Page 20 of Murder at the Ponte Vecchio (Armstrong and Oscar Cozy Mystery #11)

Zebra told me that she had to get back to observe the second act so I finished my coffee, persuaded my dog to relinquish the new love of his life and went back outside.

The van was still there with all four wheels still attached, which was a relief.

I looked at my watch. It was barely three o’clock so I called Lina to check that there was nothing urgent waiting for me back at the office and decided that, as I was on the right side of town, I’d take a trip out to Vincenzo Grande’s duck shoot, just in case I might be able to find out a bit more about the man.

This would also give me the opportunity to go for a good walk with Oscar.

My satnav guided me to the Zona Sportiva dei Laghi – the lakes sporting area.

This was about twenty minutes to the west of Florence in the valley of the River Arno.

The terrain was pan flat and almost deserted.

Apart from a handful of houses along the narrow, winding access road through reed beds and fields, I hardly saw any signs of civilisation until I reached a turn-off to the right onto a rough track.

A series of wooden arrows attached to a post indicated that this was home to a number of different sports clubs.

I saw signs to a fishing lake, the wildfowl lake, an off-road driving club, a clay-pigeon shoot and, unexpectedly, a castle.

Considering that castles were normally built on hills, finding one down here was unexpected.

I left the van just off the road and decided to recce on foot with Oscar.

It was another warm day and I wished I’d changed into my shorts.

There wasn’t a breath of wind and I was perspiring by the time I reached the wildfowl lake.

At the lakeside was a long, low, wooden building with an open terrace at the front and a sign pinned to the wall indicating that this was a bar as well as a shooting club.

I saw two elderly men sitting at a table on the terrace, drinking wine.

The idea of a cold beer had considerable attraction, so I made my way across to them.

One of the men gave me a lazy wave and pointed at Oscar.

‘Does he work?’

To the best of my knowledge, Oscar has never done a day’s work in his life but, given my surroundings, I realised what the man was asking, so I shook my head and assumed an expression of exaggerated disappointment.

‘No, he’s just a house dog, I’m afraid. He belongs to my sister and he’s never had any gun-dog training. I’m just walking him. Are you looking for a retriever?’

‘Yes, indeed. It’s the close season now, but when September comes along, we’re going to need another one.

Zorro is getting too old.’ He pointed with his thumb towards what I had taken for a pile of old sacks against the wall of the building and realised that it was, in fact, a sleeping dog – from the look of it, a Labrador crossed with a haystack.

As I spotted the dog, so did Oscar, and his tail started wagging.

He wandered over, and Zorro managed to summon the energy to raise his head and thump his tail on the ground a couple of times before subsiding into sleep once more.

Oscar gave him a good sniff before deciding to let sleeping dogs lie and he returned to my side. I indicated a table near the two men.

‘Is this place members only or can I get a drink? I’m dying for a cold beer.’

The other man stood up and headed for the door. ‘You take a seat. I’ll bring it to you.’

A cold bottle of beer duly arrived and I took a refreshing mouthful before striking up a conversation with the two elderly gentlemen.

It transpired that the club also offered clay-pigeon shooting outside the official hunting season and I was delighted to hear one of the men mention the name of the club champion.

‘Vincenzo wins all the competitions. He has reactions like a cat.’

Oscar opened one eye when he heard the C word – although in Italian, it begins with a G – checked the vicinity for any of his sworn enemies and then stretched out again.

I was wondering how to find out whether the Vincenzo in question was Superintendent Grande when the answer was provided for me. ‘But it’s not fair; after all, he’s a police officer, so he gets far more practice than the rest of us.’

I seriously doubted whether the Florence police shooting range included the use of shotguns but I kept silent on that and asked them about the facilities of the club, hoping to get confirmation of what the barista in Florence had told me.

After telling me how good the chef was and how the pool table had a serious slope to the left, the smaller of the two men gave me a lascivious wink and dropped an unambiguous hint.

‘And, for those who want it, there are other benefits.’ Like the barista back in Florence, he tapped the side of his nose and indicated the far end of the building.

‘At the weekends, there are a couple of rooms down there if you’re looking for female company, if you know what I mean. ’

I jumped at the opportunity he’d given me. ‘Maybe the ladies down there are the secret of why your friend Vincenzo has such good reactions.’

