Vittoria and Juliet

…

What was it that found me finding ways to run into a woman that I really didn’t want to run into or see again?  And yet, it seemed everything I did, since Rodby reappeared in my life, revolved around her.

And it crossed my mind, while I was trying to find where she was living in London, that having a mother like Vittoria might have contributed to her ‘downfall’.  The biography of Vittoria wasn’t that of a society angel, more the pretender who was little more than a petty criminal worming her way into a field of rich pickings.

She’d been in service in the count’s residence, and as much as I hoped wasn’t a continuation of the old practice of masters having their way with their employees, or servants back in the old days, he might have forced himself on her, but I suspect it was the other way around.

If she was a grifter then she would have made him aware of the girl he sired, and if he was good about it, would have adequately compensated her, if only to keep it quiet.  Very adequately and for a long time until he died.  I suspect the countess didn’t know, and like most women in those sorts of marriages, probably didn’t want to know.

The reason why there was no surveillance in Juliet was because no one had found a starting reference point.  In other words, no one knew where she was.  And Cecilia was right, London was a big place if I wanted to pound the pavement looking for her.

The file said an internet search on her was performed, but the only information relevant to her they found was her fall from grace and very little beyond that date range.  It seemed Juliet Ambrose only existed for three years before I first met her.

That meant she had been someone else before that, most likely Juliet, the name of her mother at the time.  That, of course, suggested one of two eventualities, that she wanted to escape her mother, or the Count’s family because of her mother, and changed her own name, or her mother had informed on some fellow criminals to leverage a free ticket and going into a form of witness protection.

Knowing Juliet as I did, the former was more likely than the latter.

Now there was a new possibility that wasn’t a scenario in the file.  Had the count told anyone about the daughter, and the mother’s no doubt incessant demands?  That could be a reason for a hitman to remove the problem or problems.

I looked at the biography for Vittoria Romano again and noted she had a number of aka’s, Gallo, Rossi, and her birth name Moretti.

A quick search told me the Italian version of Juliet was Giulietta, so I put Giulietta Moretti into the search engine and waited all of 35 nanoseconds to get the obligatory 20,000,000 hits.  Popular girl.

But…

There on page three of endless pages on a fading Italian Rock and Roll singer, there was a picture, albeit of Juliet in her younger days, taken on the grounds of a mansion in Sorrento.  The Count had a place in Sorrento, and I looked it up in the list provided.

Yes.  It still belonged to the family.  I tucked that away in the mental notes stored at the back of my mind.  It would be worth a visit when I went looking for the Countess.

A further search through 32 useless pages of items found another.

Giulietta Moretti published a paper in a medical journal about a year ago on the effects on the human body caused by car crashes, and it was getting recognition by her peers.  So much so, that she had been asked by a group of surgeons to talk about it at a conference in Blackpool.

The day after tomorrow.

And…

It had an address where she worked in London, a morgue in one of the larger hospitals.  I now had a starting point.

My curiosity then switched to Alessandro.

I wondered if he knew the background of Vittoria.  Surely his brother would have alerted him to the trouble she was causing him.  Or, and this was a huge leap, had the Count not told anyone about her, thinking he had alone contained the problem.

If Alessandro knew then was he in cahoots with Vittoria in removing the Countess from the playing field.

What bothered me was that I saw Alessandro at the hotel at the same time as the countess, and I had no doubt he was the problem she needed to attend to.  How had he managed to spirit her away, if he did?  If not, why would she sneak out of the hotel and disappear?

Was it something to do with that meeting between her and Alessandro?  All good questions for a Detective Inspector.

It was particularly troublesome that our surveillance on the main players managed to lose two of them for a lengthy period.  No one had thought to stay in the hotel and were relying on the hotel’s own CCTV.  That, of course, showed nothing other than the countess and Alessandro arriving, and nothing after that.

There were a dozen CCTV camera feeds and I had them sent to my phone and that afternoon went through all of them, looking for anomalies, people ridiculously disguised, large crates or cases that could hide bodies, anything to show she had left, albeit disguised.

What she would want to be seen was anyone’s guess, but it may have had something to do with Alessandro.  What bothered me, though, was a report from the people who installed the CCTV system at the hotel.  It was interesting that it found its way to the Department, but not as interesting as the fact the number installed, and locations, didn’t match the number that had returned video for the time.  A second sheet noted that seven of the CCTV cameras were not in operation at the time, with no reason given.

As for Alessandro, he and I were going to have a talk sooner rather than later, and I was going to use my Detective Inspector warrant card for the second time.

Long ago, when developing guises, I got the chance to follow around a real detective inspector and learned the ropes.  He was a good detective and a better teacher.  It was my first item on the list for the next morning.

© Charles Heath 2023

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

Cecelia and I make a plan

…

Ceceilia had the need for a decent cup of coffee, not the wishy-washy stuff they had in the canteen.  I got tea, and very nearly ordered toast and marmalade.  It was a nostalgia thing, it was where Violetta and I had our first date, according to her.

