Chapter 2

2

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON

It took a bit longer than expected to fight my way out of the Florentine traffic, made worse by flotillas of campervans and tourist vehicles from all over Europe. Florence in the summer months becomes overrun with visitors from around the globe and I had already discovered that even just walking from my office to the station could be a real challenge. However, by now I knew a few shortcuts to avoid the worst of the traffic jams and we arrived in Lucca as church bells were chiming five o'clock. A Spanish-registered Mercedes reversed out of a parking space just as we came along and I was able to park barely a hundred metres from the Porta San Pietro, one of the half-dozen gates through the massive red brick and stone defensive walls that surround the old town.

Although not as well known today as Florence to the east or Pisa to the west, Lucca is a real gem. The old town had its origins in pre-Roman times, and during the medieval and Renaissance period, the city was one of the most powerful and one of the wealthiest in Italy, if not the whole of Europe. Because of the rich variety of historic buildings within the walls, the city has quite rightly been named a major player in Italy's artistic and cultural heritage. The last time I had been here had been with Anna, and having my own Renaissance expert to point out places of historic interest had been fascinating.

But today, I wasn't a tourist.

I asked Diana to lead me to the school where her sister had been working, after which we would try visiting Heather's home address. We walked past the entrance to the Piazza Grande where a huge stage with batteries of lighting and sound equipment had been erected for the festival events. The square itself was filled with rows of seats, and technicians were working on stage getting things ready for Robbie Williams, who would be performing this evening. Lucca Festival attracts big-name acts.

The school occupied the first floor of a building in the centro storico , within the defensive walls, set a short distance from the main historical sights. As Diana had already discovered that morning, the place looked closed, and pressing the bell marked Lucca English Centre on the intercom by the door to the street brought no response. Unperturbed, I started pressing all of the other bells one by one until I got a response. There was a crackling sound and then a voice answered.

‘Chi è?' It was a male voice and it sounded as though it didn't belong to a young man.

I switched to Italian. ‘I'm sorry to bother you but I'm trying to speak to somebody from the English language school and there's no reply from them. I don't suppose you know how we could get in touch, do you?'

‘They're closed for the summer. If it's like last year, they won't open again until the end of August.'

‘Is there a caretaker here who might have a contact phone number?'

I heard the man give a little snort of derision. ‘There is, but he's on holiday as well. He and his family have gone back to Romania for a month. Try the top-floor apartment. One of the teachers has been living there, but I'm not sure if he's still around now.'

I thanked the man and checked the top button on the intercom. It was marked Smith . This looked hopeful so I pressed it and waited. About ten seconds later, I was delighted to hear a buzzing sound and the front door clicked open. I turned to Diana.

‘Let's go up and see what Mr Smith has to say.'

There was no lift in the old building and we had to climb four flights of stairs. Needless to say, Oscar got to the top before we did. There were two doors on the landing and the right-hand bell push was marked Smith . I pressed it and thirty seconds later, the door was opened by a lanky man, probably in his early forties, with a ponytail. He was barefoot and wearing the baggiest pair of shorts I had ever seen, accompanied by a scruffy, black T-shirt marked Lucca Summer Festival 2018 .

‘Mr Smith?'

‘Yes… sì .' He sounded a bit vague.

I introduced Diana and outlined why we were here. In view of his surname, I spoke English and it was clear that he understood. He nodded a few times and replied, still sounding very woolly.

‘What day is it today?' He spoke with just the vaguest hint of a Northern Irish accent – presumably, he had been living over here for some considerable time and his original accent had mellowed as a result.

‘Wednesday.'

‘Wednesday… I see.' There was a pause long enough for Diana and me to exchange sceptical looks before the man continued. ‘And you're looking for Heather, you say?'

‘That's right. There's been no word from her for over a month now and her family are getting worried. Have you any idea might have happened to her?'

The man ran his hands across his face, clearly doing his best to stimulate his brain. As he did so, Oscar started sneezing and I recognised the familiar smell percolating through the door behind the man. I've had enough experience over my years in the Metropolitan Police to recognise the unmistakable smell of cannabis. This explained this guy's clueless state. I was no longer on the force, so how he spent his free time was nothing to do with me, but I needed information so I did my best to walk him through my dilemma.

‘One of your neighbours downstairs said that you work as a teacher at the school. Is that right?'

‘Yes, sort of. I don't teach much these days. I'm the director of studies.'

‘And you know Heather well?'

There was still a distant air about him, but he did at least nod immediately. ‘Yes, she's been working here for a couple of years now.'

‘Has she been in to work recently?'

He managed to shake some sense out of his befuddled brain. ‘We close down over the months of July and August. I haven't seen her for a couple of weeks.'

‘But she was here then?' I glanced at Diana. At least it would appear that Heather hadn't been missing for six weeks after all.

He nodded slowly. ‘Right till the end of June. She didn't miss any lessons. She's always been pretty reliable, but, like I say, the school's closed now. I imagine she's gone on holiday.'

