Return to Umbria by David Wagner (13 ebook reader txt) 📗

they both looked over the shoulder of one of the students. The man didn’t seem surprised to hear a question in English.

“Drawing. But with a bit of architectural history. We try to cram as much history in the program as we can.”

“Some kind of semester abroad program?”

“That’s right.” The man extended his hand. “I’m Gus Suarez. Your first visit to Orvieto?”

Rick shook the hand. “Rick Montoya. No, I was here a few years back. Is the program connected to one university?”

“Arizona State. It’s where I teach. But we get students from other colleges.”

“Arizona State?” The professor might not have noticed the change in Rick’s voice, but Betta, who was standing nearby, certainly did.

“Has the program been around a while?” Rick asked.

“Quite a while, actually. I think it was started in the nineteen seventies. Do you know someone back in the States who might want to apply?”

“I just might. Is there an office here in Orvieto where I can get information?”

“Sure.” He took a pen from his pocket, as well as a pad that looked more appropriate for sketching than note taking. “Here’s the address and the name of the director. Bob is there much of the day, either teaching classes or in his office. Of course you can also go online.”

“Thanks, Gus, I’ll do that.”

Rick and Betta strolled away while the professor went back to his charges, all of whom were immersed in their work. Their eyes had stayed on either the building or their own drawings while the two men conversed.

“This could be a break for the murder case, Betta.”

“I thought you’d been talking with the guy about architecture.”

“Not at all. These kids are in a university exchange program which has to be the same one our murder victim participated in years ago. I’ve got to call Paolo.”

He pulled out his phone and dialed while Betta watched twenty elderly Italian tourists shuffle into the plaza from a side street. Their guide, a neatly dressed man in his twenties, walked backwards as he spoke in a strong, high voice. Except for a few old stragglers in the back, the guide managed to keep everyone’s attention, despite not seeing what he must have been talking about.

Rick tapped his phone off. “Paolo gave us the green light to talk to the exchange program director about the case. When I read off the address he told me where it is. Not far from here, in fact.”

“Doesn’t he want to be along?”

“He would, but he’s on his way to interview the caretaker of the villa.”

Betta frowned and shook her head. “But you can’t do that. You’re not with the police.”

Rick took her hand and they started walking toward the far end of the piazza. “No, but you are.”

***

“He’s there, Sergeant.”

LoGuercio hung up the cell phone and tucked it into his jacket pocket. The trip would not be a waste of time, and Donato would not have time to flee, though the inspector doubted this was his murderer. As Riccardo had said, that would be too easy.

The dark blue police car slowed as it reached a row of four plain, two-story houses just off the road. They had been built by the same ingegnere, from the same set of plans, down to the stone walls separating one from the other. No need for an expensive architect here. A few feet of grass and dirt separated the pavement from the simple fences in front of the houses. As these were the only structures on this stretch of highway, there was no call for a sidewalk, assuming anyone wanted to visit the neighbors. Each house had a dirt driveway that cut through grass and hedges to reach a one-car garage. Behind, between the houses and a heavily wooded hill, small patches of vegetable gardens squeezed between more low walls.

“It’s the last one, Sir.”

The car pulled off the pavement and came to a stop in front of the fourth house in the row. As LoGuercio got out of the backseat he saw a man rushing around the side of the house and walking briskly toward him. He was in his late twenties and wore a stylish cotton sweater and blue jeans, both accenting his physique. In an affected, almost feminine gesture, he brushed back a shock of long black hair from his forehead. LoGuercio noticed that it had been a few days since this face had seen a razor, either in a nod to fashion or an indication of his standards of hygiene. The man was almost breathless when he got to the policeman’s car, just outside the gate.

“Can we talk out here, Inspector? I don’t want to upset my mother.”

LoGuercio leaned against the fender of the car and sized up the man before him. “Of course, Donato. This shouldn’t take long, if you can answer my questions satisfactorily.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Let’s begin with where you were last evening.”

The caretaker answered without having to think about it. He had been ready for the question. “I was here. I had dinner with my mother and we watched TV before going to bed at about eleven.”

“You both stayed up until eleven?”

“Well, uh, no. Mama goes to sleep earlier than I do.”

“You didn’t go out at all after dinner?”

“I told you I went to bed at eleven, didn’t I?”

LoGuercio couldn’t decide if the man’s tone was from anger or nervousness. He would have one of his men interview the neighbors to ask if they heard any cars leaving or returning from the last house during the night. It would be no use questioning Donato’s mother.

“Tell me about all your contacts with the three Americans.”

Donato looked quickly at the window of his house. “I was there when they arrived. On change-over day I check to see that the cleaning crew has done their work and the villa is ready for the new renters, and then I’m there when they drive up. There was a drip in one of the showers, which I fixed. When they got to the villa I gave them