Death Brings Gold

CHAPTER 10

After a lunch break, David Walker returned to his office. He saw straight away that the file on Ghezzi’s murder was on his desk. Bassani had notified him that the autopsy appraisal had been written. He had sent a copy to him and one to Fini.

David sat on the old armchair, in front of the envelope. He lit a cigarette and opened it. He made a copy of the appraisal and summoned Bassani.

“Well, detective,” said the Inspector, as soon as the other crossed the threshold. “I saw you brought me more fuel for the fire. Let’s get started.”

He handed him a copy of the document.

“Read it and make notes of the most important parts. I’ll do the same. Then we’ll compare them.”

Bassani’s face took on a bemused and incredulous expression. It was obvious that he had never worked that way before. Detective Caslini also looked shocked the first time. But afterwards Walker’s words had put him at ease.

Four eyes see better than two, and two heads think better than one…

When Walker repeated the same motto to Bassani, he replied with a pleased smile.

Then, neither of them needing to add anything else, they started reading Dr Visconti’s report.

After less than an hour, they had finished. Both men had highlighted the cause of death: cardiorespiratory arrest. Moreover, Visconti in his report talked about ligature strangulation with undetermined object. The doctor assumed it was a strip of fabric, or something similar. Some marks with a small regular square texture had been found on the victim’s neck.

Moreover, there was another element that caught their attention. In the victim’s mouth, Visconti had identified an unusual removal of the layer of the skin in the sublingual sulcus. And around this tear, which was irregular in shape and as big as a corn kernel, traces of methyl cyanoacrylate had been found.

The two men stood there in silence for a long time. Without knowing, they were formulating the same thoughts.

The only noise, that for a moment disturbed the quietness of their room, was coming from Walker’s lighter. A hiss and the cigarette came to life.

The Inspector stood there staring at the empty space, thinking about the information he had just read, as if in that way he could absorb them completely. One question, though, formed in his mind. And he was convinced that the same doubt was gripping detective Bassani.

Neither of them could pull an answer out of a magic hat.

When Walker noticed that his Marlboro had burnt itself out, he squashed what was left of it in the ashtray. Finally he let his fingertips slip onto the computer keyboard. His hands typed the name of the weird chemical compound and a link appeared. When the answer appeared on the screen, he turned towards Bassani.

“What was that man doing with traces of glue under his tongue?”

CHAPTER 11

The man cursed in hatred against the gaming machine. It was the third time in a row that it had given him one short of a Royal Flush. It was as if it was making fun of him, giving him the illusion of a win that would never come. But he knew these stupid devices well. They would spin, spin and spin. They would deceive ,deceive and deceive. And, after teasing one for so long with the promise of a prize without delivering, the eventual super jackpot would be served on a silver platter. And Caio Merli knew that moment was close, it was only a matter of investing some more banknotes.

He took his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He opened it and with disappointment found he only had a tenner. In that moment he realised the money-hungry bitch machine had already sucked from him a hundred and forty Euros. He pulled the banknote out and flattened it with his hands, trying to make it more appetising for the poker machine’s mouth. Next, he put it near the slot, which was flashing as if to signal that it was waiting for the note.

The jaws of the machine swallowed the note, which was also Caio Merli’s last chance to break the bank. The sound of the paper being quickly sucked in, followed by the polyphonic jingle of the machine, was the signal the credit had been accepted.

Now, Caio was ready to play; it was all or nothing.

He kept the button pushed until the bet reached the maximum amount allowed. In doing so, he would only have two hands to play.

He hit the red button with his fingertips and the card symbols began spinning vigorously. Then, on the second turn, they started to slow down, stopping on a combination that came to nothing.

“Fuck!” the man cursed.

He was about to push the red button again, when a short metallic cascade told him that one of the machines to his right had decided to pay a small amount. He shot a distracted glance at a man in a green cap, who didn’t notice, as he was preoccupied collecting his few coins. He stood there staring at the lucky man longer than he would have liked it. Then, with a sense of disgust, he turned his eyes and concentration to the screen and with determination pushed the button that activated the movement of the cards, as though the outcome might depend on the force with which he pressed ‘start’. The combination of cards and the legend ‘INSERT COIN’ told him that his chances of winning were exhausted. Just like his money.

