Peretti ran out across Ponte Sisto and stood in the centre of the bridge to get a better view. The greasy olive-green water of the Tiber swept past far below his feet and a concoction of unpleasant smells drifted up to hang in the warm summer air but Peretti hardly noticed.
‘Come on, Miccoli. Where are you hiding?’
Peretti stood on the bridge as if waiting for inspiration but none came. Maybe he would be able to see more from the next one. The sweeping arches of Ponte Garibaldi were just visible in the distance. The detective turned and jogged back to the Vespa. He gunned the engine and following the line of trees once more he headed east along the Tiber.
The breeze made Peretti’s damp shirt stick to his skin but he ignored it and concentrated on the road. Between the trunks of the sycamores he could see glimpses of the bridge up ahead. Then with no more than a hundred metres to go he slammed on the brakes and skidded to halt.
A Fiat van squealed up behind him blowing his horn but Peretti ignored it and pulled off the road. A white BMW was parked in the shade. It was identical to the car he’d spotted outside the travel agent’s the other day. And the number plate began with the letters F and M. Francesco Miccoli perhaps? Peretti didn’t believe in coincidences. He ran for the bridge.
Pausing at the top of the walkway leading down to the river, Peretti peered over the wall. Nothing. He listened for a moment but the rumble of traffic at the junction swallowed up everything else.
His boots crunched on the path as he reached the bottom and turned towards the bridge where a movement in the shadows caught his eye.
‘Hey! Stop!’
Peretti’s hand travelled to the back of his jeans as he ran. The old Beretta he’d found in Uncle Fabio’s things had jabbed into his back on the ride there and the grip of the gun felt slick with sweat but now he was grateful for the solid pressure of it in his hand. The hooded figure was running too and Peretti started to sprint. He passed through the shadow of the bridge and vaulted over a bag of rubbish which had been dumped beside the river. The detective reached the next walkway as the hood started climbing up towards the street.
‘Stop!’
The figure showed no sign of listening and so with a last surge of speed, Peretti leapt up and over the wall and onto the walkway. He reached out an arm and grabbed the hood as it was about to disappear onto the street. They hit the ground hard and there was a rush of air as the wind was knocked from burning lungs.
Peretti was first to recover and he grabbed the hood once more. He was met by a flailing arm and the flash of a knife as it caught the light of the afternoon sun. Rolling backwards and away from the blade, Peretti raised his gun and held a trembling finger on the trigger.
The hood had fallen back in the struggle and long dark hair spilt out over slim shoulders. The figure turned and faced Peretti.
‘Maria Vialli. I knew it.’
The woman was breathing heavily and still clutching a kitchen knife. Her eyes darted back and forth looking for an escape route.
‘It’s over, Maria. Now, where is Miccoli?’
The question seemed to hang for too long in the balmy heat. When she finally spoke her voice cracked.
‘I didn’t want to do it.’
Peretti’s breath seemed for a moment to freeze in his lungs. His gaze fell onto the knife in the woman’s hand. The tip of the blade appeared to be rusty but that was impossible. He remembered seeing the glint of the sun on the steel as it flashed towards him. As he stared, the rust dripped onto the concrete. The noise of the traffic in the street above them seemed to ebb away into the distance and a sudden chill made the hairs on his neck prickle upwards.
‘What have you done?’
The voice sounded mechanical. As though he had made a recording of the words and they were being played back to him.
‘You don’t understand, Detective. I didn’t have a choice.’
Peretti waved the gun.
‘Move. Now.’
The woman walked back down the pathway to the bank of the Tiber and stopped.
‘Keep walking, Maria.’
‘It’s too late. There’s nothing you can do. And you’re meddling in things you don’t understand. If I were you, I’d walk away and forget you were ever here. ’
‘Shut up and walk.’
‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
She set off again in the direction of the bridge. Peretti kept one eye on her as he scanned the shadows for any sign of life. The bag of rubbish still blocked the path. They got closer and Peretti realised his mistake. The bag had arms and legs.
‘Francesco!’
The detective ran to the body but kept his gun pointed at the woman. With one hand he grasped the shirt and turned the man over. It was Miccoli. A sticky red pool had formed under the body and the front of the shirt was torn and soaked with blood. Peretti placed his fingertips on the man’s neck. A pulse. It was weak but it was there.
‘Come on, Francesco. Stay with me!’
Pulling out his cell-phone, Peretti dialled and waited for the call to connect.
‘Yes, I need an ambulance! Under Ponte Garibaldi. Yes, yes. You heard me. Under the bridge. Make it fast. There’s been a stabbing. I don’t know how long he has left.’
He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his attention to Maria Vialli. Her eyes were fixed on Miccoli’s deathly pale face.
‘Get down on the ground. If you try anything stupid I swear I will shoot you.’
The woman sat down without taking her eyes from her victim. In the distance, Peretti heard the eerie wail of a siren. He clenched his teeth and pressed more firmly on the wound.
Chapter Thirteen
‘You’re helping a killer, you know.’
Peretti shook his head.
‘Impossible. Miccoli was on his way home at half past nine on the night Giacomo was murdered. We know your husband spoke to his mother just after ten o’clock. Miccoli had already left.’
