Aaron Elkins - Gideon Oliver 11 - Good Blood by Good Blood

Author:Good Blood [Blood, Good]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-06-25T04:36:43+00:00

TWELVE

THEY got powdery, lukewarm coffee from a vending machine on the porch of the office building—an expansive Caravale paid for them all—and took it to a shaded picnic table beside a tiny corral in which a pot-bellied, sad-eyed donkey stood in a corner and quietly snuffled its dinner from a nose bag.

It was the limp that had been the final clue, Caravale explained. That, and the age of sixty or more, and the “small, gracile” description, and the ten-year length of time it had lain in the gravel. Put together, it all pointed to Domenico.

Phil was shaking his head. “I don’t get it. This is nuts. Sure, Zio Domenico had a limp and all that, but he drowned in a boating accident on the lake. I came for the memorial service. Are you saying he didn’t drown?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Caravale said gently. “I was with the force then, but I was only a lieutenant. I wasn’t the investigating officer, but I remember the case. Your uncle liked sailing. We used to see his boat on the lake sometimes, but he was never out for very long. The day he disappeared he’d left early, and when he didn’t come back by late afternoon, everybody began to worry. It wasn’t a good day for sailing; the wind was rough, the water had a chop to it. So they started a search for him. The boat was found the next day, overturned in shallow water, across the lake, off Porto Valtravaglia. The conclusion seemed reasonable enough: an unfortunate accident. But Domenico, he was never found. So it was never completely settled.”

Phil’s eyes were on the paper cup that he was turning round and round in his fingers. “So if this is true, somebody actually killed him. I’m sorry, but this is really hard to believe.” He looked up, almost challengingly. “Everybody loved the guy. Everybody.”

“That’s what I would have said,” Caravale agreed.

“Not quite everybody, I guess,” Julie said.

Gideon was beginning to wonder what Caravale was doing there. This was an unexpected development, yes, but there was no reason for him to have jumped in his car and driven right out to tell them about it. It could have waited until morning. It could have waited longer than that.

“Uh, Tullio, is there something I can do for you?” he asked.

“Well, yes, maybe, now that you ask. Naturally, I told Vincenzo about it,” Caravale said. “He asked me to come out to the island again to talk with the family—another goddamned council, I’m afraid. The boat will take me up at three.”

“And?”

“And I was hoping you might come along with me.”

“Me? Why?”

“They’ll ask questions about the remains. I don’t know how to answer them.”

“But what can I tell them? Wait till I’ve had a serious look at them and know something—tomorrow, the next day.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d come with me today.”

“Well . . . sure, if you like, but I don’t know what I can tell them.”

“A lot more than I can,” Caravale said.

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