Chapter Ten

“I could never stay long enough on the shore; the tang of the untainted, fresh, and free sea air was like a cool, quieting thought.“
- Helen Keller

 

Over the next few days, I marvelled at Gabriel’s unshaken humour in spite of my suspicions. He accompanied Sofia, Luca and I on a drive to a beach on the east of the island, followed by him sharing dinner at home with us and Sofia’s parents and never once did his smile or friendly ease falter. Rarely trusting the police, Sofia had accepted his explanations and did not need further convincing. But I avoided being alone with Gabriel as much as I could. I knew I wouldn’t be entirely comfortable until Vittorio’s killer was apprehended. Whether Gabriel noticed, he showed no sign. His smile was still the same, his eyes still as kind, his embrace still as warm and I secretly hated myself.

My second week on the island began with a visit to the castle that dominated the town skyline. Sofia, Luca and I wandered leisurely around. I indulgently pictured myself as a medieval damsel haunting the battlements, waiting for my suitor to return from across the sea. When the sun grew too hot, we sought relief in a small café and sipped cooling frappés. A poster with curling corners was taped to the glass of the café door. ‘Scomparso’ was emblazoned across it above a photograph of a grinning young man, ‘Francesco Gallo’ printed in black beneath. I nudged Sofia and pointed.

“Is that him?” I asked in a low voice.

She nodded. 

“It doesn't look good,” she said discreetly. “He’s been missing almost a week already.”

The police were searching for Francesco now but so far nothing. Gabriel had visited Francesco’s mother several times and told me he felt completely helpless.

I hadn’t received any more visits or updates from Inspetorre Gianetti and I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or even more worried now. The longer the investigation dragged on without any clear suspect the more the trepidation on the island would grow.

The following day, I accompanied Gabriel to various towns on the east coast to drop off leaflets advertising an upcoming fundraiser for the institute, a promise I’d made before the revelations about his past and one I felt obliged to keep. I remained in the car while Gabriel dashed out, laden with flyers, delivering them to stores and businesses. I found myself enjoying driving with Gabriel, the car window rolled down, the radio singing to us as we toured the island countryside; the illusion of freedom settled over me, my heart light. I had endeavoured successfully to bury the nagging intrusion of Vittorio’s death and Francesco’s disappearance, not wanting another day of my vacation marred with distress. 

“All done,” Gabriel exhaled, through the open window of the car. He threw the remaining leaflets onto his seat. “Fancy stretching your legs?”

My knees were stiff from sitting so long, so I readily agreed.
“Definitely.” 

I let Gabriel take my hand and we meandered toward the centre of the small village. 

“Where’s your hat?” asked Gabriel, looking at my bare head. 

I never ventured outside without my hat in the heat and I only took it off when I was swimming.
“Oh, I lost it,” I told him. “Blew clean off my head while we were visiting the castello yesterday. I had no hope of chasing after it.”

“You’re still continuing with your hapless damsel routine?”
“Well, it seems to be working my favour,” I laughed. “All I need to do now is commit a social faux-pas and my repertoire will be complete.”
“And how do you intend to do that?” enquired Gabriel. “Order a cappuccino after dinner? Or ask for pineapple on your pizza? Perhaps walking into a church wearing a bikini would do it?”
“All great ideas,” I approved, in mock solemnity. “All sure to have me driven from the island by an angry, pitchfork bearing mob. But I think something spontaneous and unrehearsed, don’t you think?”
“Oh, indubitably,” determined Gabriel.  

He paused in front of a store. 

“I need to drop by here,” he said. “Give me five minutes?”
“Sure,” I nodded, letting his fingers fall through mine. 

Outside the store, a group of well groomed, young men loitered, lazily dragging on cigarettes. I moved away. One blew smoke over my shoulder as I passed, the stale reek buffeting my cheek. Revolted, I resisted the compulsion to cough and wandered to the centre of the small piazza. I rested on the stone lip of the fountain, one leg crossed over the other, my foot swinging. Behind me, the water trickled down and splashed merrily. I sighed, my mind once again dwelling on the thought of going home. I scrunched up my nose and swallowed. I’d be fine, I lied to myself, it was all going to be fine. 

I twisted and glanced over my shoulder. The men stared back at me, suggestive smiles crimping their lips. I shuffled around the fountain, the stone centrepiece shielding me from their view. Cars drifted along past me unhurriedly. A woman shook out a rug from her second storey balcony. A dog trotted past, his lowered ears mirroring his sad eyes.  I trailed my hand in  the clear water of the fountain. Contentment wrapped around me, sitting there watching life go by beneath the sun’s ever watchful gaze.

A sudden clamour of angered voices disturbed the quiet and made me turn. I peered through the contorting tangle of stone and across the square. Gabriel had returned to the street and had seized the collar of one of the men’s shirts and pulled him close. Rage flashed in his eyes, his jaw rigid. He spoke measuredly to the man, who withered immediately, and then shoved him abruptly away. He glared in turn at the others. They raised their hands in theatrical submission, shrugging and skulked away. Gabriel watched their retreat then strode on. Shocked, I spun back around, schooling my expression into neutrality and fiddled idly with my necklace. 

