Ten Minutes to Turn the Devil Read online

  Water was also the theme that indirectly disturbed those whose rooms looked on the terrace and the parking space. A truck containing a captain of Carabinieri with three other uniformed officers squealed round the final bend of the formidable drive. The Duchess, who never slept deeply, was on the doorstep before him, with Tom quickly at her shoulder. The Captain saluted. He was smart, young and enjoying himself.

  ‘La Contessa Riffan?’ he asked courteously. Stretching a point in the peerage, the Duchess agreed. Captain Ferretti began his tale in English, but turned to Italian with relief when he saw that both his audience understood.

  The wind having changed, a forest fire; which had been confined to the uninhabited upper ridges of the mountain, was now moving down the slopes. Thanks to the untiring efforts of the vigili da fuoco, there was no immediate threat to the Countess or to her son or to their distinguished guests. But it was necessary to take the initiative against the fire during the hours of daylight, and for this reason it had been decided by the competent authorities to deploy helicopters. The two helicopters dedicated for this purpose carried, as the Countess and her honourable son perhaps knew, large canvas containers which they lowered into whatever suitable reservoirs of water were available, and then carried to the fire and unloaded on strategic points to extinguish the flames or check their advance.

  It displeased him to tell them, but much the most convenient immediate reservoir for this purpose was the swimming pool of La Freddiana. He therefore had been instructed by his colonel in Lucca to present his compliments to the ‘Riffan’ family, and formally request the use of their water, which the resources of the state would eventually replace. He apologised for the urgency of the request, but – he spread his hands, and a cry of alarm from Francis Litherland at the back of the house made his point for him.

  Tom and his mother did not need to consult. They knew the form. In August, the helicopters of the firefighting force, with their huge, red, dangling canvas bags, were a familiar sight. The captain almost certainly had legal powers if his polite request was refused. It was a disaster of course at one level to lose the pool, with the Prime Minister imminent, but it did not occur to either of them to plead those grounds.

  ‘Of course,’ said the Duchess. The captain, sensing a dramatic need, kissed her hand.

  There followed three hours of memorable activity. La Freddiana became the advance post of the struggle against the fire. The plan was to hack a corridor through the thick scrub along the false crest about half a mile above the villa, wide enough to stop the flames. Two squads of vigili worked with saws and axes to achieve this. Alexander and Nicholas joined them, taking tools from Angelo’s shed. Linda, emerging to everyone’s surprise in a sensible shirt and old jeans, insisted on doing the same. The noises of forestry joined with the continuing crackle of the flames.

  Particles of smoke began to speckle Lena’s washing, hung discreetly between two olive trees on the unfashionable side of the kitchen. The Duke and Duchess established a bar on the terrace, although as the Duke said, it wasn’t a real bar because the vigili only wanted water or Coca-Cola. They came down in ones and twos for a ten-minute break, and sat silent, hands round a glass, under the trellis. They were streaked with sweat and grime. The Duchess offered the use of the shower in her pink bathroom, but it was refused.

  ‘Grazie, signora … forse piú tardi.’

  The helicopter clattered deafeningly three times over the swimming pool, its rotors stirring up dust and agitating the olives. The Grevilles and Francis Litherland were on duty up there, but in fact the scarlet canvas bag was lowered, filled and raised without any help needed from the ground.

  There was a moment of drama when Linda was sent back from the fire with a message for the headquarters in Lucca asking for the third standby squad to be sent at once. The helicopter radio had broken down. Linda swore foully when they found that the telephone, too, was out of order, no doubt because the line ran through the burnt area. She came out on the terrace and downed a glass of water.

  ‘I’ll take my car to Lucca with the message.’

  ‘Or just go to the bar in the village. You can ring from there,’ said Tom.

  ‘Better idea,’ said Linda.

  ‘Go in Alex’s car,’ said Tom. ‘It’s faster.’

  ‘No difference if I’m only going to the bar in San Leonardo. I’ll take mine. Bye bye then.’

