The Broken Frame Read online

  The Broken Frame

  Claudio Ruggeri

  Translated by Steven Thomas

  “The Broken Frame”

  Written By Claudio Ruggeri

  Copyright © 2016 Claudio Ruggeri, Cover Image: ©Delboysafa (http://delboysafa.smugmug.com)

  All rights reserved

  Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

  www.babelcube.com

  Translated by Steven Thomas

  “Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Broken Frame

  Monday, November 12

  November 13

  November 14

  November 15

  Two weeks later

  December 3

  December 4

  Thanks

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Thanks

  Monday, November 12

  “Hello”.

  “Good evening, is this the police station?”

  “This is agent Venditti, how may I help you?”

  “My name is Elio Rossetti. I’m the owner of the coffee shop at Grottaferrata’s downtown. The one on the corner of the main street. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, it’s just that...”

  “Stay calm, Mr. Rossetti. Tell me what the problem is.”

  “There’s an art gallery next to my bar and it’s still open. Well, the lights are still on, and it seems like there’s nobody inside. Normally they close before eight in the evening, but tonight it’s past ten, and the roller shutter is still open.”

  “Do me a favor, get out of the bar and go and take a look inside the gallery. After that, call me again. Wait a moment, I’ll give you the direct phone number of the station.”

  “I’ve already been in there, a moment ago.”

  “You did? Did you notice anything out of place?”

  “Honestly, I just opened the door and walked a couple of steps inside. I didn’t see anybody, this is so weird.”

  “Do you think you could take four more steps inside the gallery? So we make sure that everything is alright?”

  “Actually...”

  “Oh, I get it. Mr. Rossetti, do you know the name of the owner of the art gallery?”

  “His name is Riva, Carlo Riva”

  “I see. Let’s do it like this. As soon as we can, we’ll send a patrol. In the meantime, if there is any news, give us another call. Is that okay?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Goodnight then.”

  “Goodnight, agent.”

  Marco Venditti ripped off the piece of paper he’d used to write down the name and walked to the computer. With any luck he’d find Carlo Riva’s mobile number and try to contact him. He could check that everything was okay, and there’d be no need to take any further action. After a few minutes he managed to find the number. It was already in the database because of an old complaint by Carlo Riva about a stolen car. The agent lifted the phone and dialed the number.

  He tried for more than five minutes, but there was no reply. The phone on the other end rang, but nobody answered. At this point, the cop ended the call. He was about to dial the number for reception when the telephone in his office interrupted him.

  “Hello”

  “Good evening, my name is Elio Rossetti. I called a few minutes ago. I can’t remember the name of the agent but...”

  “You talked to me, Mr. Rossetti. Tell me, did you find out anything else?”

  “Yes, I heard a phone ringing. I believe it came from the art gallery. The thing is, Agent, we share the same wall. So I went into the gallery. The sound was coming from inside, but I wasn’t able to find the mobile.”

  “Did you stand by the door or did you walk inside the gallery?”

  “I stayed by the door this time as well. However, I thought I should call you back and tell you about it. Perhaps it’s important.”

  “It may be. Listen, for now, thank you. You can stay inside your bar while we send a car. Do not enter the gallery again, and if possible, do not allow anybody else to go in there until we arrive. Okay?”

  “I understand.”

  “We’ll be there soon.”

  Carlo Riva’s body was lying on the floor in the back of the store. He was found by the police patrol, aided by Inspector Parisi, who attended after Agent Venditti called him.

  The forensics officers were also there, and Inspector Di Girolamo. After a quick look at the scene, he started to exchange opinions with Angelo Parisi.

  “What do you think? Suicide?”

  “It’s possible, Giulio. The letter opener appears to have been used to stab him is still on the floor. We’ll know more after the forensic tests. Did you call Germano?”

  “I haven’t found him yet, his mobile is out of range, and nobody answered at his home. He’ll call as soon as he can.”

  “I think I remember he was taking his family out for a pizza, he often goes to a nearby restaurant. I’ll walk over and see if he’s there. You stay here and don’t move.”

  “Okay, Angelo. I’ll wait here.”

  In fact, Angelo Parisi, as well as having an excellent memory, did know the habits of his old friend, the Commissioner. As soon as he saw Parisi enter the restaurant and look around, as if seeking a person instead of a good table, he quickly understood who he was looking for.

  “I’m here.”

  “There you are.”

  “Why don’t you have a seat and join us? The restaurant serves a pizza with pumpkin flowers, which is like nothing on earth!”

  “I’ve already eaten, thank you. Actually, this visit is for a very different reason.”

  “Have a seat, and tell me everything”

  Parisi took a few minutes to give Germano the details of the case. The Commissioner kept his thoughts silent, until his son interrupted him.

  “Who was killed, dad?”

  “No one was killed, Luca. Angelo was just passing and stopped to say hello, that’s all.”

