“We’re only letting in small groups at a time,” she said, and held up two pieces of paper with numbers written on them. “Wait for me to call; it will be about a half hour.”
Betta looked at the numbers but didn’t take them. Instead, she pulled out her identification. “We’re from the police. Inspector DiMaio sent us to take a look at the crime scene.”
The woman’s eyes widened, and for a moment she didn’t speak. Then she turned her head toward the garden depths. “Nino! Police!” A nervous smile tightened her face when she looked back at Betta. “He’ll be right with you.”
They heard the crunch of shoes on gravel and a man appeared from among the fronds. He wore green overalls embroidered with the logo of the Orto Botanico over a darker green shirt. Perspiration covered his face and neck, but he made no attempt to wipe it with the handkerchief protruding from his pocket. When he noticed that one of the policemen was in fact a policewoman, the handkerchief came out, but only to dry his hand that he extended to her.
“Fantozzi, piacere. Inspector DiMaio was here this morning speaking with Professor Florio. I didn’t know that more police would be coming. Of course the inspector didn’t want to speak again with me, only with the professor.”
Betta noticed the annoyance. “Which is why we are here, Signor Fantozzi. If you don’t mind going over again what happened that morning.”
The man grinned. “Certainly not. If you could wait just a moment, I will get rid of the people looking at the plant now. Excuse me.” He hurried off into the greenery and a few moments later reappeared, herding a dozen people who glowered at Rick and Betta as they left the building. “Now, if you’ll come this way, please.”
They followed behind him, Rick’s cowboy boots crunching as they dug into the gravel. Rick noticed the rise in humidity and temperature as soon as they stepped from the entrance area into the verdant garden proper. Both increased even more when they entered the greenhouse. The path took a sharp right turn, and Fantozzi stopped next to the Spanish Dagger.
“Here it is. This is the exact place where I found him. I was a bit shaken up, I don’t mind telling you. I’m not used to finding bodies when I make my first rounds in the morning. My heart pounded, and I broke out in a sweat.”
Even worse than normal? Rick was tempted to ask as he wiped his own brow with his handkerchief. Betta appeared not to notice the heat, reminding him that women don’t sweat, they glisten. “Tell us what you saw. We heard it from the inspector but would like to get it from your point of view, you being an eyewitness.”
Fantozzi clearly relished the opportunity. “I came around the corner, past the cacti, and almost immediately knew that something was amiss. This was even before I saw the body. Since I spend so much time working here, I must have some kind of antenna system that alerts me to changes. The way leaves move, odors, whatever it is, I knew then that something was wrong. Then I saw the figure sitting there, and my immediate reaction was that some drunken tramp had somehow found his way in here and fallen asleep. When I took one step closer, of course, I knew who it was.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Signor Somonte, the very person who was to visit the gardens the next day. It was then that I realized that he was leaning against one of the very plants that he had donated. How…what’s the word?”
“Ironic?”
“Exactly. Thank you.”
“Please tell us how the body looked,” said Betta. “You knew immediately that he was dead?”
“Oh, yes. And not just from the bloodstain on his shirt. Even though he looked like he was sleeping, there was something clumsy about the way the body was arranged. I say arranged because he would not have ended up in that position on his own. Not on your life.”
“How was he arranged?” Rick asked.
Fantozzi looked around to be sure that nobody else was watching, then got down and sat himself in front of the tall plant. Leaning back, he tilted his head slightly to one side. “He was like this,” he said with eyes closed to give more authenticity. Careful not to put too much weight on the plant, he got back to his feet and brushed himself off.
“That was when you called the police.”
“Uh, it was Professor Florio I called first. He told me he would contact the authorities and to get out to the street and wait for them. He was adamant about not touching anything. He knows all about those things from the books he reads.”
“So we’ve heard,” said Betta. “And you did what you were told.”
“Certainly. But the professor arrived before the police. He must have been in his office.” He pointed behind him with his thumb. “It’s on the next street over.”
“Yes, we know. How do you think the body got in here? You must have some ideas.”
Fantozzi beamed. It appeared that nobody had asked him his opinion. “Well, as you know already, Signor Somonte had his own key to the gardens. Ceremonial, but it worked. I think that whoever killed him forced him at gunpoint to come here, made him open the gate, and shot him in front of his plant.”
“Then propped up the body.”
“Exactly, Signora.”
“So it didn’t have to be someone he knew.”
Fantozzi used a