‘Have you any idea where she might have gone? Do you think she might have stayed here or gone off somewhere?'

He shrugged. ‘I've no idea, I'm afraid.'

‘Is there anybody who might know? A boyfriend maybe?'

‘Not that I know of, but we have half a dozen teachers and I'm not too clued up about their private lives.' From the look of him, he probably wasn't too clued up about anything right now.

‘What about any of the other teachers? Would any of them know?'

There was a brief pause. ‘You could try Rose.'

‘Rose?'

‘Rose Alighieri, she's one of the teachers.'

‘And how do I contact her?'

It was like getting blood out of a stone, but I finally managed to get the phone number of this other teacher and confirmation that Mr Smith hadn't got a clue what might have happened to Heather. In fairness, from the state of him, he probably couldn't remember what he had had for breakfast, and it was painfully obvious that I wasn't going to get much more information here. I thanked him and, before leaving, gave him a little bit of advice.

‘We may have to report Heather's disappearance to the police, so you might be getting a visit from a police officer some time soon. It might be a good idea to open your windows and let some fresh air in.'

A look of concern now flooded across his face and he hastily retired into his flat. Diana and I went back downstairs again and headed for a shady spot on the other side of the stone-paved street. I turned towards her.

‘That's encouraging, isn't it? At least she was here and working only two weeks ago.'

‘Yes, indeed.' Diana was sounding less concerned – and to be honest, she hadn't sounded that concerned in the first place. ‘What now?'

‘Do you know your way from here to Heather's apartment? Why don't we go there first and I'll see if I can speak to the landlord, her flatmates or a neighbour and then, if we draw a blank, we can try phoning this other teacher.'

Our walk to Heather's apartment didn't take long. This was barely ten minutes on foot from the school, just on the other side of the historic Piazza dell'Anfiteatro, originally the site of a two-thousand-year-old Roman amphitheatre. It came as a surprise to see that the apartment was located in a block of four apartments created in a beautifully restored Renaissance building with a videophone entry system. It looked as though considerable money had been spent on renovating the ancient structure and I found myself wondering how a humble EFL teacher could afford to live in such luxurious surroundings.

I pressed the bell marked H. Greensleeves , interested to see that this probably meant that she wasn't sharing with other people. I glanced sideways at her well-turned-out sister in her smart suit, beginning to think that maybe the Greensleeves family were wealthy and subsidising Heather's teaching salary. Alternatively, maybe Heather had a second job. I waited ten seconds and then pressed the bell again, harder. After a wait of half a minute, it became quite clear that there was nobody home.

I checked out the other three bells and saw that only two of them had names alongside the buttons: Schaffhausen and Chieti. I tried pressing all three bells, including the anonymous one, but there was no response from any of them. Finally, I turned and looked around, searching for any signs of life in this quiet side street. Apart from a handful of tourists in shorts and T-shirts walking along, hugging the shade, there was just one open doorway, diagonally opposite, so I crossed the road and tapped on the door. Seconds later, an elderly woman appeared, carrying an old-fashioned witch's broomstick. She looked down suspiciously towards Oscar.

‘Please don't let your dog pee on my doorstep. I've only just finished cleaning up.'

Oscar looked mildly offended and I answered for him. ‘I promise he's on his best behaviour. I was just wondering if you could tell me anything about the house on the other side of the road.'

‘What sort of thing?' She was probably well into her eighties but her eyes were bright and she looked alert. I had a feeling nothing much escaped this lady.

‘I'm looking for an Englishwoman who lives in one of the flats. This is her sister but I'm afraid she doesn't speak Italian.'

A distinct look of disapproval appeared on the old lady's face. ‘That would be the blonde girl with the short skirts.'

Diana had brown hair but, of course, that proved nothing. Still, I checked with her. ‘Does Heather have blonde hair?'

She nodded. ‘Almost certainly. It changes every now and then, but she's tended to be more blonde than anything else over the last year or two.' She gave me a little smile. ‘She says Italian men like blondes.'

‘And does she like Italian men?'

Diana shrugged. ‘She likes all men… and they like her.'

I could see the old lady attentively following our conversation and I wondered how much she had understood, so I turned back to her and gave her an apologetic look. ‘Sorry, I was just checking to see if the woman we're looking for is indeed blonde.'

The old lady smiled. ‘That sounds like her and I definitely get the impression she likes the men.'

‘You speak English?'

‘I don't speak it much these days as I don't have the opportunity. I worked in the Grand Hotel for thirty-seven years and the lingua franca for most of our guests was English so I picked up a good bit. What's the problem? Has something happened to the girl?'

‘That's what we're trying to find out. I don't suppose you know where she might have gone? Have you seen her recently?'

She paused for a few moments' reflection. ‘Not for a few days. I think the last time I saw her was, let me think, Friday night. Yes, last Friday night. She and one of her paramours came home at two o'clock in the morning and woke me up. I looked out of the window and saw them canoodling in the street before going indoors. She can be quite inconsiderate sometimes, although she's pleasant enough if you meet her and chat to her in the street.'