“You’re looking a little distracted?” Cecilia said, sitting down after going over to the cake display and picking out a French pastry.

“I just had an old memory pop up.  Now it’s gone.  How did you get roped into this caper?”

“We’re both in Rodby’s bad books.  He wasn’t pleased with the way the Larry thing ended.  Did you ever get to see Juliet?”

“Once.  It might have been a thing, if she wasn’t aiding and abetting the man trying to kill me.”

“That does put a bit of downer on things.  I thought you had retired again.”

“So did I?  Seems Mrs Rodby was trying to do a bit of match making with an old school chum and didn’t know she’d end up in the middle of a family brawl.  I thought I was going to the opera as a plus one.”

“Well, I didn’t get to punish that producer, so you might get a call, after this gig.  What’s first?”

“Tea, and coffee.  Read the files, see what they tell us.”

It was clear she was like me, she hated reading papers.  It rarely matched the reality.

My understanding, an hour later, was that the brother the inheritance would go to if the countess went missing, was too obvious a choice for the guilty party.

What also piqued my interest was Juliet.  Again.  Yes, she was the daughter of Vittoria, the wronged and vengeful mistress, but she and her mother had been parted not long after that photo was taken and neither had seen the other since.

There was also the international lawyer’s assessment that the brother did not have the first claim on the inheritance, that went to either the spouse, or the first child of the count, whether it was by his legitimate wife, or not.  It was the first time I had seen a ruling where an illegitimate child could get anything, given how tightly some countries worded their inheritance rules.

But Vittoria was a nasty piece of work and probably was guided by some fortune-hunting half lawyer who had told her she had rights and interpreted it as meaning if the countess was no longer in the running.

The brother, on the other hand, was most likely oblivious to the fact his older brother didn’t have children, based on the fact that his brother’s marriage did not produce any heirs.  It was probably mentioned in the will that if there were no heirs …

A report from the surveillance team of Vittoria advised that she was spending a lot of time schmoosing Alessandro, possibly believing that he would, in the end, inherit a fortune, and if she landed that fish, well, there was going to be flow-on effects.

She didn’t seem to think that her long-lost daughter was a viable means of getting the fortune.  Yet.

“I think I’ll dress up and apply for a loan.”

“I don’t think it’s that type of bank.”

“They have branches.  It says so in the brief.”

“Merchant bank.  They handle much larger clients than mums and dads and small business.”

“Well, it was a good idea.  Perhaps I’ll just crash their circle of friends and ingratiate myself into their society.  I did an audition for a society bitch who was wronged and was going to kill the whole family.  It was an interesting role, but unfortunately, I didn’t look deranged enough.”

“A posh hotel, expensive clothes, an aloof manner, and, just a thought, you could set your cap for Alessandro.  If Vittoria is chasing him, maybe you could cut across her bow.”

“Do you always speak in idioms?”

“When I can.  Violetta never understood them and frowned at me all the time.  Sorry.  Bad habits never go away.”

“But a good idea.  I’ll insert myself into the surveillance team for a few days and them make a play.  You going to see your girlfriend?”

I can see she was not going to let go of that relationship, even if there wasn’t one.

“It might be interesting to see if she remembers her mother, or if she has seen her recently.”

“She’s going to think it a bit suspicious if you just turn up on her doorstep.  You’re going to need an angle.”

“Or just bump into her.  I said I was going to be in London.”

‘Right.  Do you know how big London is?  Running accidentally into her in Stowe-on-Wold would work, but not here.”

“Stowe-on-Wold?  What’s there?  Where is it?”

“Cotswolds.  I shot a few scenes there.  Memorable only for swimming naked in the stream.  Not my finest hour, but it paid well.”

I shook my head, trying to get that image of her out of my mind.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” I said.

© Charles Heath 2023

A new mission

…

When we reached the hotel, the countess was met by a man whom I deduced was her brother-in-law.  I stood back because I got the feeling that the meeting was not expected and that his arrival was a shock, rather than a surprise, and not a good one.

I didn’t see her again that night, her personal assistant coming over to advise an urgent matter had come up and the countess was needed elsewhere. 

Nor did I see the Rodby’s who it seemed were diverted from coming to the hotel.  Rodby called and apologised on the countess’s behalf and left it at that.  I went home in the chauffeur-driven car; a small consolation afforded for my participation.

I also got the impression that a certain wife got a bollocking for interfering in matters that were not her concern.  She may have thought so, given their close relationship, she could ‘help’, but European families preferred to sort their own problems out in very definitive styles, something we did quite understand.

I doubted I would have been able to help.  That phrase, ‘lifelong enemy’ told me that another woman had eyes for the count, and her snafu was unexpected and unwanted.  The question was, did it have anything to do with the count’s death.  It was a stretch, but Rodby would not have made that small concession if she did not think either of us could be any assistance.