Of all the decisions available to him, he was certainly not abandoning such a warm machine. He knew too well that it was only a question of ten or so more Euros for the machine to spit out a nice payoff.

He looked around and verified that there were only two other people in the small room.

He tilted the stool forward, placing it against the poker machine keyboard, to indicate that he was reserving the machine. He entered the door leading to the bar area of the place. He exchanged a glance with a well dressed man reading a newspaper, who sipped coffee. When he neared the bar he made eye contact with the barman.

“I’ll be back soon, I’m going to take some money out,” he said, giving a hint of a smile.

“I’ll be here,” replied the barman, while drying a glass.

It took him less than five minutes, the ATM was about two hundred metres from ‘Bar Santo’.

When the barman saw him return, he light-heartedly welcomed him back.

“You’ve come back sooner than soon.”

“I can’t miss the jackpot. I feel it, the machine is hot.”

The man behind the counter smiled, a sly smile, as if to say it was always -more or less- a substantial jackpot for him, whenever someone put a banknote in one of his machines.

“Good luck!”

Caio Merli didn’t get the meaning of that smile, or if he did , he didn’t show it.

“Thank you, Anselmo,” he replied, without giving too much weight to those words.

His mind was elsewhere. He was already dreaming about the metallic sound of that cascading roll of Euros. He was thinking about how he was going to spend that substantial little lump. Perhaps he could…

Something familiar stopped those thoughts. And for a millisecond even his heartbeat stopped. He felt dizzy: he recognised the sound of that cascading reel of money. His anger exploded inside him, so much that his blood pressure shot to the stars. He blinked his eyes in an attempt to awaken from that nightmare.

Yes, the nightmare where the fucking son of a bitch in the green cap waits for the moment you go to replenish your stock of Euros to move in on your machine. The one you reserved by tilting the stool forward. The hot one. The one that was still spitting into its tray metal coins that had the weight, form, size and value of one euro each.

“Are you a fucking idiot?”

The man with the cap didn’t hear him, or pretended not to.

“OI!” continued Caio approaching him, his hands were trembling with anger and itching for a fight. “I’m talking to you, Green Cap”.

The man turned.

“Are you talking to me?” he asked calmly.

Caio moved closer, his mouth just a couple of inches from the man’s face.

“That money is mine,” he said, with the confidence of someone who firmly believes he is right.

“Yours?” asked the man, an idiotic smile on his lips. “But I’ve just won it.”

Caio took a step back, not only to have a better view of the dickhead’s face, but also to let the man see his anger.

“Look, man,” he started, hitting the centre of the man’s chest with his knobby index finger. “If you’re looking for trouble, you’ve found it. You saw perfectly well that I was playing at that machine. And you also saw perfectly well that I had reserved it…”

“Reserved?” Green Cap interrupted. “And since when can you reserve a machine?”

Again, that fucking annoying little smile. This man and the way he behaved was unleashing that inner force that would lead Caio to punch him until he smashed the bastard’s face. Nevertheless, he tried to remain calm, although it was not in his nature.

“Hey, stranger. Around here when someone tilts the stool forward against the machine board, it means that the machine is reserved.”

“Oh, really?” The man was laughing openly. “That’s truly a good one,” he added, before turning away to resume playing.

Caio was now blind with rage; this man had driven him to the very depths of his anger.

“Get your paws off my money, you dirty bastard,” he cursed, while grabbing him from behind and wrapping his hands around his neck.

Green Cap started waving his arms around, in an attempt to free himself. But, considering his diminutive size, it would have been impossible for the little man to free himself from Caio Merli’s ferocious clutches.

Luckily for Green Cap, there was a man – a recent arrival – that jumped in and was rewarded with an involuntary elbow from Caio for his efforts.

The scuffle continued for a few more seconds, then six-foot tall Anselmo’s face peeked out from the entrance to the room.

“Hey, what the hell is going on here?” His rough voice echoed in the game room.