“Here.”

Gabriel smiled benignly down at me, no shadow of anger or aggression in his face, and handed me a brand new straw hat. 

I tried the hat on in the car. It had a wider brim than mine but fit snugly on my head. 

“How does it look?” I asked, turning to Gabriel, as we waited for the traffic to pass.

He glanced across and smiled.

“You look beautiful,” he said. 

“This must be some hat then,” I whistled.

He shook his head, his smile deepening. I pulled off the hat and placed it on the back seat. Gabriel shifted gear and accelerated.  

“I need to go back to the institute to collect some documents,” he said. “And then we can grab lunch.”

The car rolled to a halt in the empty car park. 

“I won’t be long,” said Gabriel and sprang out.

I watched him jog inside. It was strange, I thought, in a week I would be miles away and Gabriel, the island would become a fond memory. I sneezed, twice. Wrinkling my itching nose, I popped open the glove box and hunted for a tissue. I found a small packet but my eyes fell upon a screwed up paper. I plucked it out and unfolded it. 

I held a photocopy of a newspaper article from De Telegraaf. The headline in bold black letters read,‘Geniale ingenieur verdacht van moord op echtgenote’. My recognition of the mix of French and German words made me assume it was Dutch. I was certain that ‘moord’ meant death or murder. And the face of the man pictured was undoubtedly Gabriel’s. He had no beard and his hair was shorter, but there was no mistaking him. 

There was a smaller inset photo. The image was blurry but I could see it was a wedding photo, the faces of the couple indiscernible. I scanned the small body of text but could make no sense of it. Gabriel’s name was mentioned and another name, Nina Kramer. Was she the victim? Why had a wedding photo been included? It was an odd choice of photo for the victim. Unless . . . I held the paper closer to the window for more light and squinted. My stomach dropped. I’d read the tiny caption, ‘Gabriel Moreau en zijn vrouw, Nina Kramer, het slachtoffer.’ ‘Vrouw’ when said aloud sounded like ‘frau’ and I knew that meant ‘wife’. 

I blinked. My hands grew clammy. Had Gabriel been suspected of his wife’s murder? Was that what this article said? My heart hammered loudly. I stared down at the paper, feeling like I was trapped in a dream. I turned it over. An uneven scrawl in black ink read, ‘10.000 euro entro stasera.’ I frowned. Was it a demand for money?

I crumpled the paper and hastily replaced it. I didn’t want to know any more. I wanted to return to my former ignorance. As I withdrew my hand, my fingers grazed cloth. I peered inside. A dark navy flat cap was pushed to the back of the glove box, a small gold emblem sewn on above the peak. I jerked back. I had only seen one person on the island wearing a cap like that. Vittorio. 

Footsteps crunched on the gravel. I snapped the glove box shut and folded my hands on my lap. Gabriel opened the door. 

“I’m sorry, Jenny,” he said. “I have to leave. A call has come in from the coast guard. They want someone over on the other side of the island as soon as possible. A wildlife emergency. Everyone else is out.”

“Oh.”
“I’ll come back and pick you up. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

He slid into the driver’s seat and buckled his seat belt.
“Right, OK,” I said and got out. 

Gabriel reversed the car and spun about, the tires kicking up a cloud of dust. I stood there, clasping my handbag to my chest, watching him drive away, a thousand questions tumbling through my mind. 

Gabriel’s wife had been murdered? He had been a suspect. Someone was blackmailing him. Who? Vittorio? So Gabriel killed him? And left incriminating evidence in his own car? No, he wouldn’t be that stupid. But why hadn’t he told me about his wife? I felt impossibly hot, heat swamping me from head to toe. He couldn’t have killed Vittorio, I couldn't believe he could be so callous. The image of his hand around the boy’s throat hours earlier forced its way into my mind. He could lose his temper in a flash. Perhaps he had lashed out at Vittorio and had unintentionally killed him. Perhaps it had happened before, with his wife. No, no, no, I was being ridiculous. This wasn’t a sensational murder mystery, this was real life. 

A cold lump of dread settled in my gut. What if I had just been an alibi for him all this time? A shield or some sort of distraction? I had questioned his interest in me, his eagerness to spend time with me after the briefest of meetings. Had he planned it? Strung me along to help deflect suspicion? I, as vulnerable and gullible as I was, had welcomed his attention, lapped it up like a starved cat licking at a bowl of cream, and played my part perfectly. I swayed and tugged at the buttons at the top of my shirt. 

Every look, every touch spiralled through my mind, tainted now with mockery and mortification. I had confided in him, wanting to be comforted and reassured. What a fool I had been. To swallow his deceit so willingly, silencing my misgivings and trusting him, believing he cared for me, when it was all just a ruse. 

