Bella Italia Read online

  “The chain of evidence,” Martuccia responded quickly. “For now, there is no conclusive evidence to suggest that the now-deceased suspect actually committed the murder. As long as this doesn’t change, we have to keep all options open.”

  Hans looked at them in disbelief. “Is this what people mean by the Italian bureaucracy?”

  Martuccia ignored the provoking question.

  “Why has Niels remained silent?” Tardelli asked. “As you’ve stated, the suspected killer is dead, so I can’t think of a single reason why your son should shut down completely. Unless he is protecting someone. As long as we haven’t heard his version of the events, we will never know exactly what took place in those bushes. Before or after your arrival.”

  Hans grabbed the chair’s armrest to force himself not jump up in anger. “What?! How dare you insinuate that I have something to do with this hideous murder?”

  Tardelli shook his head. “I’m not insinuating anything. As my colleague stated before, we look at every possible angle. No evidence has been found at this point suggesting that the deceased is the murderer, so keep that in mind.”

  Hans sighed. “This is really unbelievable. …”

  The detectives conferred among themselves. A little later Martuccia passed their instructions on to Karin.

  “The detectives are ending this conversation now,” she reported. “You may leave, but you’re expected to come back at four o’clock this afternoon. Niels has an appointment with our staff psychologist.”

  Hans looked at Martuccia. “So how long will it be before we can return home? I respect your investigation, but you must also understand that my family and I long for our own home now. We have been through hell and need our rest.”

  Martuccia nodded. “We just need you to stay here today. We think it’s important that Niels speaks to our psychologist. We will wait for his analysis, and we will contact you tomorrow morning.”

  Hans stood up and shook the hands of the detectives and left the office with Karin. When the door closed behind him, his uneasy feelings grew stronger. He had entered the office as a kind of victim but had left as a possible suspect. It felt like a great injustice.

  He suppressed a curse. This is just unbelievable. How could they get it in their heads to suspect me? I’m the one who took action and protected my child. Who are these bunches of idiots? What in the world do they think they’re doing?

  When he was reunited with his family, he put on a sheepish smile to reassure them that all was well. Or maybe to reassure himself.

  16

  August

  Hans came into the living room and headed straight for Petra, who was sitting behind her laptop. He kissed her on the cheek.

  “Hello, darling. How was your day?”

  Petra shrugged. “Nothing special. After the summer vacation business is always a little slow.”

  “And I am buried in work. I worked like a crazy person today, and then just at six o’clock, two more appointments were added,” he said, semi-upset.

  “Poor baby.”

  Hans smiled for a moment. In fact, all that distraction at work had been good for him, because even though he would have liked to spend more time at home, he still found it difficult to deal with the situation. While he looked at Petra questioningly, he nodded toward Niels, who was on the couch watching TV.

  Petra nodded a few times, indicating that it had been okay today.

  After Niels had spoken with the Italian psychologist at the Verona police station, they were picked up by a police car and dropped off at their mobile home. Karin had joined them.

  Niels remained silent. Because they didn’t want to force anything and could see how frightened he was, they told him he could sleep in their bed with him, an offer he accepted gladly.

  After Martuccia had called them to say that they no longer needed to be available, they had left the very next day in the early afternoon. Back to the peace and security of their own home.

  Much to their dismay, Niels also kept quiet during the long ride home. He played on his Game Boy and looked out the window once in a while. They had asked him questions, but it soon became clear that Niels was not going to be speaking any time soon, which also meant that he didn’t reveal a thing about his conversation with the psychologist. But they didn’t have the impression he had found it to be a bad conversation. They were thankful for that, because at that point, each extra negative impulse was one too many. He’d had enough to deal with already. After they had returned home, he retreated to his room and only came down at night for dinner and to watch some TV.

  When he slept, Hans and Petra would discuss the situation. It was clear to them that Niels was not doing well and that they couldn’t resolve this on their own. During a few phone conversations Hans had with a couple of police officers he knew personally and treated in his practice, the same name kept popping up. The police in his area regularly used a woman named Irene Gerritsen for victim counseling. She was an experienced therapist in her late forties, and everyone raved about her working methods.

  After discussing it with Petra, Hans decided to contact her. He told her the story and Irene suggested that Niels come to see her once a week for one-hour sessions. At the end of each session, she would share her thoughts in another room with the parent who came with him. Today Petra had brought Niels to his appointment and spoken to Irene afterward.

  After an hour more of watching TV, Niels started to get ready for bed. Hans jumped up from his chair and spread his arms out wide. “Come give me a hug, tough guy.”

  Niels smiled a little and kissed his father on the cheek.

  “I love you,” Hans said.

  “Love you, too,” Niels answered a little sheepishly. Hans looked at the clock hanging on the wall above the TV. Niels noticed it and grinned. He had succeeded once again in going to bed later than the time they had agreed upon. Hans ran his fingers through his son’s hair, and Petra got up to give him his good-night kiss upstairs.