Caio turned, slightly releasing the grasp around the neck of the man who had stolen his win.

“This fucking idiot took my machine,” he said, tugging him. “And my money too.”

“What are you talking about?” jumped in the little fellow in the green cap. “That money was mine, I won it. Besides, if there’s a fucking idiot between us, that would be…”

The shove he received stopped his sentence and sent him crashing onto the machine. Caio moved closer again, and slapped his face a couple of times, until two strong arms grabbed him from behind.

“You know I don’t want any trouble in my bar,” Anselmo admonished him.

“I swear I’m going to kill you, asshole!” Caio shouted at Green Cap, trying to kick him. “Let me go!” he ordered the barman, who was keeping both his arms immobilised in a strong embrace.

“I’ll do it only when you calm down,” the barman’s voice left no space for an answer.

Caio wrestled for a few more seconds, then he decided to surrender to the grasp of the two strong arms.

“Okay. I’m calm now,” he said, although he was still fuming with rage inside.

“Good. Now you two sit here at the table and tell me word for word what happened,” ordered Anselmo.

CHAPTER 12

Raffaele Ghezzi’s death was a mess, the Chief Inspector thought. There were those damn traces of glue under the victim’s tongue. And the murder weapon was still a mystery.

David Walker read the autopsy report for the umpteenth time, paying special attention to the parts that he had highlighted. When he reached the end, he remained there engrossed in his own thoughts.

Making an angry grunt, he lifted the office phone receiver and dialled Dr Visconti’s number.

The phone rang three times, then the Medical Examiner answered.

“Hi Umberto, it’s Walker.”

“Inspector, good to hear from you. I bet you need something.”

“Correct,” admitted David.

“Shoot,” Visconti encouraged him.

“I’ve just finished reading the appraisal regarding Ghezzi.”

“Good.”

“Actually, I dare say that I devoured it more than read it.”

On the other end he heard an amused snicker.

“So, the victim died by strangulation.”

“Without a shadow of a doubt.”

“But the murder weapon still remains a mystery.”

An eternal moment of silence.

“Well, I made my observations, David.”

“And now I’ll give you mine,” replied Walker. “Couldn’t the killer have used the necktie that was found on the victim’s body? That is, I mean, could it be consistent with the marks that you’ve found on the victim’s neck?”

The doctor thought about it for a moment.

“It could be. Yes, I wouldn’t exclude it.”

“Excellent,” replied Walker. “Besides, I read about some marks with little squares stamped on the neck …”

“Yes,” Visconti interrupted him. “Those squares are the pattern on the surface of the ligature strip or, as you have assumed, of the necktie used for the strangulation.”

“It’s exactly with reference to this matter that I wanted some clarification.”

“That’s why I’m here, David.”

“I spoke with Carobbio, from Forensics. He confirmed that the necktie found on Ghezzi’s body had some small squares tone-on-tone. The surface of the fabric, I mean.”

“Well, then I’d say there’s no doubt, David. It must be the murder weapon. If you want, we could confirm that, by comparing the pattern of that necktie with the marks on the victim’s neck.”

Walker waited for a few seconds before expressing his thoughts.

“Let’s do it, Umberto. Although… I was also convinced that it was that necktie …”

“But?” the medical examiner asked.

“But Carobbio excluded it. Categorically.”

“Sorry, but why?”

“He said the necktie was too neat, too clean and ironed to be the one used to strangle a man. In his words: it looked like it came from a drycleaner’s.”

“So he discouraged you.”

“Absolutely.”

After an embarrassing silence, it was Visconti who came forward.

“As for the rest of the picture, is it clear to you?”

“To tell the truth, I wanted to ask you something else.”

“I’m all ears.”

“What can you tell me about his wrists? I couldn’t find anything in my report.”

“The wrists?” asked Visconti, worried.

“Yes. As soon as I arrived at the scene, I noticed some reddish bruises around the victim’s wrists.”

“Ah, those,” said the doctor. “Yes, I saw them. I didn’t attach any importance to them because certainly they didn’t cause his death. It’s very likely that the victim had been tied with something metallic before he was killed. Chains? Handcuffs?”

