So, how does Mrs Rodby know the Countess?

…

Her name was Isabella Agostini, but I suspect that was not her real name.  I had stood to one side after we entered the solicitor’s rooms, and let her state why she was there.

I could have been wrong about her, but I had to admit if I wasn’t, she was quick on her feet.  There was no doubt she knew who I was, not why I was there, and I had to state my business, which gave away information I preferred not to.

Now she knew why I was there, and that I was working with the countess, though I had to believe she already knew that too.  The question was, were they using me to find the countess.

There were a half dozen chairs in that waiting room, and I chose to sit next to her.  It surprised her, or I hope it did.

“You here for any particular reason,” I asked. 

I did so only because I had to maintain that I-don’t-know-Italian thing.  If I did, I’d know it was for a matter of making a will.  I accompanied the question with a look of sincere interest.

“Legal stuff,” she said.  It sounded quaint with her Italian accent which suddenly crept in. 

Had I caught her off guard?

“You?” she asked, trying to make it sound like an offhand comment.

“Legal stuff, boring really.  I’d rather be touring the Vatican, maybe I’ll get there later.  Seen it?”

‘What?”

OK.  She was losing interest in the small talk and had started looking at her cell phone.

“The Vatican?”

‘Yes.  Big.”  And went back to her phone, a sign the small talk was over.

Perhaps it was a sign.  The solicitor, Benito, came out and called my name, gave the girl a dismissive look and motioned me to follow him.

Benito was one of those old, tired, family retainers, who had been doing the job for a hundred years, and looking forward to the next.

He obviously had a set of clients who paid well, because the rooms, not to mention the building, reeked money.

He was dressed in an expensive, but tired suit, and was slightly unkempt, part of an act, I thought, to keep people guessing as to his competence.  The other lawyers, not his clients.

“The girl belong to you?”

“No.  She followed me in.  She says she’s here to see you about making a will.”

“Odd.  She works for a private detective agency, and knowing the Burkehardt’s as I do, she’s probably working for them.

“How could they know I’m here?”

He shrugged.  “They seem to know everything.

“Except where the countess is, so it stands to reason they would follow her associates and see if they lead them to her.  Why the interest in the countess?”

“The damage she could do to their business.”

“You mean she’s not a good businesswoman?”

“Oh, I’m sure she could do that.  It’s the other business.

“You mean the Burkehardt’s are criminals?”

“Not in so many words, and it would be a brave man to accuse them.  But some of the business they do, on the side, is illegal.  I’ve tried to tell the countess that it would be unwise to try and fulfil her late husband’s wishes, but she says it was his fervent wish she did.”

“What would she get if she walked away?”

“They offered her a house and an income.  I believe it is a fair offer, but she seems reticent.  It’s better than the alternative.  They have judges who will deliver verdicts they want, and they will give her nothing.”

“Is she entitled to it?”

“According to the law, but there can be exceptions.  They will use one of those exceptions.  I can fight it, but even if we prove his intent she should inherit, it might not go our way.  What is your interest in this matter?  The countess has not mentioned you before today.”

“A friend of a friend.  Mrs Rodby asked me if I could help her persuade the Burkehardt’s to honour their son’s will.”

“I’m not surprised Mrs Rodby is concerned.  You do know she is the countess’s stepsister, don’t you.”

© Charles Heath 2023

Meeting the Rodby’s

…

I picked a safe place to meet Rodby.

I called him directly, which is what none of his agents did, ever.  That was because no one knew his private number.  No one except perhaps Mrs Rodby and, now, myself.

It didn’t elicit kind words.

When he answered with a tentative yes, I started with, “One day you are going to tell me just a little more than you think I need to know.”

“Evan?”

“Who else would have the audacity to talk to you in such a manner?”

“Someone with either suicidal tendencies or one with a death wish.  I don’t see you as having the former, so I’ll run with the second.  You are aware I could have you arrested and worse?”

The thought had occurred to me.  There were certain people in the organisation that were untouchable, and he was one of them.

“You can do that if you like, but there will be consequences.  It might be an idea to wait until after we’ve me.”

“Come into the office.  I’ll be here all morning.”

