David Wolf 01 - Foreign Deceit Page 8

  Marino motioned for the officer to release his chokehold.

  Wolf sucked in a breath. Though the chokehold on Wolf had been hesitant and weak by the officer behind him, Wolf made a show of how mentally and physically destroyed he was at that moment.

  “Colonnello Marino,” Wolf said, realizing he needed to shift tactics fast. “Please help me. My mother and I need some answers about my brother’s death. We need to know what really happened. I’m not saying your department conducted the investigation poorly. I am saying there is no way you could have known my brother like I did, and I know he didn’t kill himself. I am only asking for some help from you and your department, and for permission to go over the case evidence.”

  Marino gave Wolf a puzzled look. He seemed to contemplate his words for a few seconds, and then looked to the rest of the now crowded room with an amused look. “Non capito niente!”

  The officers in the room began chuckling and looking to one another as the atmosphere became jovial. This crazy American makes no sense!

  A female voice interjected over the noise, speaking rapidly in Italian directly behind Wolf. He turned to find a stunning young woman explaining something in reasonable tones, gesturing to Wolf as if a prisoner on display—a prisoner she looked to be arguing in defense of.

  When she finished, Marino lit another cigarette and looked Wolf up and down. The room was silent, as if awaiting an emperor’s decree.

  Marino put his cigarette into the ashtray and stood directly in front of him, index finger tapping hard on his chest.

  “Do not make me angry. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Wolf replied.

  Marino looked at the other officers and waved them out of the room. He barked a long order at the woman, who had now pushed her way to standing attention next to Wolf. She listened intently without making a sound or moving, and finally answered in a curt affirmative when Marino was through.

  “I will give you until Friday, the end of the week.” Marino turned to Wolf. “We cannot spare officers, so I will give you Officer Parente. She will assist you. Then, you must leave here after-a dis week. Take your brother home. Comfort your mother,” he said with a sympathetic look.

  “Thank you sir. I appreciate your help.”

  “Vai, vai,” Marino swept them out of the room with a flail of his arms.

  Wolf picked up his backpack and watched the dark-haired officer disappear out the door. Wolf exited the office and looked around, not seeing her amid the crowd. Tito was standing near and saw Wolf’s confused look. He pointed down a hallway behind him.

  Wolf saw a slender backside receding briskly with the gentle sway of a dancer. A tight brown haired ponytail bobbed back and forth between firm shoulders.

  He nodded to Tito and walked after her. Before he could catch up, she turned an abrupt right and was out of sight again. He followed fast and almost slammed into her picking up her hat and coat off her desk, which was right around the corner.

  She huffed at Wolf’s chest, which was now blocking her path, pushed past him, and retraced her steps down the hallway.

  Wolf stood still, unsure what to do.

  “You coming?” She said over her shoulder.

  “Yep.” He strode after her.

  Wolf followed her outside, watching her movements along the way. He couldn’t help it. He watched her scale down the steps one-at-a-time with athletic grace, swerving between people at full speed, all the while pulling a few loose coffee-colored strands of hair behind her ear. It was mesmerizing.

  When they got in her car, a perfect replica of Tito’s, though messier, he continued to watch her from the corner of his eye. She bit her lower lip in consternation, revealing a perfect set of upper teeth. Her eyes, a perfect aquamarine, darted back and forth out the front windshield, and she seemed to be weighing a serious problem.

  “Hey, I don’t know what you said in there, but thanks,” he offered.

  “Yep.” She gunned the Alfa Romeo out of the parking lot directly in front of a fast moving truck.

  Wolf fished for his seat belt and put it on. “I’m David by the way.”

  She kept her eyes forward, “Lia.”

  Wolf sighed in resignation as she ignored him, picked up her cell phone, and dialed.

  Chapter 13

  Lia hung up after a short conversation and dropped the phone in front of the stick shift.

