Page 68 of Last Breath

‘I don’t like this,’ Tomaso declared.

‘Shhh!’ Nella said.

‘Have you heard of Isola San Giulio, Mr La Marca?’

‘Si, my family owns a house there.’

‘I’m aware. It’s also come to my attention there is evidence hidden within that house that can confirm the true origin of the Barbarani Wine lies with the Barbarani family. Have you heard of that too?’

All the air was sucked from Jett’s lungs as both Barbaranis inhaled the last remaining oxygen in the car.

‘Are you a writer, Mr Lieu? Or a lawyer like you claim? Because that is one gigante fairytale you are telling me.’

Jett indicated for Nella to pause the recording. ‘Why would evidence that the wine belongs toyourfamily be in a La Marca house?’ he asked. Nella shook her head and pressed play again.

‘You know of the evidence I speak, Mr La Marca?’

‘I know there is a rumour. I assume you came by this information from Emilio Barbarani’s diaries? Who translated the Italian for you? Are they fluent in bullshit too?’

Jett was no expert on Matteo La Marca, or humans in general, but he knew cars. He knew what they sounded like when there was something wrong, when they were being steered in a direction they couldn’t go, didn’t want to go. That was the sound in Matteo’s voice.

‘I assume you agreeing to have this discussion with me, and allowing me to record it, comes down to the simple fact you think it will be impossible for me or any of the Barbaranis to gain access to this evidence?’

‘You assume correctly. Only a La Marca can enter. Anyone else who tries to access the house without a member of my family present will not live to beg for forgiveness. There is one key, hidden on the island, and only my blood can retrieve it.’

‘Sounds like quite the home security system you’ve got.’

‘Quite.’

They stared at each other. ‘What if he found another way in,’ Nella said, ‘and Matteo found out?’

Even Tom didn’t shush her this time.

‘This conversation happened the day before Clarkson died. There’s not enough time for him to have flown to Milan and back.’

‘It’s a beautiful house,’La Marca continued,‘cream, almost giallo – the colour of fresh floured pasta sheets. No one lives there but the garden is always tended to, vines never ensnaring the windows or doors. The view is unimaginable.’

‘But I will never see it?’

‘You will never see it from the top floor of that house. And that is a real shame.’

‘You enjoy painting this picture for me, sir, don’t you? Tempting me to test your boundaries, to find another way into the property? There are other ways to break into a house, you know.’

‘None in which you can exit that same house.’

The recording clicked off.

‘There’s only one way for Matteo to be one hundred per cent confident Clarkson would never find it,’ Nella began.

‘What is it?’ Tom said. ‘What’s in the house?’

‘I think if we had the answer to that,’ Jett said, ‘this whole night would be pointless.’

‘Matteo’s playing with him,’ Nella said. ‘He knows Clarkson would never be able to get into the house. Not if it needs to be opened by a La Marca. He thinks it’s impossible.’

‘Thinks?’ Tom asked.

Nella scrolled down the rest of the notes but there was only the one voice memo and Clarkson’s earlier harried scrawl about the abbey.