“Not this morning.  Somewhere else, today.  Trafalgar Square, fifteen minutes.  I won’t bother asking you to come alone but be aware I’m not pleased with you.”

I hung up before he could ask why.

I did several circuits of the perimeter, then observed the tourists from the stairs of the gallery behind, then waited until I saw Rodby, with Mrs Rodby as I hoped, coming towards the square from Haymarket.

The fact it concerned the countess almost ensured that Mrs Rodby would be along to find out what happened to her friend.  But, to me, she could do that just as easily by being on the end of the telephone.  Rodby himself had laid down the law about bringing civilians into organisational matters, and Mrs Rodby was a civilian.

There was not one law for the boss and one law for everyone else.  Rodby was not like that, so there had to be a compelling reason why she was being included.

I watched them walking slowly and thought what an unconventional sight they made.  All the time I knew Rodby, he never walked anywhere. And he definitely would never be seen with Martha.  His enemies if they were out and about would have leverage being dangled in front of them, which is why we seemed to live such monastic lives or quit so we could have a normal one.

Once again, I thought this very unconventional.

Though at this very minute, I could snatch her off the street.

It was incentive enough to maintain vigilance and note where every unsavoury character was.  And there were a lot of them judging by appearances.

As I followed from behind, I sent a text message to Cecelia to tell the countess she would be able to talk to Mrs Rodby in about fifteen minutes.  I had managed to clone Mrs Rodby’s phone and get the number.

I timed my arrival to close to them as they crossed the road in front of the gallery coming up behind them, and as they stepped onto the footpath on the other side I said, “Nice to see you both out and about together.  Is this a prelude to retirement?”

Both stopped and turned around.

OK, there was a mental note about to be stored.  Mrs Rodby was the same height and wearing heels.  What relevance was that she didn’t wear heels for one very specific reason, it made her taller than her husband and that was one part of his ego you didn’t mess with.

Mrs Rodby had got shorter.  Of course, I hadn’t seen her for a while and there didn’t seem to be a height difference the night of the opera, so perhaps it was just my view from where I was standing.

“Are you trying to give us heart attacks, Evan?”  Martha spoke, while Rodby was looking around.  Fifteen minutes was too short a time to get a team of agents on the ground, but there would be one.  He would have people observing via the CCTV camera.

“It was not my intention.”

Standing on the path was blocking the foot traffic and we moved towards one of the fountains.  I kept an eye on the direction from where they came, but they were not being followed.  We were not far from the fountain when we stopped.

Rodby looked annoyed.  “Enough with the theatrics.  Where is the countess?  From what Alf told me, she should be with you, the reason why you summoned us here.”

“Toy told me to find her, not bring her to you.”

“You’re not one to interpret orders, Evan, although I should have factored in your unorthodox method of doing the job.”

“I was thinking that was why you asked me, and not one of the other dozen or so people you could have.”

That was another thought that just popped into my head.  Why me?  I was not his first choice for this type of mission, and I had long discounted the original contrived reason for meeting the countess, that Martha might be matchmaking, a suggestion dropped by the countess herself.

I knew Mrs Rodby, and she was not a matchmaker or the sort who would interfere in anyone’s life.  Granted she knew about Violetta, but that was only after she was diagnosed, and Rodby let us into a small part of his life, and that was only because I had retired and there was no conflict of interest.  Which flicked my attention back to Martha.

She had aged a lot since I saw her last when it seemed she could not be perturbed by anything.  Violetta, in fact, had said she was as close to an angel as she would ever get to see.

Now that angel was not looking happy.  “You met and talked to her?”  Mrs Rodby asked.

“Yes, and she insists that she left the hotel as a precautionary measure, unsure of Alesandro’s intentions.  She seemed to believe he was being manipulated by his mother, who I think might be a problem.  I spoke to Alessandro, and he assured me he had nothing to do with her departure.”

Rodby had maintained continuous surveillance of the square and then brought his eyes back to me.  It wasn’t exactly a look of daggers, but close.  “Do you think she might harm the countess?”

“I have no idea where she fits into the equation though on the surface it seems she wants to be in control of the family business, if indeed she hasn’t been all along.”