  “I have to admit, I’m glad your call was short. Tito was on the phone the entire way here from the train station,” he said. “I never did get a chance to even—“

  “Tito’s an idiot,” she said.

  “Yeah …” He looked at her expressionless stare out the windshield. “Anyway, thanks.” Wolf turned to the window and studied the long procession of pedestrians walking along the lakeshore.

  Just then she downshifted and accelerated into a traffic circle, threading in between two cars that were no more than two car lengths apart, then shot out the other side. A second later she swerved into oncoming traffic, looked to her left at a convex mirror that was mounted on a stone wall, jammed the brakes and cranked the wheel in a sharp button-hook right turn.

  It took Wolf only a moment to realize he was riding shotgun with a gifted Formula One driver. He let go of his white-knuckle grip on the door. “Could you take me to my brother’s apartment?”

  “Yes. We have to meet a colleague, and then we’ll go to the apartment.”

  “Okay, thanks. I wasn’t sure. I really haven’t been able to communicate with people that well so far. It’s nice to know what’s going on.” Wolf sat in silence for a minute. “Your English is very good, hardly any accent.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said.

  …

  They parked in a shadowy alley and walked a narrow cobblestone street up a slight rise. An archway opened into a crowded football field-sized piazza. Water shot out of the ground a few feet away and small children screeched in delight as they splashed in it. Cafes with four or five rows of outdoor seating lined the entire length of the piazza, and old ornate looking residential buildings were stacked five or six floors high on top of them.

  Wolf’s mouth watered at the sights and aromas of crisp pizzas, forks heaped with pasta, and handfuls of French fries. He realized his stomach was empty, and he would need to be sitting down at one of these restaurants soon.

  Lia stopped and Wolf saw she had spotted a male Carabinieri officer across the piazza. He was dressed in the same attire as Lia—blue shirt and dark-blue pants with a bright red stripe down the side of each leg. Just like Lia, he wore a white leather belt, and carried a pistol that hung in a white leather holster. Whether or not it was a Beretta matching Lia’s, Wolf couldn’t see.

  The two Carabinieri met eyes, and Lia walked swiftly toward the man.

  Suddenly, a cacophony of noise stirred the piazza. Four kids on motorbikes gunned their engines. The bikes were all similar, two-stroke dirt bikes with street tires, Wolf noticed. Loud. And the boys were having a good time causing unrest with the revving engines.

  After a few seconds, three of them killed the motors and leaned their bikes up against a side alley wall, while another circled back and revved hard in front of a group of people, scaring them into a frenzy of stumbling and shrieks. Wolf’s stomach sank when he realized it was a group of young handicapped people.

  Lia slowed down and Wolf came up along side her. She was watching the officer in the distance march with determination toward the four riders, who were now taking off their helmets and laughing. The fourth kid still sat on his bike, leaning against the wall with the engine shut off, pealing off his helmet.

  He didn’t see it coming.

  The officer walked up and slapped his bare head, a smack that was clearly audible over the noise of the piazza. The Carabinieri officer then ripped the kid off the bike and pushed him up against the wall. He typewritered the boy in the chest and gave him a vigorous speech that, by the looks of the kid’s white ex
pression, was one of the scariest things he’d ever heard in his life. He released the boy and said something to the others, and they all pushed their bikes up the alley and out of sight. Then the Caribinieri officer straightened his pants, turned, and walked toward Wolf and Lia.

  Wolf nodded his approval. “That’s good police work right there.”

  “Detective Valerio Rossi.” He shook Wolf’s hand. “We spoke on the phone. I’m sorry for your loss, Officer Wolf.” His English seemed better now that they were face to face.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. Thank you for all your help so far.”

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah,” Wolf exhaled.

  “His apartment is right here. Just off the piazza. Let’s go.”

  Wolf followed Rossi and Lia, all the while watching them have a conversation in Italian. Lia seemed to be confiding something to him, and Rossi was shaking his head in disbelief, consoling her with a fatherly, or brotherly, pat on the back.

