“Yes, the inheritance. When Domenico died, Vincenzo became padrone -of the Isola de Grazia, of the company, of everything. And I assume the money went to him too. Right?”
Phil shrugged. “As far as I know, sure.”
“A lot of people have been killed for a lot less, Phil. Even by their own sons. Or maybe it was because he didn’t want to wait any longer to get control of the company.”
He offered around the bottle of wine they’d ordered, a straw-colored, fruity Lugana from Lake Garda. Phil, who wasn’t much of a drinker either, covered his glass with his hand. Julie held hers up.
“Damn, Gideon,” Phil said, shaking his head, “I never knew you had such a nasty mind.”
“It’s the first axiom of the forensic scientist,” Julie said. “When in doubt, think dirty.” She sipped some of the newly poured wine. “I even have a motive for your grandfather, if you’re interested.”
“For Nonno Cosimo? That sweet old man? You gotta be kidding me.”
“Now, I’m not saying I believe this. I’m just trying imagine what Caravale’s probably thinking.”
“Which is?”
“Which is that, on some level, Cosimo must have hated him-well, resented him anyway-because it was Domenico who got everything, who became the padrone. He was even a count. And all because he was born a few years earlier. Cosimo, as the kid brother, got nothing at all. Or don’t I understand the way that works?”
“No, that’s the way it works, all right, but if what you’re saying is true, which I don’t buy for a minute, why didn’t he kill him years ago, before Vincenzo was born, so he would’ve inherited? What good does it do to wait till they’re both in their seventies?”
Julie dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “Mm, yes, that could be a sticking point.”
“Not necessarily,” Gideon said. “It could have been from emotions that finally got out of hand from playing second fiddle his whole life. From what you told me, Cosimo lived his entire life, first in his brother’s house, and then in his nephew’s house. Never even had his own home. That could build a lot of resentment. Who knows what might have kicked it off?”
Phil leaned back in his chair and regarded them both. “Do you people really believe what you’re saying, or are you just playing with my mind?”
“We’re just playing with your mind,” said Gideon. “But you can bet Caravale will have it on his list of possibilities. He’d be crazy not to.”
“Okay, as long as we’re covering all the bases, what about Lea?” Phil asked, bristling. “Anybody got any reasons for her to bump off Domenico?”
“Not me,” said Julie.
“Not me,” said Gideon.
“Huh. Okay, then. All right, then.”
They had finished the vegetable course of stewed fennel, begun on their salads, and ordered their espressos before Phil picked up the conversation again.
“And something else. You said whoever killed Domenico was probably behind Achille’s kidnapping too. Well, how the hell do you figure that? What would be the motive there?”
“How about five million euros?” Gideon said.
“What do any of them need money for? How could they spend it without everybody else noticing? Even if they moved off the island, it’d be obvious.”
“I don’t have any answers for that, Phil.”
“Well, all right then,” Phil said. “Huh.” He continued picking at his salad, his head down. “Listen, Gideon, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. About Lea. I’m kind of… well, interested in her.”
“Really?” said Gideon.
“Really?” said Julie.
“But I’m worried about… well, she’s my cousin. I mean… you know, should I… well, what are the genetic implications? I’m not too good at that stuff.”
Gideon drank the last of his wine and set the glass down. “Let’s work it out. Let me make sure I have it straight. Lea is the daughter of Bella and Basilio, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And Bella is Vincenzo’s… what?”
“Half-sister, I think.”
“No, describe the relationship. Exactly how is she related?”
“Bella? She’s the daughter of Domenico’s wife from her first marriage. Vincenzo’s half-sister, right?”
“So they have the same mother? That’s their relationship?”
“Uh-no, actually. It was Domenico’s second marriage too. They were both widowed. Vincenzo was his first wife’s kid. Stefania, I think her name was. I don’t really remember her. Bella’s mother’s name was Clara. Nice lady.”
“Okay, then Bella is Vincenzo’s stepsister, not his half-sister.”
“There’s a difference?”
“A big difference. As far as you’re concerned, a huge difference. You want to know how close your relationship is to Lea, and whether there’d be any danger if the two of you had children together, right?”
Phil blushed, literally to the roots of his hair. “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way… I’m just exploring… I mean, we’re not even close to thinking about… we don’t even… well, yes.”
“And the answer,” said Gideon, “is that there’s no genetic problem at all. She’s not related to Vincenzo, and you’re not related to her.”
Phil was amazed. “You’re right, of course! I guess I never thought it through.” He frowned. “But she’s always been my cousin. Everybody thinks of us as cousins.”
“Among the Arunta, maybe, but not here. Look, you can call her whatever you want to call her, but you don’t have any blood in common. None.” Gideon reached for his pen. “It’s not that hard. Here, I’ll draw it out for you.”
“No, that’s okay.” He grinned stupidly at them. “Not related. Son of a gun.”
“Not yet,” Julie said with a smile.
NINETEEN
At the Primavera, there was a message waiting from Caravale. “Please call.” The message listed his cell phone number.
Gideon made the call from their room while Julie settled down with a Time magazine she’d bought earlier that day. “I’ll be damned,” he said softly as he hung up five minutes later.
“What’s up?” Julie asked distantly, not quite looking up from the magazine on her lap. “Anything new?”
“Not on the cases, no. But… well, they’ve found Phil’s father.”
It took a couple of beats, but that got her attention. “They found Phil’s father?” she exclaimed, flipping the magazine shut. Then she knit her brows. “Wait a minute, what does that mean, they found Phil’s father?”
“Caravale has a couple of people poking around up in Gignese; that’s a few miles from here, the village that Dr. Luzzatto lived in-”
“The one that got killed in the motorcycle accident.”
“Right. And they were going through his records and talking to people, looking for any kind of lead, and the name ‘Franco Ungaretti’ came up as a recent patient of Luzzatto’s, and since they’d been out at the Isola de Grazia doing interviews, they knew who Phil was, and they asked this Franco if he was related to those Ungarettis, and he is.” Gideon came and sat on an ottoman beside her, his elbows on his thighs. “He’s Phil’s father.” He tapped a notepad on his knee. “I have his address and phone number.”
“That’s fascinating. What’s he like, do you know? Does he want to see his son?”
“I have no idea if he wants to see Phil, but the guy who talked to him wasn’t too impressed. He’s a familiar figure with the local police up there-scuffles, public drunkenness, bar fights, that kind of thing. In and out of jail, but never for anything terribly serious. The reason he’d been to Luzzatto was to get a cut cheek patched up. Somebody’d taken a chunk out of it with a broken wine bottle.”
“Ick,” she said.
“He lives with a woman-Caravale’s thinks she’s his common-law wife-who everybody says fried her brains with drugs years ago. Still hires out to do housework when she can find somebody who doesn’t know her reputation, which isn’t too often.”
“Whew, not exactly Ozzie and Harriet. What does his father do? Does he have a job?”
“He’s a part-time night watchman at the Umbrella Museum up there.”