  When she came back downstairs, she closed the living room door gently behind her and sat down across from Hans.

  “Did Irene have anything interesting to say today?” he asked softly.

  Petra nodded. “She thinks Niels is holding something back. That he has a secret that he is unwilling or unable to share. At least in his perception, it is a big secret. But it could be something very serious.”

  “Given the events, I would think it definitely could be something very serious, but obviously I hope it is not,” Hans muttered.

  “That’s how Irene sees it, too. After all, he has experienced something horrible. Niels is still a bit of a mystery at the moment, but she doesn’t want to force anything. She is convinced he is going to tell us on his own. The big question is … when will that happen?”

  “Is there anything we can do? Talk to him about it or something?”

  Petra shook her head. “She asked me specifically not to do that. One way or another, it has to come from him first, after he takes the initiative, and then it’s okay to talk to him about it. Until then, we just have to be patient.”

  Hans clenched his fist.

  Petra placed her hand on his. “I understand how you feel. Believe me, I also feel really badly about this.”

  “Badly is not the right word,” Hans hissed between his teeth. “I feel incredibly helpless and because of that I feel guilty. That it is not within my power to protect my own son.” His eyes filled up. He wiped a tear away and sniffled. “So, it’s just going to take some time.”

  Petra agreed and put her arms around him. “We will get through this, as long as we do it together.”

  Hans sniffled again and swallowed. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  17

  September

  Detective Carlo Martuccia got up from his chair, as did the majority of his colleagues from theirs, and left the police station lunchroom. At the beginning of the year the local government decided to institute a complete reorganization
after postponing the idea for quite a while. But now cuts needed to be made at the Department of Justice. This meant that the police corps around Lake Garda needed to be downsized and various departments needed to be integrated. In reality, this meant that a few of the posts in the smaller villages had to be closed and that a few departments were merged, allowing them to save money on the budget and create more cooperation between the departments.

  Much to everyone’s surprise, the political initiative became a big success. The lines of communication improved, which saved a lot of time, administrative costs, and extra work hours. The briefings, which had always been given to each department individually, were now given to all the departments together at once. The police commissioner ran these briefings with a tight leash, cutting down on needless or endless conversations, which kept things highly efficient. Each department had its own spokesperson who explained the state of his department. The others were only allowed to interrupt the speaker if they thought they had an idea that could help another department.

  Martuccia walked out with the crowd. During his briefing to the entire corps, the police chief had just announced that the person who murdered eleven-year-old Mats had been identified. Because he died on the scene, the case was solved and now closed. But they had to remain extra vigilant. Especially during the beginning of the season in April, when the campground would fill up with children again. Sadly, there were more sick and crazy people walking around freely in the world than there were locked up in prisons or insane asylums. The vast majority of those present at the briefing had nodded with approval. They would keep their eyes and ears open to avoid another tragedy like this, because once was more than enough to last a lifetime.

  But the people from his own department hadn’t moved an inch during the chief’s speech and had just taken it in. They all thought that the whole speech was a bunch of nonsense.

  Forty-eight-year-old Ottavio Galli may have very well died as a result of his head wound, but that didn’t mean that the “Monster of Garda,” as the tabloids had labeled him, was a closed case. There were several points that clearly indicated that Ottavio Galli was not the killer, but they couldn’t prove it beyond a doubt. They found his fingerprints and the Dutch man’s prints on Mats, but the prints had no direct connection with the cause of death and were easily explained according to what Hans Kolwijn had told them. The police commissioner had not lied when he spoke about Galli’s fingerprints being found on Mats’s body, but he had left out the fact that they didn’t coincide with a typical strangulation pattern. They had to close this case as fast as possible to settle everyone’s nerves. A large part of the population around Lake Garda survived financially on tourism. If they announced that the killer was still roaming around free, it would cause great political and economic distress.

  Martuccia left the police station and looked at his watch. It was a quarter to five. Time to go home. While he walked to his car, the unanswered questions kept spinning around in his mind.

  What was a homeless person doing there at that time? He was probably attempting to find leftover food and drinks at the campground. He did have a criminal record, but it consisted of a few harmless violations like public drunkenness and disturbing the peace. There was nothing in his file about any sexual abnormalities or pedophilia, but that didn’t say anything definitive either. The fence had been carefully and precisely cut open with a very sharp object, a very precise action, which was probably premeditated and executed earlier. The homeless man had no tools with him and had very few personal belongings to begin with. He must have found the opening by chance and had hoped to enter the grounds with the possibility of finding food. Then there were the results from the forensic department. The lack of fingerprints in the strangulation area suggested the killer wore gloves when he strangled the child. Another clue that the murder had been premeditated and had been carefully planned ahead. Galli had no gloves on. He could have thrown them away, but there wasn’t a single witness who had seen him wearing gloves, and they had searched every inch of the campground looking for evidence without finding anything. Thankfully, they didn’t find any traces of sexual abuse. But this had made it even more difficult to determine why the boy had been murdered. Unless there was some sort of mental sexual gratification the offender had gotten from it, but that was impossible to prove. Certainly not in this case now. The trace evidence done on the clothing also hadn’t come up with anything.

