Head Shot

35

Mario had always been slightly in awe of his grandmother. As a child, he had loved Papa Viareggio almost to the point of worship, but Nana had inspired something different in him. She had never been forbidding, but there had been something about her that had marked her out from the norm, an inner strength that at times could make her seem aloof, even from her children and grandchildren.

She had always dealt with the world on her terms, and never in his life had her grandson seen her give an inch in the face of misfortune.

And so he was not surprised when he went to visit her, in the terraced house not far from Murrayfield Stadium that had been her home for sixty years, to be greeted at the front door with a steely look which betrayed not a sign of frailty.

'Well?' she demanded. 'What have you come to tel me, son?'

He did not answer her; instead he kissed her on the cheek, and allowed her to lead him into the living room, where his mother and Aunt Sophia sat, stunned by the loss of a brother and a husband.

'Where are the girls?' he asked.

'Our Paula's in the kitchen, cooking something or other for our supper.

Viola's gone home to her family, where she should be. So, come on, laddie; out with it. Have your policemen caught the evil man who murdered my son?' Her voice was full of controlled rage; he read it at once, for he felt the same way himself.

'We're doing al we can, Nana,' he began, but she cut him off.

'I know that,' she snapped. 'I trust you not to let them do any less. But that's not what I asked you.'

'In that case, the answer's no. We haven't caught him. The truth is, Nana, we don't even know where to begin to look. We've got not a scrap of physical evidence. We recovered the bul et that killed him, but as the pathologist predicted before she did the p.m., it was too distorted for us to have a chance of identifying the gun that fired it. If the weapon had been used in another crime, you see…'

'Ach, I know that, Mario,' the old lady retorted. 'I watch Quincy.' She looked away from him for the first time. 'Can you tell me this? Did he suffer?'

He could see, out of the corner of his eye, his mother and his aunt tense as she asked the question.

'No,' he answered, as firmly as he could. 'Not a bit. It was instantaneous; I doubt very much if he even heard the gunshot.'

'Paula heard a policeman say there was a silencer.'

He glanced at his cousin as she came into the room. 'They just muffle the noise, Nana,' he said. 'And this was a big gun.'

'So what have you been doing all day?'

'I've been helping my col eague Detective Superintendent Jay. You have to realise, Nana, that I'm a witness in this investigation, not a participant. I've spent most of the day so far in Uncle Beppe's office with two specialist detectives, going through al of the books of the business in the hope that we might find something that pointed to a reason for the murder.'

'You mean you were trying to find out if Beppe had been up to no good?'

'No, Nana, I didn't mean that.'

She patted him on the arm and settled stiffly into her high-backed armchair, throwing him a faint smile. 'Of course you did, son; but you don't need to soft-soap me. I could have told you you'd be wasting your time there. Your poor uncle might not have been about to win the Businessman of the Year award, but he wasn't a crook.

'And remember, even if he had been that stupid, your mother was there as the second trustee. She'd have stopped him in his tracks.'

'I know, I know,' he agreed. 'But this is a police investigation, and things can't be taken on faith. They have to be looked at. We've done that now, and of course there was nothing there. In a way I wish there had been, it would have given us a bloody lead.'

'Aye,' the old lady said sharply, 'and dragged our name through the mud at the same time. I would rather that you didn't catch the man who shot Beppe, than for that to happen.'

'Oh, we'l catch him, Nana, don't you worry about that. The man's not walking away from this. As for the family name, I'l keep it as safe as I can. I may carry my father's surname, but I'm as much a Viareggio as anyone in this room.'

'Mario.' His mother cal ed to him, from across the room. He turned to face her; she was as red-eyed as her sister-in-law, and at the sight other the memory of his father's death flooded into his consciousness. 'I've 144 been thinking all day about this, ever since you told me about Beppe. I think I'd better stay for a while; stay in the trust, I mean.'

He shook his head; there was a slow finality about the gesture. 'No,' he said. 'That's not going to happen. I've been thinking about it too, don't worry. This day was always going to come, one way or another; Beppe's gone and you're gone. Paula and I are in control of the businesses now, and that's how it's going to stay. It's Papa's wil , and you can't fight that.'

'But won't it conflict with your duties as policeman?'

'It's unlikely, but if it did, there's a way around it. I have a lawyer, someone I know and trust. On Thursday, I had her look at the trust provisions; they allow for me to appoint her, or someone else suitable, as my proxy, to exercise al my powers on my behalf. If I'm advised that it's necessary, I may well do that, but first… we're going to find the bugger who made my Aunt Sophia a widow.'