apparently. Do you want some?” she called out.
Cenni knew when Elena walked away that she wouldn’t discuss the matter further. It was now between him and Piero. He replied, “Yes, thanks. Water would be great, and now let’s talk about that document you found.”
If he’d ever doubted his reasons for preferring Elena to others in the Perugia Questura, the letter she’d found that five carabinieri had missed in their wild search of the murder house was an excellent reminder. In the hour that Elena had spent waiting for him, she’d searched the house, looking in all the places that had been searched before, and in one place that she knew women often hid secrets, their clothing. And she’d found Baudler’s secret, a single sheet of paper, hidden inside the lining of her winter jacket.
It was in Swedish, a language that Cenni did not know well, despite having a Swedish grandmother. It was written on what appeared to be letterhead paper, although the top of the letter had been partially torn off. There was no date to indicate when it had been typed. The small bit of engraving remaining on the top indicated that it had been sent from Skandinaviska Nordea Banken in Stockholm. It was signed by Jacob Lagerskjöld, a name that Cenni recognized immediately. The Lagerskjölds were distant cousins of his grandmother. There were two other references in the text that he also recognized: Banca Centrale Venezia and Count Molin. The Molin name was well known in Italy; the Countess Molin was one of the richest women in the country. He knew the letter was important, but he had no idea why. He stuck it in his wallet. His grandmother, his favorite person in the world and sharp as a tack at eighty-nine, would translate it. He had no idea how it might relate to Baudler’s murder; nonetheless, he was still sure it was the document that Dieter Reimann was seeking.
“They threw her clothes on top of the bed and some of them had slipped to the floor,” Elena explained. “I was hanging them back on their hangers when I felt this crinkle. I could see right away that the lining had been ripped and repaired. She even used a different color of thread, navy blue instead of black. I used my nail clippers to open the seam and my little sewing kit to stitch it back together. Only this time with black thread.”
“What else?”
“Well, if that’s not enough, take a look at her bank statements. In a credenza upstairs I found statements and bills going back twelve months. The first nine months, she was living way above her means. Her pension of seventeen hundred thirty-nine euros is deposited to her account once a month. That was the only deposit, yet her bills far exceed that amount. Then three months ago, there was a single deposit of ten thousand euros, and after that a deposit each month of three thousand euros, all transferred from the same account number. One month ago, another deposit was made of five thousand euros, but get this: the account number this time was different. Strange, don’t you think? That’s a pile of money for a good little fräulein. Maybe she was blackmailing someone.”
* * *
THEY SPENT THE remaining two hours searching the five floors of the murder house looking for additional evidence. Cenni agreed silently with Elena that the cara-binieri had trashed the place during their search. Dirty laundry, bed and table linens, bath towels, and Baudler’s clothes and shoes were tossed everywhere. Surprisingly, they had made just a cursory examination of Baudler’s papers, so her bank statements and receipts were still in the house. After putting on gloves, Cenni looked through the papers quickly before dumping them all into a plastic grocery bag that he’d found in the kitchen, while Elena kept up a running commentary on the shoddy work of the competition.
“It doesn’t really matter, Elena, since we’re doing a search now. Maybe the officer in charge resented our taking over and decided to leave the grunt work
Cenni knew when Elena walked away that she wouldn’t discuss the matter further. It was now between him and Piero. He replied, “Yes, thanks. Water would be great, and now let’s talk about that document you found.”
If he’d ever doubted his reasons for preferring Elena to others in the Perugia Questura, the letter she’d found that five carabinieri had missed in their wild search of the murder house was an excellent reminder. In the hour that Elena had spent waiting for him, she’d searched the house, looking in all the places that had been searched before, and in one place that she knew women often hid secrets, their clothing. And she’d found Baudler’s secret, a single sheet of paper, hidden inside the lining of her winter jacket.
It was in Swedish, a language that Cenni did not know well, despite having a Swedish grandmother. It was written on what appeared to be letterhead paper, although the top of the letter had been partially torn off. There was no date to indicate when it had been typed. The small bit of engraving remaining on the top indicated that it had been sent from Skandinaviska Nordea Banken in Stockholm. It was signed by Jacob Lagerskjöld, a name that Cenni recognized immediately. The Lagerskjölds were distant cousins of his grandmother. There were two other references in the text that he also recognized: Banca Centrale Venezia and Count Molin. The Molin name was well known in Italy; the Countess Molin was one of the richest women in the country. He knew the letter was important, but he had no idea why. He stuck it in his wallet. His grandmother, his favorite person in the world and sharp as a tack at eighty-nine, would translate it. He had no idea how it might relate to Baudler’s murder; nonetheless, he was still sure it was the document that Dieter Reimann was seeking.
“They threw her clothes on top of the bed and some of them had slipped to the floor,” Elena explained. “I was hanging them back on their hangers when I felt this crinkle. I could see right away that the lining had been ripped and repaired. She even used a different color of thread, navy blue instead of black. I used my nail clippers to open the seam and my little sewing kit to stitch it back together. Only this time with black thread.”
“What else?”
“Well, if that’s not enough, take a look at her bank statements. In a credenza upstairs I found statements and bills going back twelve months. The first nine months, she was living way above her means. Her pension of seventeen hundred thirty-nine euros is deposited to her account once a month. That was the only deposit, yet her bills far exceed that amount. Then three months ago, there was a single deposit of ten thousand euros, and after that a deposit each month of three thousand euros, all transferred from the same account number. One month ago, another deposit was made of five thousand euros, but get this: the account number this time was different. Strange, don’t you think? That’s a pile of money for a good little fräulein. Maybe she was blackmailing someone.”
* * *
THEY SPENT THE remaining two hours searching the five floors of the murder house looking for additional evidence. Cenni agreed silently with Elena that the cara-binieri had trashed the place during their search. Dirty laundry, bed and table linens, bath towels, and Baudler’s clothes and shoes were tossed everywhere. Surprisingly, they had made just a cursory examination of Baudler’s papers, so her bank statements and receipts were still in the house. After putting on gloves, Cenni looked through the papers quickly before dumping them all into a plastic grocery bag that he’d found in the kitchen, while Elena kept up a running commentary on the shoddy work of the competition.
“It doesn’t really matter, Elena, since we’re doing a search now. Maybe the officer in charge resented our taking over and decided to leave the grunt work
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