Walker remained silent.

“David, are you still there?” Visconti prompted him.

“Yes, I’m here,” he answered, shaking off his lethargy. “It’s exactly what I’d thought.”

“Well, then why did you ask?” joked the doctor.

“I wanted you to confirm it.”

“Well, I did.”

“Good. Thanks a lot, Umberto,” said Walker, letting his friend know that their phone conversation was over.

“Don’t mention it, David. It’s my job.”

“Ah,” Walker drew Visconti’s attention again, “I’ll show you the necktie, to compare it with the impressions on Ghezzi’s neck.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Walker slowly returned the receiver to its hook. It was the first time that Visconti had submitted an incomplete report. Poor Umberto, he must still be under stress from his mother’s death. He would give the document back to him and ask for the amendments. He didn’t wish to cause him any trouble.

CHAPTER 13

Visconti and Carobbio’s joint effort brought the first result: the necktie with which Ghezzi had been killed matched the one found on his body.

Walker made a mental note to visit the tie manufacturer and got into his car, cursing the traffic in Milan.

He parked his AUDI A3 in the only available spot, in a “no parking” space. He remained inside the car until the end of his cigarette, smoking with his eyes closed, sunk into his seat, thinking about his next moves.

When he got outside, he remembered to leave a copy of his police ID on the windscreen. He had already accumulated a collection of fines.

MODADUOMO’s main office was in Piazza San Babila, a hundred metres from there.

While walking, he consulted his iPhone and suffered all the advertising used by the big brand on their website for their products.

Nothing special, he said to himself. He lit another cigarette, ignoring that little voice warning him that he had only just finished the previous one. He sucked in three long drags of nicotine and felt his lungs cursing against him. The discomfort sensed at his breastbone brought back to memory the ongoing lectures from his mother who used to nag him every time she saw him with a cigarette.

The store was enormous, luxurious even, but not the exclusive domain of the rich. Many of its products were more or less affordable, Walker knew, even though he had never bought anything there.

A good-looking black man flung the door open for him, and greeted him showing the contrast between the whiteness of his teeth and his skin colour.

Walker returned the smile and made towards the first shop-assistant he spotted. She was young, blonde, blue eyes. Definitely very pretty. Reading the tag on her chest, Walker saw her name was Marina Papetti.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, sir,” she answered, her voice friendly. “How can I help you?”

“I need to speak to the Manager,” he simply replied.

The blonde frowned.

“I’m sorry, sir, Mister Del Chiaro is rather busy today…”

“Tell him that Inspector Walker is here, from the Police,” David interrupted her, holding up his Police ID.

The girl widened her eyes.

“I’ll call him immediately,” said Marina, before heading away.

Shortly afterwards Walker saw a tall man approaching. Good-looking, well groomed, expensive suit. A living advert for the store, the Inspector thought, with a bit of jealousy.

“Inspector Walker?” the man asked.

“In person,” David replied, offering his outstretched hand.

“Marzio Del Chiaro. Nice to meet you. May I see your ID?”

Walker showed it to him. “Murder Investigation - Milan.”

Del Chiaro was startled.

“Please tell me Inspector, what can I do for you? Would you like a coffee, while we talk?”

David accepted his offer, convinced that the other had chosen the excuse of a coffee to bring him to a more private room, far from curious eyes and ears.

The manager’s office was very welcoming, a modern desk at the centre of the room. Along the walls were huge sets of shelves finished in white. The black marble floor enhanced the luminosity of the bright walls. Two ergonomic armchairs welcomed Walker and the manager.

Del Chiaro picked up the cordless and pushed a button.

“Elena, can you bring two coffees to my office, please? Thank you.” Then he addressed Walker. “Tell me everything, Inspector.”

“I advise you that everything we discuss here must stay between us..”

“You can count on it.”

“Good. Let’s get to the point…”

Three light knocks at the door interrupted him.

“Please come in, Elena,” the manager invited her.

A brunette, almost as pretty as her blonde colleague, made her entrance with a tray in her hands.

