Return to Umbria David Wagner (english novels for students TXT) 📖

could already have gotten news of the journalist’s murder. He hit the answer button.

“Uncle, you called at just the right time, I’m standing here doing nothing and have time to talk.”

“I wish I could say the same. I was calling about Vincenzo Aragona.”

Rick’s eyes stayed on the activity on the grass. “I’m all ears.”

“It’s very curious. His record appears to be clean, but I can’t be sure.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I. There is something missing, but how much and what it deals with, I don’t know. Without trying to explain our arcane records system, Riccardo, I’ll just say that I can detect a gap. Someone has removed information from his record.”

“How could that happen?”

“You’ve heard me rant many times about the overlapping and often conflicting agencies of our security services. You know: Polizia, Carabinieri, anti-mafia, Guardia di Finanza, anti-terrorism, art cops; the list goes on and on. I suspect that someone from another branch lifted this material from Aragona’s record.”

“Which means they’re investigating him.”

“That, or someone in power has made it disappear.”

“Either way, chances are that Vincenzo Aragona is not a model citizen.”

“Precisely. But I will keep digging. I have some friends in the records office who might have a clue as to what happened. Listen, I have to go. Anything new on our murder investigation?”

“Only that now there’s another one.”

“Non capisco, caro nipote.”

Rick brought his uncle up to date on the events of the previous half hour. There was no equivalent expression in Italian for “dodged a bullet” or he would have used it.

“Your friend LoGuercio has his hands full. We should be ready down here for a request for assistance.”

“That’s a bit of a bureaucrat’s reaction, Uncle. What about concern for your nephew?”

“Every time in the past when I’ve told you to be careful, Riccardo, something bad happened, so I won’t say it.”

After he ended the call, Rick saw that LoGuercio was walking toward him. He decided not to tell Paolo about his conversation with Piero. The man had enough on his mind.

“Nothing much more I can do here right now. Let’s go back to my office and see if anything is happening in the other case.” They started along the path to the station, leaving the crime village behind them on the grass.

“What did Pazzi say to you before the shots?”

“He was trying again to get something from me about the murder.”

“Again?”

“He stopped me in the street in front of the hotel yesterday afternoon, having found out who I was after seeing me with you earlier. I told him I didn’t know anything and if I did, I wouldn’t tell him.”

“Pazzi could be very persistent.” He looked up. “Oh, great. News certainly travels fast in this town.”

A car had stopped in front of the police station and Mayor Boscoli was getting out. He spotted the two men and strode across the street toward them.

“Another murder, Inspector? This is getting to be regular occurrence.” He squinted at Rick. “And Signor Montoya is already involved. Again the victim is an American tourist?”

“No, sir,” LoGuercio answered, “the dead man is Luciano Pazzi.”

“Pazzi? That bastard? You’ll have no shortage of suspects for this one, Inspector.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin, as if considering what more to say. “Orvieto doesn’t need this kind of publicity.” His muttered words were more to himself than to the two men. He shook his head and walked back to his car while Rick and LoGuercio watched.

***

LoGuercio wearily lowered his body into the chair behind his desk. His work area had been almost bare on Rick’s last visit, but now it was cluttered with papers, empty plastic espresso cups, and multiple ashtrays. Light had begun to fade from the view through the large windows, giving the grass and ivy a dark green color that would soon be black. The policeman gestured Rick toward the chair in front of his desk.

“We have some news, Riccardo. The fingerprints found on the belt of the victim were not hers.”

He opened a file, found a photograph, and pushed it across the desk. It was a close-up of a belt, its style something Rick had seen many times in New Mexico, usually on tourists. He recalled seeing it on Rhonda in the funicular. The large silver buckle’s design, including turquoise insets, was matched in smaller size by silver disks along the leather. Santa Fe Style takes another victim, he could not help thinking.

“The prints were on the buckle,” LoGercio said, “which fortunately was wide enough to provide a nice surface. They are checking them against Italian and Interpol records. Now I have to get the prints of anyone who could remotely be considered a suspect.”

“Aren’t their prints already on file? I would have thought that in Italy it’s a requirement that everyone be fingerprinted.”

LoGuercio lit a cigarette before leaning back in his chair, causing a slight squeak. “Surprisingly, the answer to the question is probably no. Only in the last few years, thanks to the European Community, have Italian citizens been required to get fingerprinted to obtain or renew their identity card, or get a passport. So most Italians, certainly those over a certain age, do not have their impronte digitali on record. And unless they need to renew their identity card, or get a passport, or get in trouble with us, they never will.”

“Which would take in about everyone connected with this case.”

“Correct. Maybe Donato has had some contact with the authorities, so he might be in the files, but I’ll get his prints anyway. If nothing else, telling him when he comes in that he has to do it could elicit an interesting reaction. Can I offer you a coffee, by the way? Water?” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Rick looked at the plastic cups on the desk and waved his hand. “No, thank you. It occurs to me that Rhonda, being wealthy, could have a maid or cleaning person back in America, someone who could have touched the belt.”

LoGuercio nodded, his fatigue evident. “We should