  ‘Perhaps not too bad a girl after all,’ said Tom, watching her dust.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said the Duchess sharply. ‘A crisis brings out the best in everyone. This is misleading. The best retreats again afterwards. People show their true nature in day to day life, not in emergencies.’

  The third squad arrived within half an hour, though the party at the villa were slow to realise this as they took a more northerly track, directly to the fire and avoiding the village.

  Soon the heat began to ebb from the day and the drama from the situation. The noise of axes and the crackle of the fire had stopped, and smoke no longer reached La Freddiana. The helicopter was no more to be seen.

  At about seven, Alexander and Nicholas appeared at the pool, grunted an apology to Mrs Greville, stripped to underpants and lay still in the foot of water that remained.

  ‘Over for the day?’

  ‘The fire is out in this sector. Still going strong at the other edge, but moving away from us. No more to be done.’

  Ten minutes later, Captain Ferretti of the Carabinieri appeared again at La Freddiana. He saluted smartly. His uniform had been near no fire. This time he was not enjoying himself.

  ‘I came to thank you for your co-operation, which has been most generous …’

  ‘It is nothing, Captain …’ said Tom, about to propose hospitality.

  But the captain had not paused.

  ‘But I must tell you, sir, that there is a car off the track near the bottom of your strada privata.’ They looked at each other.

  ‘That must be …’

  ‘In the car there is a girl. She is dead. Her neck has been broken. I think, when the car hit the tree.’

  Francis Litherland dropped his glass on to the flagstone. The splinters scattered widely, reaching almost everyone in the group. The Coca-Cola ran red on the stones.

  ‘This discussion is getting us nowhere. I will tell you what I have decided.’ As her elder son spoke, the Duchess nodded approvingly from the sofa. At her feet a spiral coil burned slowly to ward off mosquitoes. Although it was past eleven, it was still very warm. They sat almost in darkness, just one lamp, with the windows open and a full moon calm beyond the stone pines. In the Duchess’s experience, nature could be relied on for particular displays of tactless beauty at moments of difficulty. But she must concentrate on what Tom was saying. If only the Prime Minister were there she would see what he was made of.

  ‘Of course we all hope that Linda’s death was an accident …’

  ‘Of course. Those hired cars are notorious.’ Mrs Greville sat on a cushion at her husband’s feet.

  ‘Could you please not interrupt, Leonora. But the police clearly suspect foul play. That is why we have been politely told to stay here until they begin their questioning tomorrow. Nothing said in the past couple of hours obscures the fact that Linda was unpopular with everyone here.’

  ‘You all hated her, I loved her,’ said Alexander, clutching his knees.

  His brother stared at him.

  ‘That was a silly remark, second-rate and theatrical. So far as the rest of us were concerned, dislike is not the same as hatred. The distinction is crucial when it comes to murder. As for you, the girl was more unpopular with you than with any of us, for a reason you know well.’

  ‘She wouldn’t go to bed with me.’ Alexander grinned, and Nicholas realised that his earlier remark had been a tease.

  ‘Precisely. Now it goes without saying that we shall all co-operate fully with the police tomorrow. For tonight, I am asking Nicholas to take a hand.’

  Nicholas looked blank.
‘I would say, Nicholas, that you were less set against Linda than anyone else. You have a cool mind. You know some Italian. I want you to look round her room. And I want anyone who has something to say in private to say it to Nicholas before the police come. It is just possible that as an Englishman who knows us well, Nicholas may be able to put something together which would escape the police. He might also prevent the police leaping to some absurd conclusion simply because we don’t communicate with them adequately. Are you willing, Nicholas?’

  ‘It’s really your job.’

  ‘I pass it to you. Willing?’

  ‘Willing.’

  ‘One thing puzzles me.’ The Duke had ambled off to bed, still telling at large his story about the Helter Skelter at the Kelso Fair, and the others had soon followed his example. Nicholas was using his authority to search the dead girl’s room. Thomas and his mother were left alone in the sitting room.

