When Carlo told us he was in possession of the gun that killed Signore di Taro, Cécile gasped. My own reaction was more guarded. Could we trust the boy? Even if he produced the weapon, could we prove it was the one used in the murder?
“How do you know it’s the same gun?” I asked, speaking quietly so as not to alarm the other patrons of the café.
“What other gun would have been flung to the ground just behind the building shortly after the murder?” He looked defiant.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
“I was milling around that morning, minding my own business. Didn’t have much of anything to do, so I just let myself wander. I turned into Signore di Taro’s street for no reason in particular. Because it was there, I suppose. I walked up and down twice and was halfway back up again when I heard the shots. Two of them, one right after the other.”
“Could you tell where they were coming from?” I asked.
“Not exactly, no,” he said. “The sound bounced around a bit. But I figure it must have been from a front room in one of the buildings. Otherwise, how could I have heard them? Probably wouldn’t have noticed anything if the windows hadn’t been open.”
“How do you know the windows were open?”
He shrugged. “If they weren’t, the sound wouldn’t have been bouncing around, would it?”
It was a keen observation. “Did you look to see which buildings had open windows?”
“I can’t say I did.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Truth is, I was a bit scared, but I won’t admit that to anyone ever again, all right? So don’t go telling my friends.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said. “It’s perfectly natural to be frightened in such a situation. What did you do next?”
“I ran as fast as I could to the main street, and once I got there, didn’t stop for more than a mile. Then, when I did, I thought maybe I should try to see what had happened, so I went back. This time, though, I went into the alley that runs behind those houses.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I was afraid that whoever fired the shots might be coming out the front door, since they were fired from the front, at least that’s what I thought. If he knew what I heard, he might decide to shoot me, too, mightn’t he?”
“The situation certainly called for an abundance of caution,” Cécile said.
The boy nodded. “Exactly, signora. There was no one else in the alley, not even a cat. It was completely empty. I crept along, keeping quiet. And then I saw it.”
“The gun?” I asked.
“Yes. It was right there on the ground. Must have been flung out a window.”
“So you picked it up?”
“I did.”
“I understand that you tried to report what you’d heard,” I said. “Did you go to the police?”
“Well, I saw one of them right after I left the alley, which seemed like a sign, telling me what to do, so I went up to him and said what I’d seen. He didn’t believe me and said that making up stories could land me in jail.”
“Didn’t you show him the gun?” I asked. “Surely that would have helped persuade him you were telling the truth.”
“No, he only would’ve taken it away from me.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I’ve got a place where I hide things. It’s there.”
I needed to tread carefully. Colin should examine the weapon, and it seemed more plausible that I could persuade the boy to allow that than to get him to agree to speak to the police again. If I first suggested the latter, I might be able to bring him around to the former. “Now would be a good time to bring it to the police. They won’t doubt you so readily, given that they know Signore di Taro was murdered.”
“I’m not going back to the police. If I tell them that it’s the gun that killed him, they might decide I was the one who did it.”
“I can’t believe they’d think you’re a murderer,” Cécile said.
“I’ve got a reputation, signora,” he said, sounding rather proud. “So they might indeed think I’m a ruthless killer.”
Between his short stature, skinny build, and the incomprehensible odds that he could have managed to acquire a gun in ordinary circumstances, this seemed beyond unlikely to me. That said, if the gun truly was in his possession, he had managed to acquire it. The police might not accept the story that he found it discarded in an alley.
“Tell me again how you came to be in Signore di Taro’s poky little street,” I said. “Why would you be there of all places?”
“Like I told you, I was just wandering around with no aim.”
“I don’t believe you, Carlo.” I motioned for our waiter and ordered the boy another lemonade.
“There’s nothing more to tell. I guess I liked the look of it.”
“Why?” I pressed.
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do.” I sat back and waited for the waiter to return with the fresh lemonade. Carlo stared at me, then at the full glass, then back at me. “You might as well drink it,” I said.
He took a large gulp. “All right. I don’t want anyone else to know, but there’s a girl.” His cheeks flushed vermilion.
“My dear boy, there is always a girl,” Cécile said. “You need not be embarrassed. “Does she return your affection?”
