To Die in Tuscany, David Wagner [best novel books to read .TXT] 📗

the highest point in the city. An architectural masterpiece, the palace was built in the mid-fifteenth century by Duke Federico da Montefeltro to be home to one of the most enlightened courts of the Renaissance. Five centuries later, as if in keeping with the duke’s support for the arts, it housed the artistic treasures of the Galleria Nazionale delle Marche. Rick leaned forward and looked up at the ramparts of the castle. His parents had brought him and his sister to Urbino when they were children, and he had marveled then at the size and complexity of the palazzo. It was a period when he was sick of being taken to museums, but, thanks to the palazzo’s architecture, this museum was different to him. He recalled his sister saying it looked like something out of a Disney movie, which had gotten a laugh from their parents.

The car turned right and drove past the parking lot toward a decorative city gate flanked by columns and topped by carved stone eagles. Just before reaching the wall, Betta slowed, turned, and parked in front of a modern building on the left side of the street. The flags hanging outside, as well as the official seal above the door, told Rick that this was Urbino’s police headquarters. The space was reserved for official vehicles, and once again Betta put her pass inside the windshield.

She opened the door and stepped to the ground. “I thought we’d never get here.”

The commissariato was like so many police stations that Rick had entered, starting with the one where his uncle worked. They all had a certain distinctive smell to them, not unpleasant nor pleasing, just a neutral odor that somehow went with the work carried on inside. Benches lined an entire wall of the large room, but only one person was seated there, a woman dressed in black staring ahead. The other walls were bare, except for the usual bulletin boards displaying official notices that no one ever read. Rick and Betta were greeted by the stare of a uniformed policeman standing behind thick glass directly ahead of the door. If he noticed Rick, it wasn’t apparent from his smile or where his eyes were trained.

“You are already making a positive impression,” Rick said.

Betta strode quickly to the window and pushed her identification under the glass. “My office in Rome should have called, Sergeant. Regarding the murdered Spaniard.”

The policeman looked quickly at the document, stiffened, and pushed it back. “Si, Signora. I was told someone from the ministry would be arriving, but I didn’t—”

“Just tell us where we can find the investigating officer.”

Rick grinned behind her.

“Through that door and at the end of the hall,” the policeman stammered. “Let me come out and show—”

“That won’t be necessary.” She turned on her heel and walked to the door, Rick following behind, trying to keep up. He was at her side when they entered a narrow hallway.

“Loved the way you handled that,” he said.

“Let’s hope this next cop is more professional.”

Rick thought about saying that he couldn’t blame the sergeant for noticing a beautiful woman coming into the station but decided this wasn’t the time. Maybe later.

The door at the end of the hallway was partially open, and as they got closer they could hear fingers on a computer keyboard. Betta pushed open the door and knocked at the same time. The policeman was seated behind a desk but turned toward a small table where his laptop sat. Stubble covered his face, and his eyes indicated a lack of sleep. He pivoted and surveyed the two arrivals. At first his expression showed incomprehension, then surprise, and finally the face opened into a wide smile.

“The art police headquarters in Rome didn’t tell me they were going to send a crack investigative team. I was expecting some bureaucrat art expert wearing an ill-fitting suit.” He got to his feet and rounded the desk, giving Betta a warm embrace while squinting over her shoulder at Rick. “You’re still hanging out with this guy, Betta?”

“Alfredo,” she said, “what a pleasant surprise.”

He unclenched from Betta and hugged Rick, the two slapping each other’s back.

“Detective Alfredo DiMaio,” Rick said, “what have we done to deserve this?”

“I was just going to say the same thing. And that’s Inspector DiMaio now, Riccardo. How long has it been since the Bassano case? And in the meantime Betta has obviously joined the art cops. And you, Riccardo, still translating and interpreting? I can never remember the difference.”

“Still at it,” Rick answered.

“Your uncle continues to move up in the police hierarchy in Rome. I am very appreciative of the word he put in for me after Bassano, by the way.”

“You deserved it, Alfredo.”

Betta spoke. “Has the Piero drawing turned up?”

The inspector sighed. “Do we have to get down to business already?”

Rick shrugged. “She’s all business.”

DiMaio gestured to two chairs facing his desk and returned to his. He leaned back with a creak when Rick and Betta were seated. “The short answer is no. But as you can imagine, my priority is finding the murderer, and it occurs to me that Riccardo’s skills can be of help to both of us, Betta.” He turned to Rick. “Do I recall that you are also fluent in Spanish?”

“That was the official reason for my presence, Alfredo, to translate for Signor Somonte if needed. I wouldn’t think my services would be required now, given what’s happened to the poor man.”

“On the contrary. It’s his wife and assistant who don’t speak any Italian. I had great difficulty communicating with them this morning after we discovered the body, though part of it may just be that the wife is a difficult woman.”

Betta shifted in the chair. “Why don’t you start at the beginning, Alfredo?”

DiMaio glanced at Rick. “She really is all business, isn’t she? I have a suggestion. My only sustenance so far today was a coffee and small pastry very early this morning. I assume you have not had lunch, so why don’t I brief you