Both men chuckled and the taller one replied. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. We’ll have to see that he’s banned from those rooms in future.’

I asked him where I would find the castle and he pointed over to the other side of the lake.

‘There’s not much of it left now. All of this area has been quarried for sand and gravel since the Middle Ages and I’m sure over the years, people have helped themselves to stones from the tumbledown walls of the castle as well. There’s just the tower left now.’

After paying for my beer, I left them to their wine and Zorro to his repose and set off around the lake, passing a number of pits left over from the days of the quarry.

Some of these, along with heaps of earth, were clearly part of a track for the off-road club and I spotted what was presumably their clubhouse a bit further on in the largest of the quarries, with half a dozen dusty 4 x 4s parked outside.

We finally reached the remains of the castle, where I sat down on a pile of stones in the shade of the dilapidated stone tower and called Marco to ask if the Swiss safe cracker had arrived yet.

There was no reply so I called Virgilio and he sounded pleased to hear from me.

‘ Ciao , Dan, how’s things?’

I gave him my report. ‘As far as the three police officers you suspect are concerned, nothing much to report. Superintendent Grande goes duck hunting in a place where there are also hookers available – I’m there at the moment and that’s been confirmed as a fact.

If he’s been indulging, I suppose that could make him open to blackmail and so vulnerable to being forced to interfere with police records.

Inspector Faldo lives in a smart house and might be up against it as far as money is concerned so, again, that might be a cause for a bit of moonlighting, but I don’t really see him or Grande as being the main suspects.

For my money, the number-one suspect – but I have nothing definite against him and it’s just a hunch really – is the vice questore , Giuseppe Verdi.

I don’t know if you’re familiar with his house, but it’s in a fabulous position and I wonder whether he might or might not be living beyond his means.

If I could get hold of his bank records, it would be interesting to see if he’s been receiving sums of money over and above his salary, but I suppose there’s no chance of that happening at this stage. Any joy your end?’

‘Thanks for doing that, Dan, and you’re right about the bank accounts.

Until we can catch one of them in flagrante, there’s no way I can ask for their bank records without an unholy row blowing up.

I’ve discovered nothing more. I’ve just tried calling Marco to see how he’s getting on, but it went to the answerphone.

He went off home earlier so he could spend a couple of hours digging around in the personnel files without being observed, in an attempt to see if he could unearth anything about our three suspects.

I expected him back by now but until he starts answering his phone, I don’t have any news.

I’ll let you know if anything interesting comes up. ’

‘Have you been following the David Berg case? I was wondering if the company from Switzerland have sent their technician to open the safe at Berg’s villa yet.’

‘I’ve just been reading up about the case now, but I can’t give you an answer to that yet.

I imagine Marco will know, and I’ll ask him just as soon as I can speak to him.

I tend to agree with him that it’s looking like aggravated robbery, but I suppose it might be a family affair.

A lot will depend on the terms of the old man’s will.

Thank you, by the way, for acting as interpreter for Marco at Berg’s house on Sunday. How did the family strike you?’

‘Nothing out of the ordinary. They’re obviously shocked but, after thirty years of separation, they naturally enough don’t seem particularly disturbed by the old man’s death.

They came here because of a possible inheritance and, like you say, until they see the will, I can’t see how it would have been to their advantage to murder him. ’

‘Hang on a minute, Dan, I’ve got another call coming through.’ I waited for no more than a minute before I heard Virgilio’s voice again, now sounding stunned. ‘Marco’s been involved in an accident and they’re taking him to hospital as we speak.’

‘Wow, what sort of accident?’

‘He was found lying in the road by a passer-by. Looks like a hit and run and he’s badly injured.’

My mind was racing. Could it be that this hadn’t been a simple accident?

After all, Virgilio had just told me that Marco had been trawling through the files of the three suspects.

Might this mean that one of them was guilty, not only of removing the missing files, but now of attempting to murder a fellow officer in order to stop him getting too close?

‘How is Marco? How serious is it?’

‘They say it looks bad, but for now, all I know is that he’s still alive and on his way to hospital. I’m going to go there straight away.’

‘I’m out in the country with Oscar at the moment. Would you give me a call as soon as you know how he is? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

His voice when he replied was grim. ‘Was it really an accident?’