I relayed the information to Diana that her sister had been seen as recently as just five days ago and I saw her nod a couple of times.

‘I told Mum and Dad not to worry. Anyway, that's very good news.'

I checked with the observant neighbour but she was unable to offer any suggestions about where Heather might have gone except for repeating what the director of studies had said. ‘She's probably gone off for a few days' holiday. It gets so manic here during festival time, I don't blame her.'

Diana and I thanked her for her help and set off along the street until we came to a gelateria with tables outside in the shade. We sat down and both ordered mineral water and ice creams and I put in a plea for some water for Oscar as well. After the waiter had gone off, I turned towards Diana.

‘What do you think? That all sounded very positive. Do you think your mum and dad will still be worried after they've heard this?'

She shook her head. ‘As far as I'm concerned, this means everything's okay and I'm sure Mum and Dad will agree. It sounds as if Heather's got a boyfriend – and that comes as no surprise, knowing her – so I bet they've just gone off somewhere together and she couldn't be bothered to tell any of us. I certainly don't think we need to involve the police now, do we?'

‘I think I'll just give this Rose woman a call. You never know, Heather may have said something to her about where she was going.'

I waited until the waiter had brought me a mixture of peach, apricot and vanilla ice cream and what had been described on the menu as a ‘Chocolate Mountain' for Diana. This was a pyramid of white and dark chocolate ice cream liberally smothered in Chantilly cream. I caught her eye and grinned. ‘That should keep you out of trouble for a while.'

She grinned back and that grin was repeated by Oscar when he saw that the waiter had very kindly brought him, not only a bowl of cool water, but also a handful of those fan-shaped biscuits you find on an ice-cream sundae. Needless to say, these were consumed before we even had time to pick up our spoons. Oscar likes his food but he doesn't exactly linger over it and savour it.

The ice cream was predictably excellent and from the speed with which Diana started devouring hers – not quite in the same league as Oscar but pretty fast all the same – it looked as though she shared my opinion. After a few delicious mouthfuls, I picked up my phone and called Heather's fellow teacher. It was answered almost immediately.

‘Pronto.'

I spoke to her in English. ‘Is that Rose Alighieri?'

‘Yes, who's speaking?' In spite of her surname, she sounded distinctly Scottish.

‘Sorry to disturb you, my name's Dan Armstrong. I'm here in Lucca with Diana Greensleeves, Heather's sister, and we're looking for her. Mr Smith at the English school gave us your number. We were wondering if you might know where she's gone.'

After a momentary pause for thought, Rose answered. ‘She's on holiday. She told me last week she was going off on a cruise, but I'm not sure where.'

‘Thanks for that. We wondered if she'd maybe gone off on holiday. Any idea if she's on her own?'

I heard a little laugh. ‘Knowing Heather, I think the answer to that one is almost certainly no. You can be sure she's gone off with one of her men and I bet I know which one.'

‘And he might be…?'

‘Mario, or maybe it's Mauro, I forget. He's the one with the Ferrari and the yacht. I bet she's with him.'

‘A Ferrari and a yacht? Who is this guy: a professional football player?'

‘Search me. I didn't know there were such rich men here in Lucca. Me, I ended up with a pharmacist as a husband.'

I tried pushing her to discover the surname or address of Heather's holiday companion but it became clear that Heather's love life consisted of a panoply of men and Rose was unable to produce any more details. As for the cruise, she had no idea except that it was almost certainly here in local waters. I heard a little child begin to cry in the background and hastily thanked Rose for her help and rang off. I recounted what she had said and Diana gave me a long-suffering look.

‘That's our Heather! I would have laid money on her having gone off somewhere with some random man – mind you, a Ferrari and a yacht is a bit OTT even for her.' Before resuming her ice cream, she confirmed that she was feeling the same way as I was. ‘I think on the basis of what we've heard, we can take it that Heather's alive and well, don't you?'

I nodded in agreement. ‘Definitely, and I certainly don't think there's any need to involve the police.'

She picked up her spoon again. ‘Thank you for all your help. I'm sorry to have troubled you. I told Mum and Dad they were worrying about nothing, but they insisted.'

‘No problem. I'll give you my phone number just in case you need me, but I think you should be able to relax now.' It occurred to me that this had to be one of the easiest cases I'd ever handled. Presumably, Heather Greensleeves was away sunning herself with her well-heeled boyfriend and this was the last I would hear of her. As for her sister, she had at least had a few hours in a beautiful city. ‘What are your plans? Are you staying on to see Bob Dylan on Friday?'

She shuddered. ‘Not if you paid me. I sing better in the bath than he does. Besides, I'm flying home tomorrow.' She shot me an enquiring look. ‘Are you going to the concert?' Seeing me nod, she asked the obvious question. ‘Are you a Dylan fan?'

I gave her a wink. ‘I'll know better after I've seen him.'