  Wolf briefly considered their relationship dynamic, but soon turned to the task at hand. His steeled himself at the prospect of going to see where his brother died. Wolf suddenly felt a twinge of regret that he hadn’t kept in better touch with John, hadn’t made an effort to visit him more. Maybe they would have had a good time drinking a few beers in this piazza together.

  Wolf followed the two officers off the piazza up a narrow road. It was hemmed-in by old buildings that towered above, probably some dating five hundred years old. Maybe even a thousand for all he knew.

  Rossi and Lia walked to a large open courtyard and stopped. Security fencing surrounded the property with iron spikes filed to thin deadly points topping each tall iron bar. Rossi pushed the intercom button and spoke to the onsite property manager who buzzed them in.

  A short man walked out of a door and into the courtyard to meet them. He was portly, and finishing a mouthful of food as he approached them. He wiped his hands on his denim pants and held out a hand to Wolf.

  “Buon giorno.” He had a sullen expression.

  “Hello, do you speak English?”

  “Uhhh, no.”

  “Okay.” Wolf glanced at Lia and Rossi. “Thank you for meeting us.”

  Lia stepped in and began translating.

  “You were the one who found my brother?”

  The man answered, and Lia translated.

  “He and the girl, Cristina, who lives above your brother, found him. The property manager, here, called the Caribinieri.” Lia said.

  Wolf nodded. “Okay. Let’s just head up.”

  Chapter 14

  The manager took a set of keys out of his pocket and inserted the top key into the door of apartment twenty-two. He turned it four or five complete revolutions to the left, then put a smaller key in and turning it five more times before the door popped open a crack.

  The manager stepped back and let the door hang open a few inches. They all looked to Wolf, who stepped forward and entered the dim apartment.

  Wolf noticed the pungent smell of lemon disinfectant. Rossi walked around Wolf and went to the small balcony off the main room, sliding open floor-to-ceiling shutter doors. Bright sunlight poured in, revealing a spacious room with high ceilings.

  There was a dark wood table and four chairs, a recliner seat, television stand, small flat screen television, two person couch, and a couple folding chairs along the wall. No coffee table or end tables. Black and white photographs hung on the walls. Frameless. They looked to be John’s work, perhaps blown up at a local supermarket, or photo shop, or whatever they had here that did that kind of stuff.

  “Apparently your brother went out Friday night with a friend, came home, and the girl living above heard a noise. She said she was concerned after not seeing him all day Saturday, or Saturday night. They were supposed to have a date apparently on Saturday night. She became concerned midday Sunday and told the manager.

  “The manager came with keys and opened the door, which apparently was difficult, because the keys were in the top lock from the inside. He somehow pushed them out and got it unlocked, then they found the body … sorry, your brother.”

  “Did you talk to the person he was out with that night? What was his name?”

  “No, we did not. I do not know his name,” Rossi answered with a pained face.

  “You didn’t look into that?” Wolf asked.

  “No, Officer Wolf. The keys were in the lock, locked from the inside, with only your brother inside,” Rossi held out his hands with an apologetic look.

  There was a small hole in the ceiling with a capped wire sticking out. He glanced at the floor and noticed a scratch on the wood veneer right below the hole in the ceiling. Wolf bent down and rubbed it. “This is where the chandelier fell and hit the floor?”

  “Yes,” Rossi said. “He was underneath it.”

  Wolf had heard the story over the phone. They walked in, found him underneath the chandelier, a leather belt around his neck still fastened to the chandelier. Drugs found at the scene.

  “Where did you find the cocaine?”

  “There was a small bag here on the table,” Rossi said, “and residue on his nose. We have the bag in evidence at the Cuestura, the station, I believe you Americans would call it.”

  The manager said something and Lia translated, “He says he cleaned yesterday. He emptied the trash, got rid of some food, and cleaned the debris up in the main room here.”