My heart screamed beneath my ribs, blood roaring in my ears. I pulled the damp hair off my neck. It was too hot. The tiny kernel of fear that I’d harboured deep down ruptured, flinging out tendrils of anxiety and dread. What if he realised I knew the truth? What would he do? I spun around, thinking furiously. What should I do? I needed to leave, to get away before he returned. I needed to call Inspetorre Gianetti. 

A wave of dizziness crashed over my head, nausea curdling my stomach. I tried to swallow but my mouth was dry. Through the thumping in my ears, I heard the approach of a car. Gabriel! He was back already. I had to move, get away. Submerged in the overwhelming heat, I lurched, my vision swimming, and I crumpled unconscious to the ground.

 

A cool, wet weight on my forehead roused me. I blinked, my eyes slowly adjusting. The glare of the sun had gone, replaced by a shadowy grey. I pushed my head up. I was stretched out on a couch in the staff lounge of the institute. A fan whirred, blowing a light breeze over me. Elena perched on the edge of the couch, a washcloth in her hand.

“There you are,” she smiled. 

I licked my dry lips. 

“What happened?” I wheezed.

Light-headedness and nausea swirled around me and I settled back against the cushion propped beneath my head.

“You fainted, just as I arrived,” explained Elena. 

“Oh, how embarrassing,” I groaned.
“Here, drink this.”

Elena put a glass to my lips and tipped it. Cold, silky water trickled over my parched mouth and down my throat, refreshing coolness permeating through my body.

“Thank you,” I sighed. 

She scrutinised me shrewdly.
“When you eat last?”

It was hours ago. Gabriel and I were going to picnic on the cliffs before he had to dash off.
“Um, breakfast,” I grimaced.

Elena shook her head at me. She placed the glass beside me on the coffee table and stood.
“You lie here,” she said. “I’ll make you  tea and some food.”
“Oh, please,” I said hurriedly, though my stomach was squirming with hunger. “There’s no need.”

Elena thrust her hands on her hips and stared firmly down at me.
“Lady,” she said, a note of impatience in her voice. “You are going to faint again if you don’t eat and drink. This heat is no joke.”
I made no further objection and she disappeared into the small kitchen.

Drained and sleepy, I stared up at the panelled ceiling and tried to recall what I was thinking before I fainted. With the force of a tidal wave, it all flooded back. Even as I lay, my head spun. I shut my eyes tightly, in a vain hope to banish reality and quell the upsurging dread paralysing my thoughts. I needed to leave. Gabriel would be arriving soon. I needed to get home to Sofia and Luca. I’d be safe to call Inspetorre Gianetti there. I glanced around. My handbag was slung on a chair by the door. I tried to ease into a sitting position. A rush of giddiness slammed into me and I sank back. I sucked in a few deep breaths and then drank more water. One thing at a time, I told myself.

Elena returned with a prosciutto and mozzarella panino on a plate and a cup of tea. I wriggled up carefully and took the plate from her. Pain throbbed across my skull.

“Thank you so much, Elena.”

She waved off my thanks.

“Is there anything else you need?” she asked. “I have an appointment I need to leave for soon.”
“No, this is enough, thank you,” I smiled.
“Take it easy, OK?” she advised, concern in her eyes. “You don’t want to faint again.”

I nodded. She laid a hand on my shoulder.

“Ciao, cara.” 

She walked out and along the corridor. I heard her stop.

“You’re here.” 

I could not hear the reply.

“Your ferry journey last week,” she continued. “Did you want that listed as a work expense?”
An indistinct mumble replied.

“OK,” said Elena. “Well, see you tomorrow.”

A door clicked shut and silence settled like a blanket. Whoever Elena had spoken to must have left too. Relief soothed my nerves and I picked up my panino.

I ate slowly, taking small sips of the tea. With the satisfying feel of food in my belly, the dizziness gradually subsided. I tentatively swung my legs off the couch. Suddenly, the urge to use the bathroom became insistent. I stood shakily and tried to remember where the bathroom was. I wandered out into the corridor and looked left then right. That was it. The bathroom was through the lab at the rear of the building. 

The lab was empty. Black computer screens stared at me. The stillness was eerie. I thread through the desks and work benches and hurried to the door leading outside. Turning the lock, I swept through and into a wall of thick heat. I flinched but spied the door marked W.C. 

I emerged back into the heat and gathered my thoughts. I needed to call Sofia. My neck was already perspiring, the sweat dribbling down my back. A humming chest freezer stood along the wall sheltered from the sun by an overhang. Ice! Just the thing. I strode over to it and heaved up the lid, the seal protesting as it unstuck. A blast of freezing air hit me, a welcome respite if only brief. I gasped, released the lid and leapt back. The lid fell, thudding shut. I shook my head. No, no, no, I had to be mistaken. I was hallucinating surely. I had succumbed to heat stroke and was hallucinating. I stepped forward and gripped the lid again. My arm shook. I raised the lid and peered inside again. 

I clamped my hand over my mouth. There were no ice cubes in the freezer. No ice-cream, no food, no field samples, nothing. It was empty, save for the frozen man curled up inside, dead.