“I don’t even know her name. I saw her walking out of a butcher shop, carrying a package. I followed her, just so I could see where she lives, thinking if I did, maybe I could figure out a way to bump into her again. She’s very pretty.”
“Where does she live?” I asked.
“She went into the building directly across from Signore di Taro. I walked back and forth, hoping she might come out again, but she didn’t, so I’m confident that is where she lives.”
“Have you seen her again since?” Cécile asked.
“No, and I’m not sure I want to anymore,” he said. “Doesn’t seem like a good sign, finding a girl you think you like only to wind up hearing a murder instead of meeting her.”
Carlo put a great stock in signs.
“I agree it wasn’t the best start,” Cécile said. “There are many, many pretty girls in Florence. She is not the last one you’ll see.”
“I suppose so.” He sounded dispirited.
“Carlo, I’m sorry about all of this,” I said. “A boy your age shouldn’t have to worry about murders interfering with meeting a pretty girl. It would be best if you put this all behind you, starting with letting go of the gun.”
“I don’t want the police to have it.”
“I understand that.” I paused, just for a moment, trying to construct an argument he might accept. “Is it possible that everything surrounding your finding of the gun was a sign? You might well have decided not to go into the alley, or not to go back to the vicinity of the murder at all, yet you were compelled to, weren’t you? So you found the gun, just as you were meant to. It’s quite a coincidence that you ran into a policeman immediately thereafter. Just as you were meant to. Perhaps his unwillingness to believe your story should serve as a sign that you were supposed to confide in someone else, someone who would believe and protect you.”
“And you think that someone is you?” he asked.
“I do, along with Signora du Lac. Would you trust us to take care of the gun for you? My husband knows a great deal about weapons. He might be able to learn something from examining it that could lead us to the man who killed Signore di Taro.”
“He could do that?”
“It’s worth a try. You do want the murderer to be caught, don’t you?”
“Yes.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It does seem a bit like a sign, signora. What are the odds that the two of you wound up talking to me when you were wondering about the murder? You’re sure your husband won’t tell the police about me?”
“I can promise you he won’t.” He had no intention of ever telling the police anything in conjunction with this case.
“All right,” he said. “But I don’t want you to know where my hiding place is.”
“Is it nearby?” Cécile asked.
“I’m not telling you that.” He crossed his arms. “I appreciate your kindness in feeding me and all, but that doesn’t make me indebted to you forever. You know the Ponte Vecchio, right? All tourists do. I’ll bring it to you there, at midnight.”
“Midnight?” I raised an eyebrow and did my best not to smile. Young Carlo had a flair for the dramatic. “I shall be asleep at midnight. How about now? Signora du Lac and I can wait here while you collect the gun.” Cécile looked at me, concern writ on her face. I had no intention of letting him out of our sight, but I couldn’t tell that to my friend without the boy also hearing it, and that might scare him off.
“No, I do not like this plan,” Cécile said. “Carlo, I am coming with you. Do not argue, I am implacable.”
“I won’t let anyone see my hiding place.” Just as I’d feared, he looked ready to bolt. However, I’d underestimated Cécile.
“You will let me see it,” she said, her voice calm and commanding. “In return, I will give you five gold sovereigns.”
“Gold?” His eyes widened.
“Yes. That should make sharing your hiding place with me more palatable.”
The boy squinted as he looked at her. “I think you might be crazy, signora.”
“That is very likely,” Cécile said, “but it has never concerned me.”
“What about her?” He motioned to me.
“She will come behind us, keeping enough distance to be able to make sure no one is following. That way, you won’t have to worry about anyone else discovering your secret. The integrity of the hiding place will remain intact.”
He considered her words and then nodded. “I suppose that would be all right. Are you sure she can tell if someone’s following us?”
“Quite sure,” I said. “I’ve been specially trained in the art.”
He pursed his lips, nodded, and then spoke. “I guess finding the gun and you finding me really was all meant to happen. I’ll do as you ask.”
I hung back while he led Cécile to his hiding place, which was in a narrow passageway running between two houses about a quarter of a mile from the site of the murder. No one followed us. I waited at the end, just by the main street, watching as Carlo tugged a loose stone from the wall of the building on the west side and pulled the gun out from behind it. He gave it to Cécile, who removed the remaining cartridges before slipping the revolver into her reticule. Carlo returned the stone, making sure it was not even slightly out of place.
