The Woodcock Game: An Italian Mystery Novel Read online

  "But the news does not say the cause of death, do you know something?" his daughter asked

  "Hmm ... listen, you kind of... Agatha Christie, how is it that now doctor Who should answer you?"

  Lisa laughed.

  "Come on, Daddy ... don’t be mean" she said, kissing him on the cheek and patting him on the other

  He could not resist his women, Nino thought, they were his weakness and he smiled at the thought.

  "I'm going to take a shower and I'll tell you all afterwards, at dinner"

  Television continued to speak of the murder of the Woods, as they called it now.

  "The lady of the woods has now a name" the speaker said, a little, young woman sent to look for news.

  Then followed a panoramic on the woodland, interviews with hunters who found the corpse and their assumptions on who could have killed her.

  "Daddy, why didn’t they talk to you?"

  Nino sat down at the table with his hair still wet.

  "Oh, they did, but they are looking for her family, someone who knew her and knew why she was here.

  In Italy I mean.

  There’s only a cousin in Venice, the one who reported her missing, she should come to identify the body. TV news had to wait; imagine if you find out such tragic news from TV ... "

  Lisa became serious.

  "Look, they’re showing her photo: smiling and happy. I cannot understand how anyone could kill her"

  Nino noticed his daughter’s eyes were holding a tear and patted her hand.

  "There are many reasons why people kill and not one is acceptable.

  We are fragile and want to be happy; when someone gets in the way, some of us accept it, others lose their mind.

  Killing is not a rational action, even when it’s premeditated

  In our heart, we’ve already killed, when we believe that murder is the solution.

  And as the victim has paid dearly for this madness, the executioner will pay even more, if not right away, for the rest of their life "

  "Well, some never seem repentant" Monica said

  "I’m not speaking of repentance, but the weed growing from the moment you kill: a weed inside your heart making you live in a strange inner delusion, that soon turns into hatred for something that you forgot: life.

  If they don’t repent immediately, killers spend their lives atoning for their aridity, exchanging this condition for a subtle victory over fate.

  But soon, as they begin to rot inside and there’s no escape on that, they will never see the happiness they tried to defend when they killed "

  For a long moment, nobody said a word.

  Then Emma asked

  "Does anyone know why she was here?"

  "Not yet" Nino said

  No one knew what she had done before appearing, but someone wished her to stop

  September 19th

  Maria Guastalli Raineri had been Nino’s patient for years and before that she was Giacomo’s.

  She was cold, distant and she brightened up only when she could tell a doctor some ailments.

  Her rich family had grown up with Nino’s, his grandfather Giuseppe, then Giacomo and now Nino, and Maria seemed to enjoy gently harassing Nino with unlikely sickness.

  "My handsome doctor" she always said receiving him, then sitting down next to him with an attitude only those who believe they own the world have

  Signora Maria ..." Nino always said with a smile

  "Dear Nino, if I were twenty years younger ..." she smiled

  "You are twenty years younger every time you smile, Signora"

  The woman gave him a flirty glance: she was seventy, but she really looked fifty: her hair combed in an elegant chignon, pearl earrings and still a thin shape, like back when she was the most elegant woman in town.

  Then, her long hair, big eyes and full lips, Maria came down to the rare parties her wealthy neighbors were giving, wearing dresses she bought in Paris and her family jewels.

  She was beautiful, of the ethereal beauty of the nobles, and flaunted her grace with majesty, arousing envy and desire, but never dislike.

  Her brother Davide, scoffed saying

  "My sister acts like a starlet"

  Davide was a big guy and a loyal friend to Nino; he was an artist, who earned thousands of euros with his paintings.

  Maria had married a man from Brescia, the big northern town near Verdana, but she returned a few months later and no one spoke about the marriage; or its ending, as her powerful family had covered up the incident and people talked of an alleged payment to the husband, who had then disappeared; rumors said he was a fortune hunter who demanded a substantial compensation to let her go.

  She grew up in Verdana, without ever getting married and taking care of the son born from that short marriage: Ascanio Raineri, who got his father’s charme and her mother’s nobleness.

  He also got his mother’s name, no one ever knew why, and the title of Duke, that could never be used as the Duchess was, for all, la Signora.

  "The time of titles and nobles is over" she said and in a small town like Verdana, a Duchess could arouse unwanted attention and discontent.

  And she was not using it and even his butler called her la Signora, and the young generation no longer remembered that she was a noble, if not for the double name that few pronounced in full.

  "What’s wrong Signora Maria?" Nino said opening his bag and takingout his 'weapons', as she called them

  "Look here" she said showing her hands

  Red spots dotted the palms and made her delicate fingers, that never worked a day in their life, skinny and dirty hooks.

  Nino watched them and noticed they seemed like eagle claws, so pointed and skeletal.

  If not for the rings you might expect to look up and find yourself in front of a bird of prey and that was what Nino felt, when she gently grabbed his hands: prey.

  "What did you touch?"

  "Oh, I did some gardening" she said wearily "but it is not the first time"

  "Maybe it's the first time you’ve touched something you’re allergic to"

  "Maybe ..." she whispered

  "I’ll give you some antihistamines."