  It was a room rarely used, because the way of life was outdoors. A spring had gone on the sofa at either end of which they sat. The huge bookcase beside them overflowed with the bric-a-brac of holidays – paperbacks, maps and guidebooks, jigsaw puzzles and Monopoly, a few elegant books on Tuscany presented by grateful guests.

  ‘One thing puzzles me, Thomas. The girl went to send a message to get more firemen. She died before she sent the message. Yet the firemen came.’

  ‘They managed to fix the helicopter radio after she left. They sent a second message that way.’

  ‘You got hold of the PM?’

  ‘I talked to Number Ten as soon as the phone was reconnected. They were very understanding. They’ll get a message to her straight away.’

  ‘Where is she tonight?’

  ‘With Visentini, the textile man, near Milan. They thought she’d probably fly straight back to London from Milan tomorrow.’

  ‘Sad.’

  ‘We won’t go over all that again.’

  ‘Bed, I think.’

  ‘Bed certainly.’ They kissed. ‘A bad day.’

  ‘A bad day, Thomas. But pick ourselves up …’

  ‘And dust ourselves down.’

  ‘And be on our way.’

  It had been a nursery saying.

  After he had looked through Linda’s room, Nicholas brushed his teeth before going to bed. He was far from clear what else Tom expected him to do. He had no authority or inclination to summon the inhabitants of the villa one by one. He judged that one or two might wish to say things to him which they would not want to put just like that to the police. There were English nuances that would not easily translate. But they would want to sleep on it and tackle him in the morning.

  All except one, of course. Because the tap was running and he brushed his teeth with vigour, Nicholas did not hear the bedroom door open, but in the mirror he saw Alexander in the doorway. He turned.

  ‘Come in.’

  ‘I mean to.’

  But there was no challenge in the voice. Alexander slumped on to the bed. He was exhausted, grey, collapsed. Because he had been less successful than Nicholas in washing the grime from his face and neck, he looked older.

  ‘Two things. First, I don’t kill little girls.’

  ‘Has anyone suggested that you do?’

  ‘Almost everyone looks at me as if I did.’ He sat up. ‘But the second is more important. This afternoon, after I left you and before the fire, I went and sat in the car. Her car. It was blazing hot. The leather scorched my skin.’

  ‘Why on earth …’

  ‘I wanted to think about her. Her small things were there … sun lotion, spare glasses, the map I drew her of how to get here … I thought it would be easier to think straight.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But it wasn’t. Just a hot blank. No way forward, no way back.’

  ‘How long were you there?’

  ‘Ten minutes, maybe more.’

  Nicholas hesitated. ‘Why do you tell me this?’

  ‘To get it off my chest.’

  ‘Only that?’

  ‘Not only that. Lena saw me. She was carrying some washing into the laundry. I pretended not to see her.’

  ‘But she certainly saw you.’

  ‘I was not hiding. She saw me sitting at the wheel of Linda’s car. And she will tell the police.’

  ‘Alex, you used to be the world’s worst mechanic. When we travelled together even I knew more about the inside of a motor car.’

  ‘Still true.’

  ‘That’s the real puzzle,’ said Nicholas. ‘Almost everyone has a motive, and because of the siesta, no one, I suspect, has an alibi. But the motives aren’t strong enough for the deed. And those who had the motive fall at the next fence of my powerful investigation.’

  ‘Namely?’

  ‘If the girl was murdered, it was by tampering with her car. But I have never in my life met a set of people so apparently incompetent in mechanical matters. I doubt if any one of you could change a light bulb.’

  ‘Angelo changes the light bulbs. He always has.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘I must go to bed.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘I’m glad I told you,’ said Alexander.

  ‘Goodnight.’

  Nicholas, to get himself to sleep, picked up a book by Francis Litherland which he had found in the sitting room.

  Nicholas took his peach and croissant and coffee across to a rickety garden table at the far end of the terrace from the table where breakfast was laid. It was eight o’clock, early by the standards of La Freddiana, and no one else, except Lena, had yet appeared. Angelo was watering the petunias with a leisurely hose.

  Francis Litherland emerged from the house, looked round, and came over. He wore an expensive purple silk shirt, two buttons undone and one missing, above cheap grey flannel trousers.