“It could just be a family feud, fuelled by the fact that it’s possible the running of the business might fall to the countess, who is for all intents and purposes, an outsider.  Everything was fine while he was alive, it’s only since he died, that she has been having difficulties.”

Could that be a subtle hint that she might have killed the count herself to get control of everything?  Would the countess do that?  Not the woman that I met at the opera, and then later on, whether she was brandishing a gun at me or not.

“So, it’s possible the family might be trying to stop her from inheriting.  That’s a bit hard under Italian law isn’t it?”

“Not if she’s dead.”

“And if there’s a daughter?”

“Same problem arises, needing a similar solution.”

With mafia connections that wouldn’t be too much of a difficulty to arrange.  Not surprising then that Mrs Rodby was worried about her friend.

“Then given Anthony told us that we were, yes, to find her, but also to make the problems go away, though not exactly in those words, what exactly was I supposed to do.  I didn’t interpret that as going in and taking out the family.  He didn’t mention any extraction team, nor did he say I had to tell you where she was, only to provide an update.  I am, here.”

“What about that daughter you mentioned, Juliet Ambrose.  Don’t you find it coincidental she pops up as a key player, the daughter of a maid, Vittoria Romano, who by all accounts is trying to eliminate the countess?”

“It’s a small world.  What can I say?  It was a surprise to learn of her involvement, and no doubt Alfie told you I met up with her and also told that I saved her from being killed?”

“By whom?”

“It could be anybody.  She had dealt with one too many bad people of the years, but it’s possible it might be the Burkehardt’s.  The count did tell the countess that she existed, as he did to Alessandro, but he would not have disclosed her actual identity.”

“Then the countess doesn’t know who she is?” Martha seemed surprised.

“She does now.  that’s where I found the countess, in Juliet’s flat.”

“And they’re together still?”

“Last I heard.”

“Would that be a very bad idea, especially if the mother found them?  You can be sure this Juliet and her mother are not plotting…”

“…to kill the countess and step in as another legitimate heir?  I don’t think so.”

I found it surprising that Martha was so well-read into the case, perhaps better than I was.

“Have you met her mother?”

“Cecelia has.  And that’s another question.  Why did you reassign me to her, that’s not usual practice.”

“She’s used to your maverick ways, and last assignment you two worked well together.”

“It might also mean she’s become a maverick too?”

“I told her to learn only the good aspects of being an agent from you, though I’m beginning to question that decision.  Where is she?”

“In Italy watch over the countess, and keep an eye on the mother.”

Mrs Rodby had been watching us.  “Are you two like this all the time?  How did anything get done?”

“Slowly,” I said.  “It’s a bit hard to do anything when you don’t get the whole story.  But, for now, the countess is safe.  Cecelia is investigating Vittoria and I know where Juliet is, and what her involvement is.  None.  For now.  But that might change when her mother appears.”

A few seconds of silence, and then Mrs Rodby’s phone rang.

She pulled the phone out of her bag, looked at the screen, and then answered it with a tentative ‘Yes?”

She then turned to Rodby, “It’s the countess.”  She put it on speakerphone, and I moved away so I couldn’t hear her, but within reach of them if anything happened.

Nothing did.

Five minutes later, Rodby stepped away and came over to me.  “Get over to Italy and find the lawyer handling her side of the inheritance.  You need to get her to him before they meet with the family lawyers.  Whatever you do, ensure you keep her safe.”

“What about the matriarch?”

“Ignore her.  Your priority is the countess.”

I watched them walk away thinking I’d got out of that way too easily.  And wondering if I should have remained within earshot of the conversation.  Something about this whole affair suddenly wasn’t adding up.

© Charles Heath 2023

I’m off to Rome to see a lawyer

…

Before I went to Italy I called in on Anthony and his assistant Alessia and got them to give me a briefing on the mother of the man who had become and died the countess’s husband.

Along with a warning that the mother was not in the brief, and he was reluctant to share what information they had.  I left thinking something had happened or changed, and Anthony had been told to respond only to specific questions; Rodby was trying to keep my attention on his orders.

The question burning at the back of my mind:  what was Rodby hiding?

I also asked for a copy of the coroner’s report on the death of the count, and even before I got through the first paragraph, there was enough evidence to prove he had been murdered.