Maria Vialli arched her perfectly shaped eyebrows.
‘You seem very sure of yourself, Detective.’
‘Why wouldn’t I be? He was caught on camera. Why else do you think they released him so quickly?’
The slim shoulders rolled.
‘Maybe he went back to the office later on.’
Peretti laughed but the sound was hollow.
‘OK. You can drop the act now. I know about the key to Giacomo’s office you borrowed that morning and that you weren’t at home for the whole evening like you claimed to be. And I know you lied to me about the ledger. It was your writing wasn’t it?’
Maria Vialli rolled her eyes.
‘Meh, you detectives think you’re so clever don’t you? But that’s all circumstantial. You’ve got nothing to prove I was there when Giacomo died. You’ll never be able to make any of this stick.’
Peretti gestured to the man on the ground in front of him.
‘So what’s this? I suppose stabbing a witness is circumstantial too?’
She shook her head at him in mock disappointment.
‘Oh please, Signore. This was self-defence. This man was arrested for murdering my husband and then when he was released he came after me too. But thankfully, since Giacomo was murdered, I’ve taken to carrying a knife with me for protection and I was able to fight back. Otherwise I might not be talking to you now. If you search his pockets, I have a suspicion that you might find the gun he threatened me with.’
Peretti felt the muscle clench in his jaw. His best chance of pinning the murder of Giacomo Vialli onto his widow was now lying unconscious with a grip on life that was weakening by the minute. Peretti kept pressure on the wound and listened as the sound of the siren drew closer. He became aware of footsteps coming along the path towards them then and he glanced up to see a familiar short figure wearing smart black boots and the blue police uniform.
‘Contadino! At last. You took your time.’
‘Getting our hands dirty again a
re we, Peretti? What have you got yourself into this time?’
‘See for yourself. This suicide business is getting a little out of hand don’t you think?’
A strange look passed over the policeman’s face as he recognised the widow.
‘Signora Vialli. What are you doing out here?’
‘She was trying to dispose of evidence, Officer.’
‘Evidence of what?’
‘The murder of Giacomo Vialli. She tried to make Francesco Miccoli the fall guy for it and when that didn’t work she took a knife to him. Miccoli was working with someone – he admitted that much to me. But it wasn’t Giacomo.’
He looked pointedly at Maria Vialli who cleared her throat and stood up. She looked small and strangely out of place in jeans and a hoodie.
‘I’m not sure I like what you’re suggesting, Signor Peretti.’
‘With respect, Signora, I’m not interested in what you like or don’t like. But I swear to you that I will bring you down. Along with whatever little racket you've got going on.’
Her laughter echoed around underneath the bridge.
‘I’d like to see you try.’
‘You’re forgetting something. I have your ledger. And it’s only a matter of time before I work the details out. And I don't suppose whoever else you’re working with will be too happy about that will they?’
The widow’s eyes shifted nervously to Contadino’s face and away again. Only for a second but Peretti caught it.
‘Wait, wait! What was that? Hang on. You two already knew each other didn’t you? Ah, I should have known.’
A sigh came from the lips of Francesco Miccoli and Peretti leaned forward to check his pulse again.
‘Come on, Francesco. Stay with me. They’ll be here any minute.’
~
The next moment the air seemed to explode and everything fell silent apart from the ringing in Peretti’s ears. He shook his head and tried to focus but as his brain processed the scene in front of him, he began to wish he’d kept his eyes squeezed shut. A few metres away down the path, a body lay perfectly still on the concrete. It was Maria Vialli.
Peretti’s first instinct was to run to her but he kept his hand clamped firmly on Miccoli’s wound. It wouldn’t do to lose them both. Besides, it looked like it was already too late for the widow. There was too much blood again. Far too much. And her blue eyes stared up at the bridge with that already familiar faraway look.
Contadino stepped past the detective and checked the body for signs of life. He shook his head as he re-holstered the weapon.
‘It’s tragic. Such a senseless waste of life.’
Peretti stared. His mouth felt dry and when he opened it to speak nothing came out. He swallowed and tried again.
‘What was that?’
It was a stupid question and he knew it but his brain refused to say anything else. The policeman shrugged.
‘Exactly what it looks like. You turned to attend to the wounded man. The suspect made the most of the opportunity and grabbed the knife. She was about to attack you when I shot her. I saved your life.’
Peretti shook his head like a boxer getting back to his feet.
‘That’s a lie and we both know it. You were working together. And you just couldn’t risk her ratting on you, could you?'
The wail of the ambulance siren stopped on the road above them and the sound of running feet echoed down the walkway.
‘Think carefully before you open your mouth with accusations like that, Peretti. Who do you think they are going to believe? Me or you?’
Two medics came running along the path. Contadino gave Peretti a long look and stepped aside to give the men room.
Chapter Fourteen
Commissario Nesca stood and watched the men as they examined the pathway under the bridge. Their Polizia Scientifica suits were a blinding white under the glare of the floodlights. Maria Vialli’s body lay hidden under a sheet away from curious eyes. He turned round at the sound of Peretti’s boots.
