“I think we’re done already, Riccardo. I’ll take a quick look in the bedroom, but I don’t expect to find anything of interest. Maybe the names she has are the same ones in that little book in your hand.”
Chapter Four
The two names Betta got from the gallery owner—Morelli, the art collector, and Vitellozzi of the museum—were in Somonte’s little book, as were Bruzzone himself and Florio, the director of the botanical gardens. DiMaio sat at his desk, his left hand holding open the book and the other slowly writing the four names and telephone numbers on a legal pad.
“The hotel checked the phone records, and Somonte made no calls from his room. If he called anyone on this list he must have done it on his telefonino, the same phone that was not found on his body. That was very inconsiderate of the murderer to take it. I would have thought that having the Piero drawing would have been enough.” He dropped the pen on the desk and looked up at Rick and Betta. “Well, we have people to interview, it appears. Betta, you talked already with Bruzzone— what did you glean from the conversation?”
DiMaio rubbed his eyes. Rick could not decide if the gesture indicated annoyance with Betta for unilaterally going off to interview the art dealer or simply fatigue.
She already had her notebook on her lap. “The two names, of course. The more suspicious has to be Morelli, the art collector. It was he who lost out on getting the drawing, so he was obviously not happy with Somonte for that, and hearing that it was going to be donated to a museum might have added salt to the wound.” She looked up, waiting for a reaction from DiMaio. When it didn’t come, she continued. “The other, Annibale Vitellozzi, is, as I see it, somewhat less likely to have murdered Somonte, but he was surely annoyed that his museum was not chosen to receive the donation of the drawing. That by itself would be a weak motive for murder.”
“I agree,” said DiMaio. He picked up the phone on his desk and made three short phone calls while Rick and Betta listened. After he hung up the phone for the third time he looked at his two visitors. “I think you got most of that. Florio, the botanical gardens director, will be waiting for me in his office at the university when we’re done here. Morelli is in Pesaro on business, driving back tonight. He will come here to the commissariato tomorrow morning. Vitellozzi is extremely busy getting this big exhibit ready to open, but he can be interviewed at the museum tomorrow. Betta, why don’t you go talk to him, since you’re here for the art squad?”
She nodded, and Rick was relieved that Alfredo didn’t appear concerned about having an art cop on his turf. The relief didn’t last long.
DiMaio turned to a fresh page of the pad in front of him. “Where did Bruzzone say he was around the time of the murder?”
Betta flushed. “I didn’t ask him. I was so focused on the provenance of the drawing that I forgot.”
DiMaio nodded slowly before speaking again. “And what did you learn about the drawing?”
“It was discovered in Monterchi,” Betta said quickly. “I thought it would be useful to go down there and talk to the woman who found it and sold it to Bruzzone.”
Another nod from the policeman. “I fail to see how that would be relevant to my investigation, but I’m sure the art police would like to know more about this drawing. You two can drive down to Monterchi after talking to Vitellozzi at the museum.”
The awkward silence was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Avanti.”
“Excuse the interruption, Inspector.” It was the uniformed sergeant they had passed at the front desk on the way to the office. “There is a woman in the waiting room who insists on seeing the officer in charge of the murder investigation. Her name is Pilar Somonte.”
The words jolted DiMaio. “The daughter. I was told Somonte had a daughter, but I didn’t expect her to show up here. Bring her in, Sergeant.” Rick and Betta got to their feet. “No, no, Riccardo, you must stay. Thank goodness you’re here to interpret. I would have had to deal with another Spanish harridan by myself. And, Betta, please sit down as well. This woman will realize that the case of her father’s death is so important that we have brought specialists up from Rome.” He stood up, rushed to a corner where another chair sat empty, and carried it to the front of the desk next to Rick. “There, that’s perfect. You can do your interpreting magic.”
The door was pushed open by the sergeant, and Pilar Somonte entered.
It might have been a very distant Viking visitor to northern Spain who was responsible for her golden blond hair—it was not a dye job. She wore it shoulder length but held back on one side by a gold barrette that exposed a matching gold earring. Her lightweight wool sweater and matching skirt, as well as her slim figure and features, could have walked off the runway at a Milan fashion house.
Rick, who along with DiMaio was standing, approached and shook her hand. “My name is Ricardo Montoya,” he said in Spanish. “Inspector DiMaio has asked me to interpret. May I also present Betta Innocenti from Rome who is assisting on the investigation. Let me first express our deepest condolences on the loss of your father.”
After shaking Rick’s hand she looked at Betta, then at DiMaio, but didn’t move. Her expression was one of incomprehension, making Rick wonder if he’d spoken the words correctly. Then she smiled.
“Thank you, Riccardo. I very much appreciate the offer, but I don’t believe your services will be necessary.” Her Italian was almost without accent. She walked first to Betta, then to DiMaio, and shook their hands before sitting