Did the countess get a copy of the report, or was that left in the hands of the family?  I suspect the latter, because of one statement she made, the Count’s family handled all the ‘detail’s’.  I was beginning to think that she was about to become a detail herself and be handled accordingly.

It was also clear that the Count’s mother, a countess herself, was the one who ruled with an iron fist, even before the count was dead. She had run the business.  And now he had died, their cosy arrangement was about to be signed away into the hands of a woman who was not going to let the older countess run it.

That was probably for a reason, the old countess was doing stuff that she didn’t want anyone to know about.  Had her son discovered the truth and she had him killed.  At least I could discount Alessandro and Fabio.  They were both the most unlikely assassins and if they had tried, they would have botched it.  And I doubt either would have anything to do with killing their brother.

The briefing had a slim folder that contained several sheets of paper that outlined the nature of the Burkehardt businesses.  It seemed the companies never made profits, which made it odd as to how the family members could live such extravagant lifestyles.

The old countess’s name was Anna, rather plain, I thought, and had been the daughter of a poor wine grower.  His was not a large vineyard, but they were very good grapes and sought after by the bigger winemakers.  She had grandiose ideas and had virtually blackmailed the man she married.

Of course, it wasn’t hard to see that the family were also making a few other distilled products.  Without telling the government.  But if you read between the lines, Anna wasn’t exactly a law-abiding citizen., and she had some very rough-and-tumble acquaintances, not the least of which had ties to the mafia.

I was going to create a splash, on both sides of the channel, when I landed in her drawing room.

My first stop when I arrived in Italy was to go and visit the countess’s private legal representative in Rome.  I had asked Cecelia to get the name and address from the countess, and she texted the details as I got off the plane at the airport.

Cecelia also sent me a photo of Anna, at the house in Sorrento, along with both Alessandro and Fabio, who must have taken a flight the previous day.  It seems their concern the countess was missing was not a priority.

I hated driving in Rome, so I left the car in a parking garage on the way to Sorrento on the outskirts of the city and took public transport.  I had one of those back-of-neck sensations when I collected my bag off the carousel, and it was as I suspected, a man trying very hard to look like a fellow passenger watching me.

He passed me off to someone else after I collected the rental car, and drove to bus terminus out in the suburbs on the way to Sorrento.  Whoever was tailing me in the car was very good, and I only saw them twice.

Rodby checking up, or someone else.  I didn’t see Alfie, and after the last debacle, he may have been replaced, but whoever that was, they would be less conspicuous than my current minder.

I took the bus but wasn’t joined by anyone, but that didn’t mean they had lost sight of me.  I checked and thought I’d made the car following the bus.  These people were relentless.  And there were a few of them, and whoever their boss was, he had deep pockets.  Not Rodby then.

From the bus terminus, it was a short walk to the building that housed many lawyers.  In England, they were called chambers.  In Italy, they were called camere degli avvocati, or something like that.

I could speak almost fluent Italian because of Violetta, though she used to tease me over some of the word translations, and many a day was spent teaching me the language.  Even so, I still didn’t always get it right, but these days I liked pretending I had only schoolboy Italian and see if people helped.

This was going to be one of those occasions, not because I had the time, but I had picked up another tail and they were very good.  It added some interest to my day where otherwise it might have been boring.  This time it was a woman, not much older than me, but not conspicuous and had I not been looking, would have missed her.  She hadn’t entered the building yet, and if I wanted to draw her in, I might have to force her hand.

So I stood there, in front of the board, trying to make head or tail of the names, and descriptions on the board that listed the tenants of the building, and I pretended I was having difficulty.  Perhaps looking confused was more of a help than a hindrance because it gave the girl that I assumed was following me the perfect excuse to stop and ask, in almost perfect English, “You are lost perhaps?”

“I am, and not perhaps.”  I gave her the piece of paper with the avvocati’s name on it, and after a quick perusal of the board, she pointed him out.

“Fourth floor, I’m going there myself.”

We crossed to the elevator and waited with several other people who definitely looked like lawyers, barristers, or wealthy clients.  My impression of the building with ornate marble on the floor and walls, was that only the rich could afford to work her and afford the services of them.

© Charles Heath 2023