When I got home, I had a few drinks and put it all out of my mind.

…

Three days later I was sitting in the basement briefing room, after being taken down by Rodby and introduced to what he described as the two best researchers in the organisation.

Anthony Bird, and Alessia Lombardi.

And as a complete, but pleasant surprise, sitting at the other end of the table, looking as her cell phone, Cecilia.  Was her starring role over? Or was working for Rodby her day job?

She heard me come in, looked up, nodded, and then went back to her phone.  Rodby didn’t stay.  Nor had he mentioned at any time, from the moment I arrived outside his office, what this was about.

I sat next to her at the end of the table.

When Rodby left, she said, “We meet again.”

“For a retiree, it seems odd, unless you’ve also retired.”

“I tried.  A starring role wasn’t a good enough excuse.  Good thing they finished filming my scenes.”

“Can I expect to see it soon?”

“It was a pilot.  It’ll probably finish up on the cutting room floor.”

We looked at the two standing up at the front of the room, glaring at us.

Anothony said, “If you are finished?”

She threw her phone on the table and looked at him.  I shrugged.

“I suppose it’s too much to want this to be a guide to setting up a retirement plan.”

I guess not.

A photograph of the countess suddenly came up on the screen on the wall.  Anthony was starting the show, “You will know this woman as Countess Heidi von Burkhardt.  She is nominally the head of the international Burkehardt bank, with headquarters in Geneva, and principal branches in Berlin, Rome, Paris, Vienna, and a few other places.”

“A banker.  I must have missed that.  She doesn’t look like a banker.”

“She isn’t, she inherited the bank from her husband.”

Another photo appeared on the screen; a man I thought looked like a terrorist in an expensive suit.  He continued, “Alessandro Burkehardt, her late husband’s brother.  Claims he should own and run the bank, that it’s a family company that’s the purview of the male line of the Burkehardt family.  Actually, he wants everything she has, and then kick to the kerb for want of a better expression.”

Nice man.  He must be the lifelong enemy she had referred to.  Looking at him, he was not a man I would willingly challenge to a duel.

“I don’t think we’re here to discuss family squabbles.  Money will do that, but it’s not in our purview to settle those scores, is it?”

No answer.  Perhaps Rodby didn’t have anything else going on like a megalomanic trying to take over the world this week.

“Bear with us, it gets better.”

Another photo flashed up on the screen, that of a woman about the same age as the countess.

“Vittoria Romano.  Alessandro Burkehardt’s current squeeze and a very nasty piece of work.  She had already tried to kill the countess twice in twenty years.”

Beautiful but very deadly. 

Another photograph came up on the screen, the same woman, but in a photo with three others, two women, the countess, and Mrs Rodby.  And a teenager.  A girl that looked very much like…”

“Wasn’t that your ex back in Venice, what’s her name yes, Juliet Ambrose?”

Long before she became the disgraced doctor.  Long before any of them had become the old ladies there were now.

“This photograph was taken the week before the countess’s wedding.  The girl, as you say, has the name Juliet, but she, we now believe, was the illegitimate daughter of Vittoria Romano, and the Count.  It’s a very tangled web.

The words ‘lifelong enemy’ came back to me again.

Vittoria.  She had his baby, expected him to marry her, didn’t and like any other normal jilted lover, tried to kill the replacement.

“So just the normal complicated Italian aristocratic family secrets fuelling an equally normal feud.”

“Which you two are going to uncomplicate.  But first, you must find the countess.  She has, as far as we’re aware, not left the country, and hasn’t been seen since she left the hotel shortly after coming home from the Opera.  You were there, I believe.”

“I escorted her to the hotel, and when we arrived, she was intercepted by someone who looked a lot like Alessandro Burkhardt.”

“Most likely Fabio Burkehardt.  He had an altercation with the check-in staff over a lost booking, and shortly after that, she checked out.  A half hour later the surveillance team lost her.  We have her last known location and direction she was heading.”

Alessia came down with two folders and gave one to me and one to Cecilia.

“Everything we have on the relatives, those in the country at the moment, possible locations she could be staying, or being held, and background on the family’s issues.  There’s a list of properties overseas where she may have gone, but we have no active record of her leaving.”

“Planes or ferries are not the only means,” I said.  “Does she or any one of the family own a yacht?”

“She does, but it’s moored at Antibes.  It hasn’t moved for over a month.

“I’m assuming Alfie is out there and will be the go-between?”

“Yes.  Oh, and one more thing.  There’s a bit of an urgency to this because if the countess is not in Geneva in five days’ time to sign the transfer documents, passing complete ownership of everything the Count possessed, she forfeits it to the eldest brother.”

“Doesn’t point a finger at him at all does it,” Cecilia muttered.

Anthony switched off the projector and put all the papers into a folder.  “The clock’s ticking.  Daily reports to the Chief are mandatory.”

© Charles Heath 2023