  Wolf noted the shiny, clean table in the main room as he left to walk to the kitchen, which was a narrow galley with small appliances, a few small cupboards, and a little counter space. At the far end of the kitchen was a small balcony. Stove burners glistened and the countertops shined. It was perfectly clean. Classic John, Wolf thought.

  Wolf knew the manager probably didn’t have to clean too hard. His little brother had always been anal retentive when it came to keeping his space neat. Wolf pictured his little brother’s room growing up—how the bed was always made, everything was hung in just such a way on the wall, and his clothes were always tucked and hung in their places in the closet. Wolf allowed himself a small smile at his brother’s memory.

  Wolf walked back to the main room and out to the balcony. They were high above the piazza, looking directly down on it from three floors up. A vast section of Lake Como was in view over the rooftops. Kite surfers and wind sailors still whipped back and forth over the white crested water. The air was fresh and crisp on the balcony. Not a bad place to live, bro.

  Wolf walked back inside and through the apartment to the bedroom in back. It was dark like the main room had been when they came in. Wolf pulled the shutter doors open to another balcony, and sunlight blazed in, revealing a completely different breathtaking view. The opposite side of the apartment overlooked the rooftops of Lecco, jutting at all angles like frozen waves in a sea of orange-clay tiles.

  Butting up against the balcony extended one of the clay-tiled roofs into the distance. It looked like one could step out onto the rooftops and walk all the way across the city, if one didn’t mind the thirty-plus degree slope of the first roof here. He studied it for a moment, then craned his head over and looked up to an identical balcony above.

  Ducking back in, he noted the bedroom was as sparsely furnished as the rest of the apartment. A queen-sized mattress lay directly on the floor with no bedside tables. One reading lamp stood next to it, surrounded by a smattering of paperback books – mostly old-looking literary stuff Wolf wasn’t into. A flimsy looking wood table was tucked in the corner with an open Mac computer perched atop it, a wireless router hooked into the wall.

  Wolf went to the computer, swiped his finger, and then pushed a few buttons. It was dead.

  The small closet was filled halfway with hanging clothes, separated into different color genres. Oh, John.

  Wolf raised his voice, “The girl upstairs, what was her name? Cristina?”

  “Yes,” Rossi walked to the bedroom doorway.

  “I’d like to go talk to her.”

 
“Let’s go.”

  …

  There was no answer at the door upstairs.

  “How about the apartment below his apartment? What did they say? Didn’t they hear anything? The chandelier hitting the floor?”

  “Nobody lives there,” Rossi shrugged.

  “Okay, this girl isn’t home. Do you guys know where she is? Where she works?”

  “I do not know.” Rossi said. Lia shook her head.

  “Did you question her on Sunday?” Wolf asked.

  “I talked to her a little,” said Rossi. “I asked if she heard anything. It was apparent that she was having a tough time, and she needed support. She was very upset. We called in a person, but she had disappeared before the … person could arrive.”

  “A counselor?”

  “Yes, a counselor. But she left before the counselor arrived.”

  “Okay,” Wolf sighed heavily. “Did you ask her about the drugs?”

  They walked down the stairs to the outside of Wolf’s door.

  “No. It really was not an interrogation. We were dealing with the delicate task of removing your brother’s body. Knowing what the evidence inside was presenting us, it was more a matter of comforting the girl.”

  “And this neighbor?” He pointed to the only other door that was on his brother’s level. Number twenty-one.

  The manager said a few sentences, and Rossi took the reigns with translation, “They were gone, and have been for over a month. A lot of people go on vacation for August here, and they have been gone all of August, and all of September so far. They weren’t here.”

  “Okay.” Wolf suddenly felt a little light-headed. He needed food, and he needed sleep. Two things he would have time for later.

  The manager said something to Rossi and Lia while pointing at Wolf. He held up the keys and shrugged his shoulders.

  Rossi waved his hands as if declining something, then looked questioningly at Lia, who then looked skeptically at Wolf.

  “What’s going on?” Wolf asked.