  Nino wrote something and closed his bag.

  "My son is back today" she said, after they reached the door

  "Vacation?"

  "Hunting woodcocks in the meadows" she replied "I don’t understand you ... marathons under bad weather and damp; Posts and humiliation to catch a bird that is not even enough for dinner "

  Nino didn’t want to talk about the Queen of the woods.

  "Take care" he said, slipping away from the subject "use gloves for a few days, if it worsens, or returns, try to write down what you touched, so we can better define what kind of allergy it could be"

  "Yes, certainly, my precious.

  Another woodcock lover eh? " La Signora remarked

  "You wouldn’t understand" Nino answered politely

  Getting in the car, Nino realized he had left Mark’s leash in the back seat.

  Hunting woodcocks in the meadows: what a stupid expression…

  And that lack of respect for the queen!

  The Woodcock hides in the woods, not in open spaces like meadows; she is nearly courting her hunter; no one behaves like another and she seems to know ‘her’ hunter.

  He smiled, thinking back to Mark stopping and pointing, waiting while nothing happened: woodcocks can remain motionless for hours and then, at the slightest noise, even Mark’s breathing or sniffing, they fly away, nearly touching hunter and dog.

  And when that happened, they both left, slightly startled, pretending the queen didn’t dupe them.

  Mark knew he had to be smart, woodcocks are not like the other birds, no: with them you have to know their game, a strategy they change depending on the hunter, the dog and the environment.

  Indeed, Nino had often believed maybe the woodcock recognized him, or Mark’s breath.

  She seemed to fly away at the slightest noise,
whereas before she had been crouching to play hide and seek.

  Sometimes she was ‘pawning’, like pheasants, and other times she was flying away right after the dog had passed.

  In the meadows hunting woodcocks ... that woman knew nothing about the queen.

  September 20th

  "Ascanio Raineri is here"

  The policeman stood aside after introducing the man to Comissario Bertoli.

  Andrea Bertoli arrived in Verdana from Latina, a small town near Rome where he had worked for a while; after two years in northern Italy, he had met Liliana and they got married, but he was not happy in Verdana, he missed Lazio’s sun and sea and often he complained about the cold and rheumatism which, he said, he got from ‘living the north way’.

  He was 52 and most of his life had gone ‘living the north way’ in Verdana, where no great things were happening and no one killed anyone, at least until last Saturday.

  "Sit down" he told Raineri, without looking away from the case’s papers.

  Ascanio sat as a student in the principal office: he was in his forties, a slight plumpness and hair to the neck.

  He was as beautiful as his mother and moved, like her, with slow, measured gestures.

  But he didn’t possess her self-confidence, like those who know they can shape their own world, but he looked like he had tried once too often to use his name to shape a world he didn’t understand.

  "So," Bertoli said, only after Ascanio sat down "The von Berger was your girlfriend"

  Ascanio blushed, then his eyes filled with tears.

  "We can say so" he whispered

  "Listen man ..." said Bertoli looking at him and using the annoying tone he knew was so irritating "Here we want to hear things loud and clear. Your girlfriend or not? "

  "Yes," Ascanio said, this time clearly "Although, to be honest, her answer was no"

  "No…to what?"

  "To marry me. She told me she wasn’t ready, but she has promised to ... . she promised to reconsider, to sleep on it, as Americans say "

  Bertoli looked at him.

  "Italians too, Raineri"

  "Yes," he smiled wearily, "I meant ..."

  "How did you meet?" the policeman interrupted

  "Four months ago, I met her on the plane that brought me back home, after my summer holidays; you know, I live in Boston, I’m a teacher…. at the university"

  He wiped his tears, as if that memory were comforting him a bit '.

  He blew his nose, then smiled and continued .

  "We talked for the whole trip, about her life, my studies and I ..."

  Bertoli never liked the theory that the boyfriend is the usual suspect of a woman’s murder: the more he watched that little grown up man, the more he seemed just a poor boy sad for his lost love.

  But what Ascanio said suddenly stirred his hound instinct.

  "... I talked about my mother"

  "... Your mother?"

  "Yes, I have my life an ocean away, a distance between me and her not to endure her interrogations , advice ..."

  Bertoli’s jaws relaxed: only a forty years old guy with a smothering mother, he thought.

  "Tell me, did your mother inform you of your girlfriend’s death?"

  Ascanio sniffed, looking like a brat found stealing candies.

  "No, her cousin did.

  She was waiting for her and hadn’t heard of her since Charlize called two days before.

  She called me, I was out hunting; I thought Charlize was in Venice with Marlene, But she never ... "

  He covered his face with his hands, but did not sob, as if he was not trying to hide tears, but the pain that seemed to weigh on him.

  "... Never arrived there" he said quickly, then he showed his face again, looking at Bertoli straight for the first time and his eyes seemed cold and distant

  "Of course,” he went on “I immediately stopped my vacation and ran home to tell my mother"

  Bertoli noticed Ascanio Raineri seemed to have erased Charlize from his memories.

  "Can I go? I do not know much more "he said emotionless.

  Bertoli looked at him: how could he possibly feel nothing anymore?

