5 Tartuffo, tartuffo, tartuffo. Repeating it over again and again did nothing to unknot the mystery of the word. Luca was convinced that it held the key to this mysterious death. He decided to flick through the files on Alex's computer. This data crunching was donkey work really but Luca was determined to try to get some kind of lead before he made his end of day report to the Boss. No doubt some junior would be able to track it down eventually but Luca was desperate for something now. He input Tartuffo into the search box but after five minutes of the cartoon dog digging, nothing appeared. 'Porca miseria', Luca swore under his breath. It was at moments like this that he missed smoking. He had given up the day that Sofia announced that she was pregnant and so he saw it as a contract made to both her and Agatha together; and that would never be broken. He began to chew his nails instead.       He decided to scroll through Alex's labyrinthine system of folders and files on the computer. For somebody who was so untidy and allegedly allergic to offices, Alex had been a lot more organised in his filing that someone like Luca who sent all his paperwork to his secretary Maria just as he, as an adolescent, had bundled over his laundry to his mother. For instance, there was a file marked 'Johnny' which appeared at the top of the Recently Opened File list. This contained the personal details of one Johnny Watt who turned out to be Alex's godson. His birth date, school records, accomplishments, exam results, interests and various addresses and telephone numbers were all in the file together with a photo album attached. Luca felt ashamed that he barely knew the birthdays of his very closest family and as for other people's children, he had no idea or interest in their achievements and pursuits. He left all that to Sofia; Alex, it seemed, had no such partner, only himself. Luca felt momentarily shameful like a snooper caught going through a stranger's linen basket. Then he reminded himself it was his job- to snoop, delve and ferret in order to reach the Truth so that Justice could be done; ignoble means to surely the most noble of ends. And anyway, the team of juniors coming over later would be the ones who would literally be up to there armpits in dirty laundry searching for any further clues. Luca closed that particular file and the beetroot-cheeked youth with the highland cattle fringe disappeared.       The next file was labeled' Recipes' and indeed contained just that. Dozens of local dishes carefully split into there component parts followed by clear, concise instructions. Some of them looked rather good; he licked his lips at the fennel and potato tart and the minced duck pasta sauce with juniper and orange. He flicked on further and was aware that recipes containing tartuffo were conspicuous by their absence. He found a number of blank cds in one of the desk drawers, inserted it into the disk drive and copied the file. The next folder was marked 'Parish Pump' and contained files with titles like Objectives, Breakdowns, Backing and Articles. It looked like some boring charitable work Alex must have been doing for the local church so Luca did not bother to open any of the files. Instead his attention was caught by the folder named Alex in Blunderland (?).       Intrigued, he opened it and saw that there were about a dozen files with titles like Merchant Ivory, Busybody and Fryflee. These were Alex's nicknames for his local expat friends. He opened the Busybody file. On the left of the screen was a series of questions and answers; on the right was the scan of a pen and ink caricature of a walrus in a blazer accompanied by the grotesque Queen of Hearts. Both were in the Lewis Carrol book Luca had read to Agatha earlier that year.       Luca read the questions and answers and chuckled to himself. Under the title of Don and Bella Busybody was a heading marked Contact Details which included their correct address, email address, land line and mobile telephone numbers. Luca then flicked back to the index and took down the telephone details of the Fryflees and the Merchant Ivorys with the purpose of calling them there and then.       After six bleats the Fryflees phone was answered with a drawling 'Pronto?' Luca was always surprised the way the English, that very definite and of races, should answer their phones with a question, 'Hello?' or 'Yes?'. Even when they stated the number of the exchange followed by their number there was always a querying air to it. Or maybe it was just the owners of Bed and Breakfasts who did this? Italians answered their phones with a statement- I'm ready. Luca patriotically believed that the Italian etiquette, in this particular matter, was absolutely correct. He thought it rather boorish and uncouth to begin a conversation with a question.       'Hello this is Inspettore Carducci. May I speak to Mr Rupert Fry Leigh?'       'Speaking. Inspettore, you say? How can I help?'       Already with the questions, thought Luca. ' I understand that you were an associate of the late Alex Pullenyov?'       