“Ah, yes. My title is a minor one from the Polish petty nobility. I was about to tell Lieutenant Boyle about the Italian House of Savoy, and the grand balls held in this very palace.”
“King Umberto and the great Queen Margherita of Savoy did reside here,” Trevisi said. “I am from this very town, and remember as a child watching their carriages parade through the streets. It was magnificent. Such a pity Umberto was assassinated.”
“At least it prevented Margherita from staying on the throne. She was a notorious Fascist supporter,” Luca Amatori said. His English was rapid and perfect. He was younger than Trevisi, and he had the impatient look of a guy who was tired of agreeing with his superior officer.
“Now Luca,” Trevisi said, in a weary parental tone. “Many of the wealthy and the aristocrats wanted stability after the last war, and they weren’t alone.”
“You’re not a fan of royalty, Tenente Amatori?” Kaz asked.
“On the contrary, Baron. I have the greatest respect for King Victor Emmanuel. He ordered the Carabinieri to arrest Mussolini, after all.”
“Yes, the Carabinieri were not great supporters of Fascism. The king felt safe to call upon us when it was time to get rid of Il Duce. Mussolini,” Trevisi clarified, for our benefit. “Old habits, you know. We had to call him that for so long, it is difficult to change.”
“Certainly,” I said, as I noticed Amatori glance away, his knuckles white where he gripped the chair. I decided it was time for a change of topic. Murder was safer than politics. “Does your jurisdiction extend to Acerra, by any chance?”
“Yes,” Trevisi said. “Does this involve your investigation?”
“Perhaps. We need to find an establishment that caters to soldiers. Liquor and women, nothing fancy from the sound of it.”
“Are you looking for a recommendation?” Trevisi asked, one eyebrow raised in conjecture.
“No, Capitano,” Kaz said. “I believe Billy is looking for a specific establishment, in connection with the investigation.”
“We have a name,” I said. “Bar Raffaele.”
“ Capisco,” he said. “Tenente Amatori would be glad to accompany you. Tomorrow? Perhaps he could meet you here in the morning.”
Luca Amatori was happy to guide us through the fleshpots of Acerra, mostly to get away from his boss, as far as I could tell. We made our arrangements, more drinks arrived, and we toasted to victory. I could picture Trevisi making the same toast with schnapps not too long ago.
“We interrupted your discussion of the palace in the last century, I think,” Trevisi said. “Little is left of its former grandeur. You should have seen it before the turn of the century. Era bello.”
“Yes, I was about to tell Billy about Queen Margherita. A very elegant woman, a patron of the arts, she revitalized the Italian court, made it fashionable. She held balls and parties that became famous all across Europe.”
“People loved her,” Trevisi said, nodding his approval. “They called her the Queen of Pearls.”
“I’d guess all queens like pearls,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“Oh, but Margherita loved them. She wore huge strands and had many different necklaces. She was renowned for her pearls,” Trevisi said.
“Wasn’t there a theft at one point?” Kaz asked.
“Yes, back in the 1890s. She and the king held an anniversary ball here at Caserta. As I recall the story, a small box containing a three-strand necklace was stolen from her dressing room. It was never recovered, and apparently has never turned up. The Carabinieri chief resigned in disgrace. Very unfortunate.”
“You have an excellent memory, Baron,” said Amatori. “I haven’t heard that story since I was a child.”
“I was a student before the war. One tends to accumulate bits of information.”
“Indeed,” Amatori said. “And you, Lieutenant Boyle? Were you a student in America?”
“Not for long,” I said. “I was a police detective.”
“Ah, a fellow officer of the law! Of course we will assist you in every way possible,” Trevisi said. We had another round to toast our cooperation, then finally parted ways.
“T HE QUEEN OF Pearls?” I said as we got into the jeep and Kaz tossed his bag into the back. It had started to rain, a steady, incessant spitting that sounded like drum rolls on the canvas top.
“As I was about to tell you when your Italian comrades showed up. Billy, if Sergeant Cole had these, there may be more. Perhaps he found them in the palace and was being blackmailed. Or threatened by an accomplice?”
“I don’t think that’s why he jumped. What happened in Campozillone caused him to jump.”
“But why this particular night? That was months ago, and as you said, he’d found a place in CID where he could still be useful.” Kaz turned up his coat collar against the blowing rain. “You know that I have thought about it,” he said in a softer voice.
“Yeah, I do.” I placed my hand on Kaz’s shoulder for a moment. There was nothing left to say.
“There were times I missed Daphne so much. I missed everything. My family, my way of life, my country. When things got difficult, as they did in London recently, it was a temptation.”
“An end to all your problems.”
“Yes, that is the answer for some. But for me, it seemed like defeat. They would finally win, those who took everything from me. So we must think, who won with Sergeant Cole? Who defeated him, months after that dreadful incident?”
“He said he couldn’t forget the innocent lives he took. He won’t let me is how he put it.”
“Who was he talking about?”
“He didn’t say. Only that it was a friend, and that he could see it all in his face, see everything that happened.”
“Someone from his unit, who reminded him of that day. Someone he’d felt close to, and now his face only reminded Cole of what he had done.”
“Maybe,” I said, turning a corner and sending up a sheet of water that drenched the hood. “Or he had a friend who was a jewel thief on the side. Right after he said that, he handed me those pearls. It was the damnedest thing.”
“Could the pearls have anything to do with the murders?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Cole found the queen’s pearls. All I know is I’ve had too much to drink and it’s been a long day. We’re almost home.”
“In good weather it must be difficult to sleep,” Kaz said, looking out over the B-17s lined up on the airfield across the road. He was right. When the skies cleared, they’d be revving engines and flying overhead all day.
“Good weather? What’s that?” Right now GIs in the mountains were huddling in trenches, caves, dugouts, wherever they could find cover from shrapnel and storm. Roads were turning into mud pits that could suck a heavy truck down to its axles and stall a Sherman tank. Sunny Italy. I’m sure it existed in some other time and place, but not in this winter of 1944.
Signora Salvalaggio greeted us at the door, watching as we hung up our dripping coats and stamped the wet from our boots. I assembled some of the few Italian words I knew and attempted an introduction. “ Salvalaggio di Signora, questo e il Tenente Baron Piotr Augustus Kazimierz.”
“ Il barone? Da che la famiglia la sono? ”
“ Siamo discesi dalla casa principe di Ryazan, ” Kaz broke in. “ E un piacere incontrarla, Signora. ” He made a little bow as he took the old lady’s hand and kissed it. She accepted it without surprise, and graciously escorted us through her kitchen and into the living room. Before I had time to ask Kaz what the exchange was all about, Captains Wilson and Bradshaw were on their feet and I made another round of introductions. The heat from the coal stove was a relief after the cold rain.
“Welcome, Lieutenant,” Bradshaw said. “We had a message from Major Kearns this morning that another investigator would be taking the spare room. Haven’t found the murderer, Boyle?”
“Not yet,” I said, pulling my chair closer to the stove. “We’ll probably be at the hospital tomorrow afternoon, asking the staff about Doctor Galante. Anybody there he was close to?”