  “May I come with you to the crime scene? Perhaps I can find the proof that...” his voice slowly faded when his eyes encountered the severe look of his mother.

  “Shall we ask for the check, Vincent?”

  “No Arianna, you remain here. I’ll reach you later at home.”

  “Okay, take care”

  “Got it.”

  After several minutes of brisk walking, both cops arrived at the gallery. The entrance was already crowded, and it was quite difficult to get rid of the onlookers. The Commissioner went to the back of the store, trying not to contaminate the crime scene. Carlo Riva’s body didn’t show any wounds. Other than a single wound to the heart.

  Germano signaled to Doctor Silvestri, to ask him for more details.

  “Doctor, is that the letter opener he used to kill himself?”

  “It looks like it. It’s going to be the first thing we analyze, although it all looks straightforward.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see, Commissioner. On the table that Riva used for work, there’s a letter. I read through it, and it looks like a goodbye letter.”

  “Is it possible to see it?”

  “It’s already on the evidence list, but you can try to look through the clear plastic bag. There are only a couple of lines, but it’s quite eloquent.”

  Germano headed for what appeared to be a makeshift shelf, used by the men of Scientific. They used the shelf for temporary display of the finds and instrumentation.

  In fact, the Commissioner needed to see if Dr. Sil
vestri was right. In the letter, which Riva had written with his own hand, there were just a couple of sentences. They read: ‘I have tried to understand my many mistakes. There is only one thing I could not understand, and that is what hurt me the most.’

  Germano made a note and went out of the art gallery to speak to Inspector Parisi.

  "Have you read this stuff?”

  "No Vincent, what is it?"

  "In the back, close to the body, we found a letter that looks a lot like a farewell message. I wrote down the words, there are only a few. Take a look.”

  Parisi read the sentences several times, trying to understand them better with each reading, but in vain.

  "What did this Riva do that was so terrible he wanted to die?"

  "I don’t know Angelo, but there’ll definitely be someone who can help us."

  “Do you have someone in mind?”

  “This Riva, he had a family?”

  “Yes, a wife and a son.”

  "They have already been told of his death?"

  “Venditti and Penino are at their house right now.”

  “As soon as they feel better I have a few things I need to discuss with them.”

  "What are you doing Vincent? Are you going charge them for incitement to suicide?"

  "Absolutely not. I’d just like to get things a little clearer before I file the case."

  "Okay, we'll make sure you can talk to them. What do you want to do next?"

  "Nothing right now. We have to wait for the reports from the medical examiner and the crime lab. We’ll make our next move then, if necessary. The only thing we could do right now is to interrogate some of the neighbors, as well as the traders in the area. We must try to discover a little more about this art dealer. Something that justifies his suicide.”

  "Okay, I'll call Di Girolamo, so we can get to work immediately."

  “Thank you, Angelo.”

  November 13

  The first person to enter Germano's office that morning was Gianna Bezzi. She was the wife of the septuagenarian art dealer found dead the previous evening. After some brief pleasantries, he invited her to sit down.

  "Mrs. Bezzi, I confess I would have liked to meet you in different circumstances. Unfortunately, the procedure requires me to ask you some questions.”

  "Commissioner, go ahead. I would ask you to try to close this matter as soon as possible."

  "I will make it my priority. I want to start with the letter found close to the body."

  "What letter?”

  "It’s just a couple of lines that seem to explain his action.”

  "Could you be more precise?"

  "The letter we recovered was written in his own hand. It said, ‘I have tried to understand my many mistakes. There is only one thing I could not understand, and that is what hurts me the most.’”

  "I haven't the faintest idea what he meant."

  "From what we can see, it appears that Mr. Riva made ​​some mistakes in his life. Mistakes for which he apologized, and perhaps obtained forgiveness. Nevertheless, I wish to look into this matter further."

  "With me, Carlo has always behaved well. Even with our son Michael, who is thirty-two, and lives on his own by the Tiber. I can’t think of anything serious that would cause him to kill himself."

  “Mrs. Bezzi, did your husband beat you?”

  “Are you kidding? My husband was a gentleman, with a capital G.”

  “How was his relationship with your son?”

  "It always seemed good to me, they talked a lot. I’d say there were no secrets. He always wanted our son to go his own way and be independent. Everyone would have liked a father like Carlo.”

  “I understand, Mrs. Bezzi. May I ask when you first met your husband?”

  "Of course you can, it was forty years ago. He was already an art lover who traded in the lower end of the market. I used to help my father who owned a similar business. That’s how we met, how it all started.”

  "Were there moments in the past when Carlo seemed anxious or distracted by anything?"

  “Only with the death of his parents. When he thought about it, he seemed to be another person.”

  “He became violent?”

  "No, quite the contrary, he became quiet and extremely thoughtful. Completely different from the fun person, full of plans and ideas that he’d always been."