'A friend, yes. Not a business associate, no. A friend. Late, you say? So he is dead, then? We'd heard something... Dead?' His clipped voice sounded almost germanic to Luca's ears and immediately made him suspicious that there were some cold blooded teutonic goings-on afoot.       'Murdered. We believe.' He let this dangle enticingly then continued.' We are following up a number of leads. Will you and your wife make yourselves available for an interview at your home tomorrow at nine am? We are keen to trace the victim's last movements.'       'Would you like directions, inspettore?'       'There is absolutely no need for that. We have  a great deal of information about the suspects already.'       'Suspects? But we haven't seen Alex since dinner here on Tuesday. Yesterday he sent a thank you text and that's the last... Camilla, darling, it's the police. Alex is dead. He's been murdered. Yes, I know. Oh my God!' Before Fry Leigh could continue his conversation with his wife, Luca butted in. 'So tomorrow at nine. The pair of you.'       'Murdered...' Fry Leigh continued to bleat weakly.'Oh my God, poor old Alex.'       With the aim of catching him off balance further, Luca interjected.'Mr Fry Leigh, does the word Tartuffo mean anything to you?'       The voice at the other end faltered.'Er , no. I'm afraid not. Was he poisoned by a truffle like that Russian was in that sushi bar in London?'       Wrong footed himself now, Luca replied, 'Absolutely not. Until tomorrow, good day.' but now again his mind began to whirr to sound of Russians and conspiracies.       After he rang off, Luca patted the labrador's head and mused about Fry Leigh's genuine shock at the news but also about the Russian thread that wove it's way through this matter. He rang the Merchant Ivorys and left a message on their answer machine that he would interview them at their house at ten the following morning and that they should call his mobile to confirm. The female voice on the machine spoke a clear but slightly dated Italian from the fifties. It was a round, soft, cheery friendly voice, plump one could almost say. It made Luca feel a little nostalgic and looking around the study walls at the victim's life made him feel it the more so. He went into the kitchen to seek out tea and maybe even a biscuit. The milk was still freshish and the teabags were imported. They were not the useless drawstring efforts fobbed off onto the Italian public but proper pyramid shaped teabags that allowed the flavour to flow out naturally rather than being squeezed out like some torture. He had no luck finding any biscuits, though.       As the kettle boiled away on the hob, Luca tried to draw together the disparate leads that he had and to try and find a common link. There was this Golden Pentagon thing that Ugo had told him about - that sounded very Masonic. Maybe it was the Masons trying to corner the property market and turn it into yet another of their shadowy monopolies? They were into ritualistic murders. His mind went back to the Italian banker found hanging under a London bridge, his pockets filled with bricks. Then there was Burberry; was he involved in this with his Con Club, was that an ex pat Masonic Lodge? And then the Russians, wherever he turned there was their stink in his nostrils. Once he had found that link the whole thing would thread together link a string of pearls, surely?       His head ached so much from these diverse theories that at first he did not register the fact that Alex's telephone was ringing as it coincided with the kettle whistling. He grabbed the kettle off the flame and shook his hand at the fierce heat. He stumbled about in the direction of the trilling, still waving his hand about in an attempt to cool the burn. The noise emanated from the a blinking base-set on the desk in the study but the hand-set was elsewhere. Luca stood stock still, held his breath, squinted his eyes in concentration and tried to locate the secondary, muffled chirp of the receiver. He suddenly located the roamer-set down the side of one of the sofas. However, his struggle had rendered him speechless. He answered the call with an almost animal grunt, 'Huh!'       'Al,' A husky, almost breathless voice intoned in Italian.' I'm two minutes away and I'm not wearing any...'       'Pronto!' Interjected Luca with his finest rolling r. 'This is Inspettore Luca Carducci of the Macerata police. Who is this this?'       The breathless purr changed into an imperious growl.'Inspettore, this is the Contessa Elena del Moro. I wish to speak to Prince Alexis Pullenyov. Be so good as to pass me over. Please.'       'I cannot. But I shall explain everything once you arrive.' He checked his watch.' Which will be in about one minute's time, I calculate.'       'I am approaching the house now. What's that carabiniere doing there. What's going on?' The call snapped to an end.       