‘Ah, Peretti. There you are. Lingering like a bad smell as usual. Maybe you would like to explain yourself? I said I didn’t want to see you again and yet here you are, the very next day, poking your nose into my business. And now I have another murder on my hands and a suspect who we released from custody only a few hours ago fighting for his life in the back of an ambulance.’
‘Another murder? I thought Signor Vialli’s death was suicide, Commissario?'
‘Don’t be smart with me, Peretti. What were you doing down here?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Then it’s a good thing I have all evening.’
Peretti ran his fingers through his hair.
‘I was looking for Miccoli.’
‘What for?’
‘I had some questions about Signora Vialli.’
‘And you arranged to meet down here? You like the cloak-and-dagger approach do you, Peretti?’
Peretti shook his head.
‘I called his cell-phone and had a strange conversation with him. I got the feeling that someone else was there with him. He hung up on me but not before I heard the noise of the river in the background. I came down to see if I could find him.’
‘But apparently Signora Vialli found him first.’
‘Yes.’
Nesca turned back to the crime scene and nodded in the direction of the body.
‘You honestly think she killed her husband?’
‘I believe so.’
‘You believe?’
Peretti shrugged and stared out across the swirling expanse of the Tiber.
‘There were too many inconsistencies. Her own father threw doubt on her alibi. The maid said she borrowed the spare key to the office that morning. And she pointed me in the direction of Miccoli who lied through his teeth about working for Giacomo Vialli. I got the impression he fed me the story he’d been ordered to tell. So perhaps he was a stooge and she’d been playing him all along. Maybe that’s why he came down here – to confront her. Or maybe he only found out when he had a blade in his gut and it was too late.’
‘That’s all very nice but it doesn’t give her a motive for the husband’s murder.’
‘From what I heard, she may have grown up witnessing an abusive relationship between her mother and father. Maybe her marriage was the same. Or maybe she just wasn’t the model citizen that she wanted the world to see. After all, we can't hide what we are inside forever. Blood will always tell in the end.’
Commissario Nesca threw up his hands.
‘You’ve only got coincidences and guesswork then, Peretti? The Miccoli stabbing, or murder, if he doesn’t make it, looks like an open-and-shut case. But the shooting of Giacomo Vialli…’
The policeman shook his head.
‘Is there anything else you want to tell me?’
Peretti thought of the ledger lying on the desk in his apartment and of Contadino, then shook his head.
‘Not that I can think of.’
‘Then you can go.’
‘Thank you, Commissario. It’s been a pleasure. And if you ever need help on a case again, you know where to find me.’
‘Don’t push your luck.’
~
Peretti started back up the pathway towards the street and then stopped dead. The stocky frame of Officer Contadino blocked his path and the little man looked up into his face with a grin.
‘How did it go, Peretti?’
He tried to push his way past but the policeman stepped in front and jabbed a finger into his chest. The smile had gone.
‘Don’t ignore me. I’m warning you.’
‘Get out of my way.’
Contadino tried to hold his ground but Peretti shrugged the shorter man aside.
‘Touch me with that grubby little finger again and I will snap it off. Understand?’
‘You’re making a mistake. You don’t know what you’re dealing with, Peretti.’
‘Not yet. Not yet, but I’m going to find out
. And when I do, you’d better hope for your sake that you don’t slip up again.’
The policeman laughed.
‘We don’t slip up.’
Peretti shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the wall.
‘What was this then? Everything that happened here tonight?’
Contadino shrugged.
‘Tying off some loose ends.’
‘You killed a woman in cold blood.’
‘Sometimes there’s collateral damage.’
Peretti shook his head.
‘This was how it was supposed to end after all wasn’t it? Vialli kills Miccoli on your orders when he became a liability and then you kill the only person left who can point the finger at you. So, how did Giacomo fit into your devious little plan?'
‘You’re learning fast, Peretti. But the orders didn’t come from me. And the plan was never mine. We all do what we’re told. Even me.’
‘That was his mistake then? He didn’t do what he was told? Or was he branching out on his own?’
Contadino gave a dismissive wave of his hand.
‘Maybe. Maybe not. But what does it matter? He was a problem. We dealt with him. You won’t become a problem now will you, Emilio?’
Peretti stared down at the policeman.
‘Are you seriously threatening me?’
‘No, no. Of course not. You’re an intelligent young man. I don’t think I would ever need to do that.'
‘And you’re a pathetic little maggot, Contadino. I’m going to enjoy this.’
‘Good luck, Detective. You’re going to need it. Until next time then. And, Emilio, watch your back.’
Contadino scurried off like a rat in the direction of the river and Peretti stood for a moment, breathing deeply in the warm evening air. Then reaching an arm into his kit-bag he felt around until his fingers found what they were looking for. His Uncle Fabio’s old Dictaphone. He pulled it out and wound the tape back. The sound of the policeman's voice was tinny but unmistakable.
‘…what does it matter? He was a problem. We dealt with him. You won’t become a problem now will you, Emilio?’
Peretti chuckled to himself.
‘A problem? You have no idea, Contadino. No idea at all…’
Thankyou for reading Blood Will Tell...