  "I see. We're done for now, Mrs. Bezzi. As soon as we have some news or any other information, we’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you, Commissioner. Do you want me to call in my son? I know you wanted to talk to him, so we came together.”

  “Yes, thank you. Please send him in.”

  Michele Riva was little different from many men in their thirties. Ordered, silent and watchful. He approached Germano and they shook hands. The Commissioner invited him to sit.

  "Hello Michele. Would you like something to drink?"

  "No thanks, I just had a coffee with your colleagues."

  “I called you because as you may know, I’m investigating the alleged suicide of your father.”

  “Alleged? Why alleged?”

  “Let’s just say that we’ll be more certain after the autopsy, which is being done now. Clearly, everything suggests that he deliberately decided to kill himself. At least, we strongly believe that hypothesis."

  "What did you want to talk to me about, Commissioner?"

  "Tell me about the relationship you had with your father."

  "He was an exemplary father. Seriously, I don’t say that just because he’s dead, and so has earned the moral right to some sort of praise. He was great, honestly."

  "You were very fond of him, huh?"

  "He always allowed me to follow my own ideas, without any interference. In fact, he always attempted to prevent anyone from trying to influence me"

  "Could you explain that? I’m not sure what you mean."

  "Oh, sorry. I'm a theater screenwriter. It has always been my dream. He just helped me to make it all happen."

  "I understand. Can you remember if there was anything, even a hint of something, unusual or unspeakable, in your father's life at the time?"

  "I don’t know if there was. If so, we never noticed it. Although it may be that my father was a great actor and he tried to hide it. The rest of my memories have faded into a thick fog."

  "I understand. As I said to your mother, as soon as we have something new, we will inform you immediately. For now, all I can do is thank you for your time."

  "I sincerely hope you will investigate this case thoroughly, Commissioner. I want to know the cause of his death. What led my father to kill himself?”

  "Don’t worry, we'll get an answer soon."

  Michele Riva left the office. After a few minutes, in which time Germano added some information to his notes, his phone began to ring again.

  “Germano.”

  "Good morning, Commissioner, I'm the coroner who just performed the autopsy on the body of Carlo Riva."

  "Tell me everything, Doctor."

  "The death was caused by a pointed weapon. Specifically, the letter opener you found in the gallery. It pierced his heart through two ribs. From the angle, it seems the wound was self-inflicted. The blade followed a path from top to bottom, before reaching the heart. It’s perfectly compatible with cases of self-inflicted wounds."

  “I have made notes doctor, but can you give me the report today?”

  "I'll try. One last thing, if you’re interested. I noticed the penetration was very clean, both externally and internally. It’s as if the knife reached the heart very slowly."

  "I guess this is all compatible with suicide."

  "Yes, Commissioner. Even if Mr. Riva was perhaps not entirely convinced of what he was about to do."

  "I think it's human to have doubts, Doctor."

  “I think so too. Anyway, Silvestri is here, and he wants to speak to you. Wait one moment.”

  “Thank you. Silvestri, what’s going on?”

  "Hello Commissioner.
About the letter opener we found. We isolated the fingerprints, although I have the impression they belonged to the customers of the gallery. That’s all."

  “Did you find any other fingerprints in the back of the art gallery?”

  “Only those of the corpse. Right now, we’re about to finish the examination of the farewell letter.”

  “What have you found?”

  "There’s something weird about it. We couldn't find a fingerprint on either of the two sides of the sheet.”

  "How the hell did that happen? Are you sure no damage occurred while you transported the evidence?”

  “It’s impossible. Nothing could have removed all of the fingerprints."

  "Okay, I understand. Thank you for your fast response. Try to send me the report as soon as you can."

  "I’ll do that."

  "Thanks Silvestri."

  As soon as the call ended, Germano tried, in vain, to write something on a sheet of paper without touching it. Once he was certain of the impossibility of such an operation, he made up his mind about his next move.

  First, he telephoned his colleague Parisi, and made an appointment for him to come to his office at noon. Shortly after, he picked up his coat and the keys to his car. Before the meeting with his friend and colleague, he had time for a second inspection of the art gallery.

  Parisi came to Germano's office few minutes later than noon.

  "May I come in?"

  “You’re already in. There are a few updates in the Riva case, and we need to discuss them.”

  “Is there something wrong with the autopsy?”

  “Not really. Both the angle of the wound and the intensity are clear signs of suicide. However, there are some issues about the suicide note that I'm concerned about.”

  “Tell me more, Vincent.”

  “It’s like this. I’ve tried to write on a sheet of paper without leaving any fingerprints, and it was clearly impossible.”

  "You mean Doctor Silvestri didn’t find any fingerprints on that letter?"

  "Yeah, that's right. Half an hour ago, I was at the art gallery, I decided to take a second look. I have the impression there is a small detail that has escaped all of us. Or rather, one which has not received its proper consideration."