I didn’t mince any words with her as I had with Friedriksenn. I told her straight out that I knew she was Gina Moretti and that I knew all about her background. At first she tried to deny it, but when I mentioned the scar and related the details of how she’d gotten it, she saw that it was no use. She admitted that my identification of her was correct. And once she had I told her about the legacy Gunnar Borgman had left to Brigitte Kelly and how now she, Carmella-Gina, was an heiress to one-third of the Gopher Hole uranium bonanza.
“I don’t need the money.” She was very agitated. “My husband has plenty of money. More than enough.”
“That’s up to you,” I told her. “All I ask is that you contact Dombey of Dover.”
“Why do I have to contact them if I don’t want the money?”
“So they can settle the estate of Brigitte Kelly.”
“I wish I’d never heard of Brigitte. I’d just like to forget all about her. Do you know why she named me as one of her three heirs? Why she named the other two girls?”
“No,” I admitted. “I assume it was because she thought more highly of you three than of the other girls who worked for her.”
“Oh, she did!” Carmella’s voice was heavy with sarcasm- “And for good reason!” The sarcasm gave way to bitterness.
“What reason?”
“I don’t think I’ll tell you that, Mr. Victor. You already know too much about me. You already know enough to ruin my life.”
“Are you afraid your husband will find out about your past life?”
“No. He knows. He knew when he married me. Indeed, I think that may have been one of the reasons he did marry me. Sort of a Pygmalion complex. He got a kick out of passing a former trollop off as a society lady with his high-toned friends. And another reason, too. You know how interested he is in oddball sex. I think he had some idea that I’d teach him all the dark secrets of my former profession. When he found out that I really didn’t have anything new and bizarre to add to his experience, he lost interest in me. That’s when he started with Anna Del Vecchio.”
“You know about her?” I was startled.
“Of course. This isn’t some American suburb in the United States, Mr. Victor. You’re the man from O.R.G.Y. You’re supposed to have sophistication in such matters. Don’t look so surprised. I knew about his affairs just as he is perfectly aware that I have been unfaithful to him. We’ve never spoken of it. We don’t have to. It’s tacitly understood that fidelity is not a consideration of our marriage just so long as discretion is observed.”
“Then why are you so concerned now? I mean about the inheritance?”
“Because a legacy as large as you say this one is won’t be disbursed without a certain amount of publicity. That means that there’s a very good chance my past will be revealed publicly. If that happened, my husband would divorce me. I wouldn’t blame him. He’d have to. The scandal would make him a laughing stock, anyway. If he stayed married to me, I’d be a constant reminder to his friends of what a fool he’d been.”
“Well, tell him about it, anyway,” I urged her. “Talk it over between the two of you. If you decide to relinquish your claim, I’m sure Dombey of Dover can work it out to split your share between the other two heiresses. Besides, there’s another reason he should know.”
“What’s that?”
“Luigi Tortorizzi. He’s already killed twice. Now he’s sure that you’re Gina Moretti. I don’t think he’ll hesitate to make an attempt on your life if he gets the chance.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Do you really think the danger is serious?”
“Very serious,” I told her. “He’s obviously a trained Mafia killer. He’s fingered you now and he’ll stop at nothing to seal the contract.”
“The contract?”
“That’s what the brotherhood calls it when a man is assigned to rub out another. Luigi has a contract to find Gina Moretti and kill her. He has to make a hit, or he’ll lose face.”
“A hit? What’s that?”
“The act of killing, in Mafia lingo. At least that’s what they call it back in the States. He needs a hit, and you’re the mark—the victim.”
“Thank you for warning me, Mr. Victor. I really am grateful. I'm sure my husband will want to take precautions.”
“He should. And the quicker, the better. But don’t be too grateful. There’s something I want from you in return.”
“It’s yours if I can give it, Mr. Victor.” The way she crossed her legs so that her skirt hiked up over her thighs told me she misunderstood. “It will be my pleasure," she added, cooing.
“Not sex.” I scotched it quickly and frankly. She looked disappointed. “Information. That’s what I want from you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything that might help me find Barbara Thomas and Françoise Laval.”
“Those two! I hate them! They are a pair of pigs! Why should I help you make wealthy women of them?”
“What happened to all that gratitude you were talking about just a minute ago?”
“Oh, I know. But you don’t realize how I hate them.”
“If you hate them so much, why did you go to Rome with them?”
“I didn’t know them then.”
“You didn’t know them?”
“No.” She went on to explain. “You see, we worked for Brigitte Kelly at different times. Barbara and Françoise didn’t know each other, either. Françoise went to work for Brigitte when I left. Barbara followed Françoise. But the first time we met was after Brigitte died when we were notified to come to the reading of the will. That was the first any of us knew of the other two.”
“Then why did you decide to travel together?”
“It was one of those things that just seemed to happen. After the will was read the three of us went out for a drink together. I guess we all needed it after the insults we took from Brigitte’s family. They were furious that she left everything to us.”
“Why did she leave it all to you three?” My curiosity made me press the question again.
“Ask one of the other girls why, Mr. Victor. I won’t tell you that. I’ve done a lot of things in my life that I should perhaps be ashamed of, and I’m not ashamed of any of them. But this involves the one thing of which I am ashamed.”
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Forget I asked. Go on with your story.”
“Yes. Anyway, the three of us knew, and I guess our mutual feeling of guilt, plus the way the family had treated us, made us sort of cling together. So we went out for this drink. And we began talking about what we were going to do with the money. It really wasn’t such a lot of money.”
“Five thousand dollars apiece, Wasn’t it?”
“Not after taxes and the lawyers, it wasn’t. We each came away with a little better than three thousand dollars, that’s all. Anyway, we decided to pool our resources and go husband-hunting. It was as simple as that. We had to get out of London; we were too well known there. We knew from the gossip columns that a lot of wealthy men go to Rome. So we decided to go there.”
“I’d say you at least succeeded in your quest.” I waved a hand around to indicate the lavish trappings of Friedriksenn’s villa.
“Not in Rome, I didn’t. I met my husband on the Riviera. Rome was just impossible with those two alley cats!”
“What did you quarrel with them about? Why did you leave them?”
“Over a man. What else would three women the likes of us quarrel about? And what a man! A Polish aristocrat, he was. A genuine count. And not one of your impoverished nobility, either. No, indeed. His family had been wealthy land-owners and they sold their holdings before the Germans and the Russians carved up Poland. He was only a boy at the time. But when he grew up and inherited the proceeds, he put the money to work for him and his fortune multiplied. Arabian oil. Cuban sugar -- pre-Castro, of course. Chilean copper. Even American movies. He had a linger in everything. And everything he touched had turned to more gold for him. A gentleman of wealth and culture and standing; his manners were beautiful; and quite handsome, too.”