“Here you are,” she said, placing two steaming coffee cups on the desk.

When she was gone, Walker started again.

“I’m investigating a delicate murder case, Mr Del Chiaro.”

“Should I be worried, Inspector?” His voice showed a touch of anxiety.

“You tell me,” Walker rebutted. “Do you have something to be worried about?”

Hesitation.

“Of course not,” the man acknowledged finally.

“I knew it,” Walker smiled. “I’m here because it appears the victim was killed with a necktie made by the company you work for.”

The Inspector slipped a photo of the necktie from his pocket.

Del Chiaro stared at it intensely. He didn’t look pleased.

“Yes, I recognise it, it’s one of ours.” Then he raised his eyes and met the Inspector’s. “I remember reading a couple of days ago that a man had been murdered. But I don’t recall having read that a MODADUOMO necktie was used to kill him.”

“We’ve decided to feed journalists only with the basic information, without entering into details. They’ve already begun adding their own, making up false details to pull in more readers.

The man invited him to continue, as he started stirring his coffee.

Walker did the same, and then drank the coffee in one gulp.

“Excellent,” he said pointing at the cup. “I believe such a large company must have a software program that manages the flow of incoming and outgoing goods, please correct me if I’m wrong.”

“It does,” the manager confirmed.

“Perfect. Would you be so kind as to tell me how it works? How you manage articles, inventories, colours…”

The manager nodded.

“Each item has a code, indicating the item, model, colour, fabric… Well, the code creates an identity card of the product.”

“Very convenient,” Walker interrupted him.

“Indeed” the manager continued. “Imagine we have a white silk necktie with a herringbone motif. Suppose its identification code is CSS9047.”

“I’m following you,” said Walker, “That’s where I want to go. Let’s suppose that we have the same silk necktie with the herringbone motif, but it’s red instead of white. Would its code be the same, since it’s the same model, or would it be different, considering that it’s a different colour?”

The manager didn’t hesitate.

“If it’s only the colour that changes, then it will change only the last digit of the code. For example… if the white one ends with the number 7, the red one will end with… number 8.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Walker. “Would you be able to track back to anyone who bought, in one of your branches, two, three, four or an infinite number of gold coloured neckties?”

The manager thought about it.

“Well, if the customer has made the payment electronically, then yes, otherwise, if he paid cash, we can’t track him.”

“Well, it seems obvious,” Walker replied. “But it’s worth trying. I want all the data of all the people who purchased one or more gold neckties. The model is the one in the photo.”

While the Inspector had been talking, Del Chiaro had widened his eyes.

“What’s the matter?” Walker asked him. “Something wrong?”

“No,” the manager replied, “it’s only that it’s a big job and we are in our sales period. I’ll try to do what I can, Inspector. I’ll contact my colleagues in the other Italian branches. I’ll let you know as soon as possible.”

“Very good,” said Walker, satisfied.

“But…” Del Chiaro began, then stopping immediately.

“But?” Walker pressed him.

“No, nothing.”

“Please, tell me. Anything that comes to your mind might be important, even if it doesn’t seem like it to you.”

Those words were all that were needed to convince the manager.

“I was wondering… it could also be that the culprit, in an attempt to mislead the investigation, also purchased neckties in other models or colours, or even other articles, such as shirts, cufflinks and various accessories.”

The Inspector took a few seconds to think about it.

“It could be,” he agreed. “But I repeat my request.”

“My colleagues and I will do our best to help you, Inspector,” the manager reassured him.

“I’ve no doubt,” replied Walker. “Another thing,” he hurried to add. “Try to find out if any of the shop assistants remember having sold one or more gold neckties to someone who, for one reason or another, they might remember. Always with the maximum discretion. I don’t want this information spreading like wildfire.”

“Will do, Inspector.”

“Good” said Walker, smiling at him.

Then, he pulled out his wallet, opened it and took out a business card.

“These are my numbers. Police Headquarters and the mobile.”

Del Chiaro took the business card from him.

“As soon as I find anything out, I will certainly contact you, Inspector.”

“I’m counting on it, Mr Del Chiaro.”