“Anything to help an old friend.” Rick quickly slid his card across the table while trying not to show his excitement that he’d be involved in another murder investigation. “Tell me, Paolo, what do you know so far? The story in the paper this morning was quite sketchy. If you don’t mind sharing, of course.”
LoGuercio emitted a cough too deep for someone his age and put his cigarette out on an ashtray at one corner of his desk. “You are the nephew of a respected commissario who has assisted the police in the past. Why would I mind?” He opened a file on the desk and held up two sheets of paper. “We’ve just begun, of course. The forensics report won’t arrive until later in the day. The technician called to the scene would only say she was sure it was homicide due to the types of injuries. None of the usual bruising or broken bones that come from being struck by a car, so that was ruled out. Also, the only marks on the ground next to the pavement were made from her body impacting it from above. No marks from the body being rolled or dragged along the ground, as often is seen in a hit-and-run. And no recent skid marks. But what conclusively ruled out a hit-and-run were the stab wounds, several of them to the abdomen. One doesn’t normally get stab wounds from being hit by a car. But it’s likely she was dumped in the spot from an automobile, though already dead from an unfortunate encounter with a sharp blade.”
“Stabbed, and dumped like a bag of trash? The murderer appears to be especially vicious, or was in a hurry to dispose of the body. So you don’t know exactly where the murder took place. It could have been here in town or out on some country road.”
“One of many questions left unanswered, Riccardo. My assumption is that she was murdered, stuffed into the trunk of a car, and driven to where her body was dumped. At least we are sure it wasn’t a robbery, since we found her purse intact and she was still wearing jewelry. Expensive jewelry.”
“You got quite a lot of information from searching around in the dark.”
The policeman shrugged. “We had lights. But the—” He was interrupted by a short buzz from his phone and raised a hand to Rick in apology as he picked it up. “He is? I suppose it’s to be expected. I’ll be right out to get him.” He carefully placed the receiver down. “The head of tourism for the city is here. Concerned, I’m sure, about the effect of this crime on the image of Orvieto. This is one of those times when I wish they’d sent a new commissario by now. He could take the political heat.” He reached out and took the ashtray in his hand. After dumping its contents in his waste basket, he put it in a desk drawer.
Rick got to his feet. “You’d better get used to it.”
LoGuercio pushed a hand through his thick, black hair. “I suppose so.”
He walked Rick out to the waiting room where a tall man in a dark suit stood in front of the desk, deep in conversation with a much shorter man. The tall man looked up, smiled at LoGuercio, and held up a finger to indicate he would be with him momentarily. He then returned to the short man. They spoke in low voices, but from their faces and gestures Rick could see that the discussion was anything but subdued.
LoGuercio leaned toward Rick’s ear. “Besides being the city counselor with the tourism portfolio, Signor Livio Morgante, the taller man, is a successful businessman. He owns a pharmacy on one of Orvieto’s main streets.”
“Everyone needs aspirin,” said Rick.
“And as if I didn’t have enough trouble, the man with him is Luciano Pazzi, a so-called journalist. He is here to see me, I’m willing to bet, but now that he’s run into Morgante he’ll try to pump him for gossip on something else. Probably some local scandal, real or created inside the mind of Pazzi. The man is a menace.”
The pharmacist raised his arm in a gesture Italians use to indicate that they’d heard enough. He strode toward Rick and LoGuercio, leaving Pazzi standing with a smirk on his face.
Morgante sported unfashionably long hair for someone who Rick guessed to be in his late fifties. The length and the dye job spoke of a man who’d decided his hair was a key factor in keeping him young. A wide smile and good looks added to the carefully cultivated aura of vitality, which was also the aura of a politician.
“Inspector LoGuercio, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.” He looked from the policeman to Rick.
“Not at all. Signor Montoya was just leaving. May I present Riccardo Montoya, who may be able to help with the investigation. I trust you are here about the murder, Signor Morgante?”
The pharmacist gave LoGuercio a pained assent before shaking hands with Rick. “Just visiting Orvieto, Signor Montoya? I see you are an American, is there a chance you knew the victim?”
Rick and LoGuercio exchanged puzzled looks. “Why do you think I’m American? I hadn’t said a word, so it couldn’t have been my accent.”
The man flashed what must have been a practiced campaign grin. “Your Italian is flawless, so I wouldn’t have known anyway. No, it was the name Montoya, which I suspected was Spanish, at least in origin. But knowing there are many Spanish names in America, I saw your footwear and came to the conclusion that you are from that country. Did I guess correctly?”
“The cowboy boots have blown my cover before. But in fact I proudly share both American and Italian nationalities and live in Rome. I’m up here for a few days. To do some tourism,
