo della cucciolata.”
Ric searches the floor for a translation and then fastens on it, “The runt of the litter?”
“Yes, that is the right expression: the runt of the litter. If you have seen him, you would know him. Claudio is unusual, he has more hair on his face than on his head.”