smashed in the fall. It showed exactly eight-fifteen.”
I had stiffened to attention. This was news to me. It meant that I was in the villa, looking for Helen, when she had fallen. No one, including a judge and jury, would believe I hadn’t had something to do with her death if it became known I had been up there at the time.
“I would like to be able to tell you,” Carlotti went on, “that your daughter’s death was due to an unfortunate accident, but at the moment, I can’t do it. I admit on the face of it, it would seem to be the solution. There is no doubt that she took a cine camera up on the cliff head. It is possible, when using a camera of this kind, to become so absorbed in what you are taking, that you could get too close to the edge of the path and fell over.”
Chalmers took his cigar out of his mouth and laid it in the ashtray. He stared fixedly at Carlotti.
“Are you trying to tell me that it wasn’t an accident?” he said in a voice you could cut a stale loaf on.
June Chalmers stopped staring at me and cooked her head on one side: for the first time she appeared to be interested in what was going on.
“That is for the coroner to decide,” Carlotti said. He was quite unflustered and he met the icepick eyes without flinching. “There are complications. There are a number of details that need explaining. It would seem there are two alternative explanations for your daughter’s death: one is that she accidentally stepped off the cliff head while using her camera; the other is that she committed suicide.”
Chalmers hunched his shoulders and his face congested.
“You have reason to say a thing like that?”
He conveyed that Carlotti had damn well better have a reason.
Carlotti let him have it without rubber cushioning.
“Your daughter was eight weeks’ pregnant.”
There was a long, heavy silence. I didn’t dare look at Chalmers. I stared down at my sweating hands that were gripped between my thighs.
June broke the silence by saying, “Oh, Sherwin. I can’t believe that…”
I sneaked a quick look at Chalmers. His face was murderous: the kind of face you see on the screen of some not-too-good actor playing the role of a cornered gangster.
“Hold your tongue!” he snarled at June in a voice that shook with violence. Then, as she turned to look out of the window, he said to Carlotti, “Is that what the doctor said?”
“I have a copy of the autopsy,” Carlotti returned. “You can get it if you wish.”
“Pregnant? Helen?”
He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. He still looked awe-inspiring, tough and ruthless, but somehow he didn’t make me feel quite such a pigmy; some of his big-shot atmosphere had gone out of him.
He walked slowly around the lounge while Carlotti, Grandi and I stared down at our feet and June stared out of the window. “She wouldn’t commit suicide,” he said suddenly. “She had too much strength of character.”
They seemed empty words: unexpected words from a man like Chalmers. I found myself wondering what chance he had ever given himself to find out if Helen had had any character at all. No one said anything.
He continued to walk around the lounge, his hands in his pockets, his face set and frowning.
After several uncomfortable minutes had ticked by, he paused suddenly and asked the worldold question, “Who is the man?”
“We don’t know,” Carlotti said. “Your daughter may have purposely misled the estate agent and the village woman by telling them he is an American. There is no American in Italy of that name.”
Chalmers came over and sat down again.
“He’s probably not using his own name,” he said.
“That is possible,” Carlotti said. “We have made inquiries in Sorrento. There was an American, travelling alone, on the three-thirty from Naples.”
I felt my heart contract: it was a horrible feeling. I found difficulty in breathing.
“He left a suitcase at the station,” Carlotti went on. “Unfortunately the description of him varies. No one particularly noticed him. He was seen walking on the Sorrento-Amalfi road by a passing motorist. All anyone can be certain about is that he wore a light grey suit. The station clerk said he was tall. The motorist thought he was of middle height. A boy from a nearby village said he was short and thick-set. There is no clear description of him. Around ten o’clock in the evening he collected his suitcase and took a taxi to Naples. He was in a great hurry. He offered the driver a five thousand lire tip to get him to the station to catch the eleven-fifteen to Rome.”
Chalmers was sitting forward, his eyes intent. He reminded me of some beast of prey.
“The road to Amalfi is also the road to this villa?”
“Yes. There is a branch road.”
“My daughter died at eight-fifteen?”
“Yes.”
“And this fella took a taxi in a hurry around ten o’clock?”
“Yes.”
“How long would it take to get from this villa to Sorrento?”
“About half an hour by car, or walking, it’d take well over an hour and a half.”
Chalmers brooded for a moment.
I sat there breathing through my half-open mouth and feeling pretty bad. I expected him to come out with some devastating discovery after these questions, but he didn’t. Instead, he suddenly hunched his shoulders and said, “She wouldn’t commit suicide. I know that. You can put that theory right out of your mind, Lieutenant. It is obvious: she fell off the cliff while using this camera.”
Carlotti didn’t say anything. Grandi moved uneasily and stared hard at his finger-nails.
“That’s the verdict I expect to hear,” Chalmers went on, his voice harsh.
Carlotti said smoothly, “It’s my business to give the facts to the coroner, Signor Chalmers. It is his business to find the verdict.”
Chalmers stared at him.
“Yes. Who is the coroner?”
“Il signor Giuseppe Maletti.”
“Here - in Naples?”
“Yes.”
Chalmers nodded.
“Where is my daughter’s body?”
“At the Sorrento mortuary.”
“I want to see her.”
“Of course. There will be no difficulty. If you will let me know when, I will take you there.”
“You don’t have to do that. I don’t like people following me around. Dawson will take me.”
“As you wish, signor.”
“Just fix it with whoever is in charge that I can see her.” Chalmers took out a new cigar and began to peel off the band. For the first time since I had entered the room, he looked at me. “Is the Italian press covering this business?”
“Not yet. We’ve been holding up on it until you came.”
He studied me, then nodded.
“You did right.” Then he turned to Carlotti. “Thanks for the facts, Lieutenant. If there’s anything else I want to know between now and the inquest, I’ll get in touch with you.”
Carlotti and Grandi got to their feet.
“I am at your service, signor,” Carlotti said.
When they had gone, Chalmers sat for a moment, staring down at his hands, then he said quietly and savagely, “God damn wops.”
I thought this was the time to unload the box of jewels Carlotti had entrusted in my keeping. I put the box on the table in front of Chalmers.
“These belonged to your daughter,” I said. “They were found in the villa.”
He frowned, reached forward, opened the box and stared at the contents. He turned the box upside down, letting the jewels spill out on to the table.
June got to her feet and crossed over to stare over his shoulder.