  Suddenly?

  "No" Bertoli imperiously said

  Ascanio sat down again: something was not right, as if the pain had been a lie and this man, the haughty and unfathomable Ascanio, was the true suspect.

  "Raineri, don’t you think this trip was providential? In short, you left the day a woman who came to visit you died, in the woods, in the rain, so tracks go to hell.

  You know what? If I had a suffocating mother and wanted to go into the woods to hide a corpse, I think I’d create a holiday "

  "I planned it a long time ago, you can ask the friend who hosted me"

  Ascanio said this last sentence almost resigned, with no will to fight: a policeman was virtually charging him with murder and he was not showing anger,, resentment or fear.

  Nothing.

  Bertoli looked at him: in his career he had learned that when you lay the blame on someone, even if you’re saying to an agent that he moved your papers, reactions are more blatant.

  There are the 'not true!', firmly stated, or an alarmed 'but how dare you!'.

  If he is guilty, the individual defends himself, if he is innocent, he begins to shake.

  Ascanio Raineri just wanted to leave, as if a similar charge did not change his life.

  Or as if he was sure his family could handle a similar accusation.

  The phone rang.

  "Commissario Bertoli" the policeman replied sternly

  "Good morning, this is Nino Canali, I need to talk to you, if possible"

  Bertoli sighed: he disliked those who interfered, delaying investigations.

  Besides, doctors made him nervous: he was always afraid they could tell him to stop smoking, or go on a diet, listing all risks in a man of his age.

  "What’s about?" he replied, trying to be affable

  Nino sat up straight, ready to fight Bertoli.

  "It's about the von Berger case"

  Yeah, what else?

  "Any news?

  "Yes" Nino said, having all the policeman’s attention

  September 21st

  Nino’s office was near his house, a separate door right next to the big gate isolated it from the house.

  Many years ago, thieves broke into the house, scared his daughters to death and they stole tranquility much more than material things.

  He was one of the first, in the neighborhood, to set a burglar-alarm, after that horrible experience, and he closed the passage from the office.

  Not that he did not trust those who trusted him as a doctor, but thieves used the door he had left open for his patients and anyone could get in, say hello and walk through the small, white door leading to the house hall; so Nino closed that door and used the usual gate all the family used to get in.

  He smiled, noticing that, until that September Sunday, it was his only contact with crime.

  Now, Maria Guastalli was in his studio to talk about the murder.

  "Why didn’t you go to the police immediately?" Nino asked

  "I did not know Charlize was the lady of the woods"

  “Didn’t you know she was missing?"

  "I didn’t.

  I knew she had left to reach her cousin; so, I thought she was in Venice.

  And, frankly, I didn’t mind where she was " she said

  Nino looked at her, La Signora would never talk to him, as not for her doctor’s involvement with Charlize’s discovery.

  "Nino caro” she tenderly said “I wasn’t happy for Ascanio’s relationship with that woman ... too libertine, too beautiful.

  My generation is accustomed to stay subdued, to do what husbands say "

  "Well, it was a long time ago” Nino muttered

  "Oh, God…do you agree with feminists? "

  Nino sighed.

  "Women have ... you know ... a voice now and we all listen to them.

&
nbsp; Ascanio is forty, he knows what he wants "

  “Ascanio is a man and men lose their awareness when a beautiful woman is involved”

  "Why did you come to me? How can I help you? " Nino said abruptly

  "Tell me, how did you find her? Was she hurt?” said she, lowering her proud gaze “Did she suffer?”

  The woman’s interest shrieked with her unsympathetic tone and words sounded ominous.

  "No: Charlize…. faded away.

  There were no signs of violence.

  If not for the place we found the corpse, we might think of a natural death "

  Maria Guastalli, which till then had looked at Nino with a sort of apprehensive curiosity, lowered her gaze and La Signora seemed to lose interest.

  Then, raising her glance back to her doctor, she said

  "As I told you, Charlize suffered from a terrible allergy"

  "What kind of allergy?"

  "A solvent for oil colors. You know, my brother has them scattered around the house.

  One evening, she went to look around in his studio; shortly after, I heard a gasp and she came to the kitchen: her hands were full of stains and she was struggling to breathe.

  Davide immediately gave her cortisone and when she felt better, she told us she was allergic to pine essential oil. She cannot use the Christmas tree ... she is allergic to pine "

  She giggled softly, as if that particular allergy was an unforgivable, fun oddity.

  "How did you get cortisone?”

  "How strange, huh? Such a severe allergy and she didn’t carry her kit, just in case.

  My brother is allergic to peanuts: he had violent reactions once, if only we had some in the house. And so he carries his kit everywhere "

  Davide had never talked to him about that and Nino felt hurt: they were friends, he was a doctor and they went hunting together, why didn’t he mention such a serious condition?

  Nino had had that sensation many times, with Davide: he was not only vague , but sometimes mysterious.

  "Why do you think it’s important?" he asked

  "Because it’s weird the doctor who did the autopsy failed to detect her allergy"

  Nino heard his wife’s voice and Mr Bertoli’s.

  "Excuse me, I guess the commissario is here"