“That would be great. The man has been very accommodating, and we can’t simply not show up without calling him. It shouldn’t take that long at the villa. I may even get there in time.” He stood and gave her a peck on the cheek.
She whispered in his ear. “Promise me you’ll stay away from the flower pots.”
***
“I hope this is the last time we have to make this trip, Paolo.”
Rick once again held tight as the car made top speed down the hill, the same driver at the wheel. The blue lights on the roof flashed, but the siren barked only when needed to pass another vehicle. In the distance a dark blanket of clouds covered the hills and dumped heavy rain, but fortunately on their patch of Umbria the sun reflected off dry pavement.
“As do I, Riccardo.” The inspector watched the trees and bushes whipping past the car window. “I regret taking you away from your visit to the cathedral. I’m sure Signor Morgante is an excellent guide.” LoGuercio was lost in thought for several minutes before punching his open palm with his fist. “I curse myself for taking the guard off the villa. The woman caught me in a moment of frustration.”
“It may have a positive side, Paolo, you could find a fingerprint or some other evidence that leads you to the killer.”
LoGuercio would not be mollified. “I doubt that.”
They sat in silence as the car shot past a truck, barely avoiding an oncoming motorcycle. The police driver muttered something under his breath.
“Your uncle called you about the Red Brigades connection with the fingerprint? He told me he was going to.”
Rick nodded, and expected the policeman to go on, but instead LoGuercio was lost in thought.
Rick’s image of the Red Brigades was stamped by a stark, black-and-white news photo he saw years after it was taken. The crumpled cadaver of former Prime Minister Aldo Moro huddled in the open trunk of a car, surrounded by horrified police and other officials. The picture had the drama and pathos of a Renaissance painting depicting the lamentation.
After several minutes LoGuercio continued. “The Red Brigades held the classic belief that the political ends justified the means, but their means involved a viciousness not seen in Italy in decades. One of their favored techniques of intimidation, or ways of making a political statement, was knee-capping. Public figures who spoke out against them were confronted, always in broad daylight, and shot in the legs. Naturally the incidents were reported everywhere, which played into their hands. My uncle, a magistrate of some renown among the judiciary, was one of their targets. He bled to death on the sidewalk when he was attacked.”
LoGuercio had been staring out the car window as he spoke, but now he turned to Rick.
“I tell you this so that you know we are dealing with an especially vicious individual. The brigatisti were devout believers in a religion of violence to create chaos. The person we are looking for may be older, and now wants order rather than chaos, but is still capable of violence.”
“The shooting of your uncle must have made a deep impression.”
“I was very young, but it was traumatic for the entire family. And it was one of the reasons I decided to become a policeman, to hunt down such people.”
Rick hoped that LoGuercio’s personal history with the Red Brigades would not cloud the man’s judgment in trying to solve this case. Or worse, once the murderer was caught would Paolo find a place and time to even the score for his uncle? From his next comment, it seemed that the policeman was reading Rick’s mind.
“That was a long time ago, Riccardo. We have to focus on the present, and my job is to find this person and bring him to justice.”
Rick tried to measure the sincerity in LoGuercio’s words. Working on the case, now up to two homicides, had taken its toll on the man. There was a noticeable change in him over just these few days. The stress of his job being on the line was starkly visible in his face and voice.
“I agree, Paolo. Let’s go over where we are at this point.”
The inspector nodded silently, and waited for Rick to start.
“The way I see it, it narrows us down to two suspects, since Donato’s age disqualifies him He was barely an infant when the Red Brigades were operative.”
“Problem is,” LoGuercio interrupted, “by ruling out people of a younger age, it rules in a large swath of the city’s population. Why, half the people at your private showing at the Duomo fall into the demographic of those who could have been Red Brigades operatives in the seventies, starting with the mayor himself.”
“Don’t say that, Paolo, with Betta there among them.”
LoGuercio waved a hand. “Never mind, what were you saying about two suspects?”
“The first is Crivelli. His political activity may have gone beyond the demonstrations you found in his police file into something more serious. The general location for him during that time period is correct, in the north, so he could easily have been active in Milan. As far as this murder is concerned, I discovered a possible motive last night when I got online.”
LoGuercio snapped his face toward Rick. “What was that?”
Rick explained the striking similarity of styles between Rhonda’s and Crivelli’s ceramics. “Definitely not a coincidence, but whether it would be a reason to murder Rhonda Van Fleet is something else entirely.”
“It’s the best motive we have so far,” observed LoGuercio. “And there is something else that moves Crivelli to the top of the list.”
Rick held on as the car swerved around a curve. “Really? Tell me.”
“Signora Vecchi, the woman who ran the boardinghouse, called me this morning. She said she spent the night trying to decide if she should call and finally concluded that she should. It seems that Crivelli paid her a visit in the afternoon, something he’d never done before. Claimed he wanted to