  Martuccia felt someone place a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to the side and looked straight into Filippo Tardelli’s face.

  “Hey, Carlo, are walking around contemplating again?” Tardelli didn’t give him a chance to confirm or deny it. “I don’t need to guess what you are thinking. I know each one of you thoughts by heart, from A to Z.”

  Martuccia grinned sheepishly. “Well, it isn’t very difficult to figure out.”

  Tardelli pulled on his arm. “You don’t happen to have any important or urgent appointments right now, do you?”

  “No, I’m headed home.”

  “Ah, the family. That is very important, but not urgent. Come on, we need to take a ride. I want to introduce you to someone who is going to boost your self-confidence.”

  Tardelli pointed to his car, a light-blue Fiat. A few moments later they got in.

  Neither of them spoke as they drove. Tardelli concentrated on the busy traffic, and Martuccia continued to ponder and wondered who they were going to meet. He had no idea who it could be. Once they were outside Verona, Tardelli stopped in front of a supermarket.

  “Be right back.”

  He returned five minutes later with a bottle of wine in his hand. He got in, put the bottle in his bag, and started the car. “I see doubt in your eyes, Carlo. It’s an affliction were all confronted with sooner or later.”

  Martuccia remained silent.

  “You’re still young, but you have it in you to become a really great detective,” Tardelli continued in the same calm and reassuring tone, like a father who only wants the best for his son. “Always pursue the burden of proof and follow your instinct. Follow your hunches; they are usually there for a reason. But more importantly, forget all that nonsense the chief spoke about this afternoon. It’s basically fiction, to help settle the masses.” He let out a loud sigh. “I understand that management decided to do it this way to end any and all rumors out there. But I have to wonder if upper management realizes the kind of risk they are taking by doing it this way.”

  Martuccia nodded. He completely agreed with his colleague. The very thing that had made this area such a thriving success was now working against them. The killer could be from anywhere in Europe, but could also be someone from Milan, Turin, or Rome. Or a friendly boy next door from Peschiera who had prepared his plan very well. Should the murderer strike again in this area, then all hell would break loose.

  “We’re here,” Tardelli said as he turned into a large parking lot. He stopped the car in one of the parking spots closest to the water park’s entrance. After they got out, Tardelli walked toward a tunnel that ran underneath the main road and ended at the square in front of the water park’s entrance.

  “Do me a favor and let me do all the talking, okay?”

  Martuccia kept walking next to him and nodded. He was curious as to where this walk would take them and did his best to look as neutral as possible.

  In the middle of the tunnel they found a man sitting down on the ground. Tardelli stopped directly in front of him.

  “Good afternoon, Professor.”

  The man gave them both a friendly nod. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. What can I do for you?”

  “We would like to talk to you for a moment. This is my colleague, Professor. A good guy, you can take my word on that.”

  Martuccia smiled at the homeless man, who politely nodded at him again. He wondered if maybe Tardelli was playing a joke on him. If this was the case, he would just play along for now.

  “They say you must give in order to receive,” Tar
delli said almost ceremonially, as he handed the homeless man a bottle of wine.

  The man twisted the cap off the bottle of wine, took a sip, and let out a satisfied sigh. “What is it you need? As long as the answers to your questions don’t put my people in any danger, I won’t hesitate to help you.”

  “We are here about Ottavio Galli, the deceased man suspected of killing the eleven-year-old German boy.”

  “Yes, I heard about that—what a terrible story.” He shook his head sadly.

  “Can you tell us a little more about Ottavio Galli?”

  Before the man answered him, he stared straight ahead quietly for a moment. “Ottavio Galli showed up here in our district about three years ago.” He looked at Tardelli questioningly and nodded in the direction of Martuccia. “It may be smarter if I explain to your friend first how things work in the world of the homeless.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Tardelli answered.

  “When a new homeless person is spotted in what we refer to as our ‘district’ that stranger then receives an invitation to report to the Council. This Council meets weekly and is made up of three men, who are regarded highly by those in the community of homeless people. During one of those meetings we will ask the stranger a variety of questions. By doing so we hope to gain some insight into the stranger’s background and what we can expect from them. In Ottavio’s case, there wasn’t much to ask. He was welcomed lovingly and with open arms into our community. As tradition dictates, two weeks later the president of the Council appointed him with his new name. After consulting with a few of the members of our community, we decided to name Ottavio the Noble One.”

  Martuccia had to bite his lip in order not to burst out laughing. Apparently the homeless man noticed this, because he spoke to him directly.

  “I understand that this may sound ridiculous to you. But this way, if someone doesn’t adhere to the rules, we know who they are—and they are banished from our community immediately.”