The Tuscan Child(54)

“You will stay and take notes,” the inspector said to the agent who was about to sneak from the room. “Bring a chair for the young lady and you may sit at the desk beside me.”

The young man returned with a chair and then took his place beside the inspector, looking extremely uncomfortable. There was no chair for Renzo. He stood behind me. I was not only embarrassed now, I was scared. I had seen the contempt for me in Renzo’s face. What if he mistranslated my answers to make me seem guilty of Gianni’s murder? My heart was thudding in my chest.

“Now,” the inspector said. “Your name, your address, and your reason for your visit.”

I looked up at Renzo, wanting to give the impression that I didn’t even understand these simple commands. I slowly gave my name and address. “I came here because my father was a British pilot. His plane was shot down near here in the war and I wanted to see the spot for myself.”

Renzo translated this. The inspector nodded.

“You arrived in this town when?”

“Only two days ago.” It felt much longer.

“And you were the one who found the body of Gianni Martinelli?”

“Signora Rossini and I found the body together,” I said. “I sleep in the little house at the bottom of her garden. The water comes from the well behind my room. I wanted to take a shower but there was no water. I went to find the signora and told her. Together we lifted the heavy lid from the well and saw the body. We both screamed and were very upset.”

The inspector listened to the translation, then watched the young policeman writing down notes. He looked up at me. “What did you do then?”

“We sent the signora’s daughter to fetch the Carabinieri. They came and removed the body from the well. It wasn’t easy. Someone had stuffed him in head first so that his head was in the water. It was horrible.”

“Did you recognise the man when they brought him out?”

“I did,” I said. “I had seen him the night before.”

“Ah. So you knew him?”

“I didn’t know him. He was one of the men who were sitting around the table in the piazza. I asked them if they remembered my father, but none of them did.”

“That is all?”

“Yes,” I said. “That was the only time I ever saw this man.”

There was an unpleasant smirk on the inspector’s face now. “This is not what I hear,” he said. “I heard that Gianni was most interested in you. He flirted with you. He offered to show you his farm.”

Renzo’s face was now also showing embarrassment as he translated.

“He was only being friendly,” I said. “I told the men that I would like to see the neighbourhood and this man, Gianni, offered to show me how he made cheese.”

“How he made cheese? Is that what they call it now?” The inspector looked at the young agent and chuckled.

My uneasiness was displaying itself as anger now. “Inspector, I was sitting at a table with other men. They laughed and said that I should watch out for Gianni, so I was aware that he was perhaps not to be trusted. So when he offered to walk me home, I refused. And luckily another man called Alberto said he would escort me as he had to go past Paola’s farm on his way home.”

“So that was the last time you saw Gianni?”

“The only time.”

There was a long pause while the inspector stared at me. “So tell me, Signorina Langley. Is it normal in your country for a girl to approach a table full of men alone, to accept a glass of wine from them? This is accepted behaviour?”

“First, I am not a girl. I am a woman of twenty-five and I am about to take the exam to become a lawyer,” I said. I thought I detected a flicker of reaction at the word “lawyer.” “And second,” I went on, “I wanted to find out about my father and I felt quite safe approaching people in the town piazza. I accepted a glass of wine because it would have been rude to refuse.”

“And then?”

“Then I walked home. I already told you a man called Alberto offered to escort me since he had to pass the farmhouse where I am staying. I accepted his offer as it was getting dark. He escorted me to the front door. I thanked him and went in to have dinner with Signora Rossini and her daughter. Then I went to bed. That’s all I can tell you.”

“You heard nothing after that? A man was killed and pushed into a well and you heard nothing? I find this strange. Unbelievable almost.”

“I drank wine,” I said. “I am not used to it, and it must have made me sleep extra soundly.”

He made a sound half between a cough and a laugh. “You know what I think?” the inspector said. “I think that Gianni was attracted to you. A young lady from a distant city, maybe with different standards from our local girls. He has heard about London girls and their loose ways. He wanted to make a conquest. He came to your room to see you later that night. Maybe he tried to force himself on you. You resisted. You hit him with a rock and knocked him out, then, frightened by what you had done, you hid his body in the well.”

“That is absurd,” I said, looking up at Renzo to translate for me. “For one thing I would not have been strong enough to hit a man like Gianni over the head if he was already attacking me.”

“Very well, let us say that you pushed him away. A commendable action for an upright young woman. He tripped, fell backward, and struck his head against a rock. Not murder at all, but self-defence. Understandable. Any jury would see that you were defending your honour.” He paused again.