  ‘You’ve set up a confessional, I see. But I was without sin towards the fearful Linda. I did not even lust after her in my heart.’

  ‘You loathed her.’

  ‘Loathed, loathed? On the basis of one evening’s conversation I judged that she was an ignorant, arrogant slut. But that was a cool, objective judgement.’

  ‘She was ruder to you than to anyone. That Greek athlete. You did not like it.’

  ‘But, as Thomas said last night, dislike does not normally lead to murder. Nor do I have the faintest knowledge of the inside of a motor car.’

  Nicholas paused. It was a critical moment.

  ‘“The Mills of God.”’

  ‘“The Mills of God”?’

  ‘Your novel. Published in 1960. It contains a detailed account of the hero working unsuccessfully in the car repair section of a garage in Brixton.’

  ‘It was a subtle analogy with the human condition. How many of us look successfully under the bonnet of life?’

  ‘It contained a mass of technical detail.’

  ‘Researched at the time, at once forgotten. The artist has to clear out the attics of his mind. He has no room for clutter.’

  ‘Quite so. Do you remember dedicating this copy to the Duke and Duchess?’

  ‘It was years ago. I was still flattered by their acquaintance.’

  ‘You dedicated it to my “two fellow mechanics”.’

  Another pause, then Francis laughed. ‘Of course, you would not know. Mary served her country during the war in something called FANY. The Fanies drove immense trucks with great pride. The family album has several snaps of Mary supine under lorries. In dungarees, not attractive.’

  ‘And the Duke?’

  ‘Archie was a rally driver in his youth. Amateur, of course, it was a craze. He hit a wall eventually. The wall was small and suffered most, but he gave the sport up.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Have I not helped?’

  ‘The reverse. You have shown me that three people whom I had ruled out all unexpectedly have, or had at one time, the knowledge necessary to fix a car and commit a murder.’

  Francis smiled without fear.

  ‘Tim
e I got my coffee. It will not be nearly so tasty in prison.’

  ‘So you found my cheque?’

  ‘It was not difficult.’

  Julian Greville was the next guest to breakfast alongside Nicholas’s chair.

  ‘She worked in our international division. She left her purse in the office one evening and came back to get it after the theatre. Just in time to eavesdrop on a delicate conversation with the Cayman Islands. Damn it, this was eight years ago. She’s much older than she looks.’

  ‘A long time ago,’ said Nicholas, with some pity.

  ‘I could still be prosecuted for fraud and sent to jail.’

  ‘Has she asked for money before?’

  ‘No, yesterday was the first time. That cheque you found was half of what she asked.’

  ‘You are pleased that she cannot ask you again?’

  ‘Yes of course …’ He swerved. ‘But not that way.’

  Thoughtfully, before the man left him, Nicholas tore up Greville’s personal cheque for £50,000.

  Three hours later the sun had once again asserted power over Tuscany. Captain Ferretti and Nicholas sat opposite each other across the table under the pergola. It had been cleared of breakfast, but Ferretti had allowed himself to be persuaded into a glass of white wine. He was exhausted.

  ‘So it was definitely murder?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘Without doubt. The hydraulic brake pipe had been loosened. The brake fluid formed a pool which you may see on the gravel. It is amazing that she kept to the road as long as she did.’

  They sat in silence, each nursing a glass.

  ‘If you had all been Italian,’ said Ferretti, ‘I would still be tired and confused. But it would have been for the opposite reason.’

  ‘Too much information.’

  ‘Of course. Everyone would have told me everything about the girl, about the villa, about the afternoon, and it would have added up to far too much. The sheer abundance would have made nonsense.’

  ‘Whereas?’

  ‘Nothing. They are stiff. They do not enjoy the excitement. They do not excuse themselves or accuse others.’

  ‘No one has an alibi. Not even me.’

  ‘The siesta often has that effect. It is the bane of Italian criminology. Everyone is separated and ostensibly asleep. When the crime is committed during the siesta only lovers have alibis. And their alibis cannot be trusted.’