Moretti and Falla Mysteries 3-Book Bundle. Jill Downie
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interest, Maddelena, and an established star, Adriana Ferrini, whose role as the Contessa Alessandra di Cavalli was creating the latest problems on the movie. One of the leading men, Clifford Wesley, an up-and-coming British actor, recruited from the classical stage, who was starring as the escaped British prisoner, Tom Byers, was also at the manor. The internationally known German film actor, Gunter Sachs, who was playing the commandant of the prison camp in the imaginary Tuscan village of Santa Marina, had stayed briefly, but had now transferred to the Héritage Hotel, where Betty Chesler and Eddie Christie were also billeted.
“Did Piero Bonini have any interesting comments to make about his cast?”
“Mostly he went on about Gilbert Ensor, who seems to be at the top of everyone’s hit list. Hit-and-miss list, I suppose I should say. Do you think someone thought Toni Albarosa was Ensor in the dark?”
“Could be, but unlikely. What would Gilbert Ensor be doing skulking about outside the manor in the small hours?”
“Well, that was one of the things Bonini went on about — about Ensor, I mean. Seems there’d been a spot of bother in Italy somewhere. He wouldn’t go any further, but he did say Ensor was lucky his wife was the forgiving kind, and if he’d heard that Ensor was the one with a dagger in the chest he wouldn’t have been surprised.”
“Interesting. So what was Toni Albarosa doing in the wee small hours? Did Bonini shed any light on that?”
“I was just coming to that. When I was leaving his office — he’s got a trailer on the far side of the manor, quite close to the bunker — I could hear him through the open window. He was shouting at the interpreter they’ve got here — it must have been her, because she was the only other person there — and it was all in Italian, but I can understand quite a bit now, of course, and what I managed to pick up was her name, Bella, and then another two names — Vittoria, and Toni.”
“Ah,” said Moretti.
“That’s what I thought, Guv.” DC Falla turned and grinned at Moretti.
Betty Chesler was waiting for them at the top of the steps, only too eager to speak her mind.
“I see you’ve brought your superior officer with you this time,” she said to the young policewoman. She turned and glared at Moretti. “I’m so glad someone is now taking this seriously, and what a wicked shame it took poor Toni’s death to do it! I can’t tell you how upset I was with the cavalier attitude of just about everyone about the damage — mark my words, I said to Piero, this is like an omen. It’s a warning, and there’s more to come. But until Gilbert Ensor’s wife said about the attack on her husband, no one cared a tinker’s cuss about my costumes — here, let me show you the damage.” She led the way inside.
The damaged costumes were still where Liz Falla had seen them, lined up on the foldaway table: the three women’s tailored suits, one dress, a man’s suit, and a German uniform.
“To which characters in the film do these belong?” Moretti asked, bending over them and examining the gashes in the German uniform. The dagger must have been sharp to have torn the tough fabric as it had.
“The dress and two of the suits belong to the countess, the other woman’s suit is for a fairly minor character, the housekeeper, the man’s suit belongs to the village priest, and the German uniform is for Gunter’s character. Those are the dummies I was using over there.”
Liz Falla went over and poked her fingers through the holes. “Through the heart,” she said, “— or where it would be.”
“That’s exactly what I said to Piero,” said Betty Chesler. “Through the heart, I said.”
“I presume there’d been a break-in?”
“In a manner of speaking, though it wasn’t that difficult. I wish now I’d opted for a trailer, but this was so roomy and I like the higher ceiling. Besides, I wasn’t that worried with security guards patrolling the grounds. Whoever it was came in through the window.” Betty Chesler indicated the broken pane. “And now that we’ve lost the location manager” — this was said with heavy sarcasm — “the police have dusted for fingerprints. The young lady took the dagger away.”
“He — whoever — left the weapon.”
“Yes. Very fancy, like something out of an Errol Flynn movie, as I said to the police officer here, but I imagine you’re too young, aren’t you, to know who I mean.” Betty Chesler shuddered. “I just screamed when I got in here and saw what had happened. It looked like a massacre.”
“Was it generally known that these particular costumes would be on the dummies that night?”
“Well, anyone coming in and out of here over the past three or four days would have known, because that’s how long they’ve been up. Mr. Lord and Mr. Bianchi wanted some changes to the countess’s outfits — they’re building up her role, so I hear — and Mr. Sachs had put on quite a bit of weight since his original fittings, so we had to alter them.”
“And the housekeeper and the priest?”
“Casting changes. For the housekeeper they’d gone from a jolly roly-poly English actress to a gaunt Italian lady, more of a Mrs. Danvers type — you know, like in Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca? And they’d gone the other way for the priest — from cadaverous to cuddly, don’t ask me why.”
“I see. Thank you, Ms. Chesler. You’ve been very helpful. If you think of anything else, this is where you can reach me.” Moretti handed her his card. Then, on the spur of the moment, he asked, “Do you have any theories yourself? You talked about an omen. A warning.”
Liz Falla was standing by the table where the attacker had left the dagger. As he said this, Moretti saw her look across sharply at him, then away. She said nothing, so he continued. “About what? Or whom?”
Betty Chesler looked at Moretti. “I don’t know for sure,” she said slowly. “I work on a lot of historical films, and sometimes I get a strange feeling, standing in a room like this, surrounded by the past. It could be just that — but whatever this is about goes a long way back. That’s my opinion.”
“A long way back — in time, you mean?”
“Right. This isn’t about what Gilbert Ensor did or said to insult Monty Lord, or what the marchesa did or said to upset — well, just about everybody, that one. I mean, I can understand why knives — guns aren’t so easy to come by, unless you’re in America — but why bother with decorative daggers? If you can find that one out, Detective Inspector, you’ve probably got the answer.”
“So these are not like any knives or daggers used in the film?”
Betty Chesler shook her blond beehive vigorously. “I don’t do weapons, but I know that much. There’s guns of all sorts, and a few knives — World War Two army issue type things, I suppose. Plus the odd bomb or grenade. But no fancy handles.”
As they went back down the steps, Liz Falla asked, “Was she helpful, or were you just saying that, Guv?”
“A bit of both. I’d like to know why such a major change in a minor character — it could mean absolutely nothing, but it could also be part of that feeling she has that all this has something to do with the past.”
“Which past, that’s what I thought when she said that.”
“Exactly. But daggers, not just knives, have been used three times and that has to be significant. Murderers have quirks, but I can’t believe this guy has managed to get hold of a handful of fancy daggers cheap, and is using them for reasons of economy.”
Liz Falla reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out several sheets of paper. “I got what they call a shooting schedule from Mr. Bonini, as well as the list of cast and crew members. They usually make out a schedule for the whole project and it is updated each day. It gives names, times, and location. Who are we interested in next?”
“Vittoria Salviati,