“Thank you, Carlo,” I said when they came back to me. “You’ve done the right thing.”
“When do I get my gold sovereigns?” he asked. Cécile produced them from her bag and handed them to him. “Thank you, signora, it’s a pleasure doing business with you. May I go now?”
“First I need to know how to reach you again should it become necessary,” I said.
“Why would it be necessary?” he asked, blanching.
“I assumed you would want to know the outcome of our investigation,” I said. “It’s nothing to cause you concern.” That seemed to satisfy him. He told us his full name and address, thanked Cécile, and skipped away. I turned to my friend. “Do you make a habit of carrying gold coins with you?”
She shrugged. “I find them useful in a variety of situations.”
“You unloaded that gun with remarkable speed.”
“As I said, I’m an excellent shot, Kallista.”
Darius did not dine with us that evening, so there was no need for me to deploy a longing look to let Colin know I needed to slip off alone with him. Cécile took for granted that any well-matched couple would wish to retire early and always encouraged such behavior. Colin took me in his arms the moment we entered the narrow corridor outside our room, pushed me against the wall, and kissed me until I was left almost delirious. Then, to my dismay, he released me, stepped away as if nothing had happened, opened the door, and ushered me into the chamber.
“I do hope that was a prelude,” I said, tugging the bodice of my gown back into place and smoothing my hair.
“Count on it, my dear. I know we must discuss the case before we succumb to further distraction, but I wanted to put you on notice. Further distraction is coming.”
A delicious warmth coursed through my body, but I ignored it. “I’ve had a rather productive day.” I retrieved the gun, which I’d stashed in a fifteenth-century wooden chest decorated with scenes from mythology that looked like they could have been painted by Botticelli, and handed it to him.
“Where on earth did you get this?”
I told him about our encounter with Carlo. “He’s convinced it was used to kill Signore di Taro.”
“This is most well done, Emily. I confess I did not put much stock in your decision to make queries about his murder, but you may be onto something,” he said, examining the weapon. “It’s a Nagant M1895 revolver, used as a side arm by the Russian army. Was di Taro Russian?”
“No, he came from a village in the Dolomites. Does it matter, though? Surely his killer would have brought his own gun.”
“Quite,” he said. “Two shots to the head in rapid succession suggest a person experienced in eliminating those who need eliminating. If he and his killer were both Russian, it might have be easier to find the connection.”
“A non-Russian could have a Russian gun, couldn’t he?”
“Yes, but…” He sighed. “This wretched situation becomes exponentially more complicated every time I blink. If the Russians are involved…”
I waited, but he did not continue. “As in the Russian government?” He nodded. “Aren’t we friends with Russia?”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” he said.
“Few things are. Do you think Marzo killed Signore di Taro?” I asked.
“Darius has no knowledge of any connection between them. He wasn’t aware of di Taro’s murder until I told him about it. If Marzo was involved, why would he use a Russian weapon?”
“In order to make it clear there was no British involvement in the crime? After all, he does—did—work for the British in some sort of mysterious capacity.”
“True,” he said, “but we would never have had him use a Russian revolver, even unofficially. Furthermore, he was not an assassin. Do you know anything about Signore di Taro?”
“Sadly little. No one except a man who repaired a Viennese clock for him would talk to us. He didn’t know him well.”
“I shall see what I can learn.”
“I shall regret never being able to hear about it.”
“I’m sorry, Emily,” he said and ran his hand through his tousled curls.
“I wasn’t looking for an apology.”
“Weren’t you?”
“No. I was merely trying to give you the opportunity to apply yourself to distracting me from wondering whatever it is you might or might not learn.”
“Is that so?” He put the revolver down on the table between the two chairs where we were sitting. “Is there anything else we need to discuss before I take the task in hand?”
“Nothing about either murder, but watching Carlo remove the gun from his hiding place made me think we should search for loose stones in this palazzo. Our Renaissance friend may have adopted a similar strategy when it came to securing his own treasure.”
“We could leave that to Cécile and Signore Tazzera,” he said. “They’re fascinated by the treasure, but I’m more enticed by other things.”
“Are you?” I asked, the delicious warmth returning to my body.
He knelt in front of my chair, gripped my legs, and pulled me closer to him. “Far more enticed.”