He was first aware of her presence as he replaced the phone into its cradle. He actually felt his pupil's dilate at the subtle yet intoxicating aroma that had entered the sitting room behind him. By the time he had spun around, she had already stalked lithely into the middle of the room. She was of medium height with a slender, though exactly proportioned frame, that would have would have been the envy of any supermodel if it had stretched a few inches taller. As it was, her narrow shoulders extenuated her curved body. Her legs appeared  to have carved by an artist and were the colour of firm chestnut honey; they had a natural spring that did not have the hardness earned at the gym. She wore a little black dress, a padded matador jacket from Chanel and a pair of glossy black heals. Her skin glowed with fresh vitality and tasteful gold jewelry. Her black hair was softened by delicate strokes of brown and atop sat a pair of Gucci sunglasses like a black tiara. The luscious wings of hair framed her face. And what a face, thought Luca. It struck him as the cruelest and yet most disarming face that he had ever seen. She had classic Italian colouring with dark, arched eyebrows and tanned olive skin. Her huge almond eyes were not just deep brown but actually black and appeared to glow at him in anger. Beneath, her nose was more Greek in style though Cleopatra would have claimed it as being Egyptian. This exotic creature slunk around the room like a panther. Luca was speechless as if he had fallen into a cage at a zoo.       She threw her oversized clack Tods bag on the chesterfield nearer the fireplace. Luca calculated that she was in her mid thirties: a vision of Via Condotti in rural Le Marche. She offered an elegantly tapered hand towards Luca who shook it lightly and muttered,'Piacere. Inspettore Carducci.'       'La Contessa del Moro.' She breathed.       In his state of enthrallment, Luca completely forgot police procedure and automatically asked the question he normally asked such a conspicuously beautiful woman, ‘May I get you a drink?'       'That would be nice. Alex usually keeps a bottle of vodka in the freezer.'       Russians!! Luca's mind screamed.                 The vodka glooped out into the two clean glasses that Luca had found and when he returned, he found that the contessa had sat herself down on the sofa. He gave her a glass, raised his in salute and sat down in the wingback chair. Luca was happy just to sit there and enjoy this vision until the contessa raised an eyebrow and asked,' So what exactly is this all about, inspettore? Where is Alex? What has happened? He hasn't answered his phone and his mobile has been out of action all day. This is totally unlike Alex. What's happened? Has he been arrested or something?'       'At this point all I can say is that he has been involved in an accident.' He lied. ' A fatal accident, I'm afraid.'       Her bottom lip dropped as she released a sighed breath. She emptied the glass and Luca noticed that her lips left no mark; he wondered at their lustre.       'Mio Dio!' She exhaled and stared ahead and then to her right through the doorway to the wall beyond and the black and white portrait of Alex in uniform.' Oh Alex.' She sighed.        Luca paused in wonder at her beauty. 'Could you please describe your relationship with the deceased?' He asked as softly as he could.        She turned, affronted. Her eyes blazed . Then, in an instant her sculpted nostrils lost their flare and her eyes returned to smoldering. She crossed her legs, placed her hands into her lap and leant forwards everso slightly. Luca involuntarily leant forwards too, as if magnetised. The glimpse of her firm, warm thighs conjured an involuntary priaptic surge from him. He tried to rein it in by frowning in concentration, but to no avail.       'Alex and I have a business relationship. I am a business woman. I offer the very best property search service in Central Italy. This is no vain boast. Property wise, I put this region on the map and I have a portfolio of the very finest houses in the area for the most discerning clients. My clients expect a bespoke service and receive only the very best with integrity and discretion guaranteed. There are a surprising number of very rich people who prefer to have their rural Italian retreat here in Le Marche rather than in more established areas such as Tuscany and Umbria. My clients are mostly from abroad and Alex was extremely good at finding English speaking clients as well as separating the wheat from the chaff  before I began to deal with them.       ' Good taste is not just an Italian preserve. Alex was excellent at sourcing and handling English clients and knew their idiosyncrasies perfectly as he was not just an English gentleman but also a Russian Prince. He had excellent contacts in Britain. He had a background in the Art world as well as London estate agency. He knew a lot of people and was well connected with the people that matter. At the same time, Alex was very much my eyes and ears with the local farmers and would often know about a farmer's intention to sell even before the wife did. I suppose you could say that he was the backroom boy and I was front of house.'       Luca nodded and drained his glass and spluttered a little as a result. The contessa arched an eyebrow and smirked almost invisibly. As the alcohol coursed through his veins, Luca was seized by a fit of madness,' You were lovers, also.' He stated levelly whilst at the same time asking himself what the hell he thought he was saying.       She pursed her lips. Her coal coloured eyes at first glared in repulse then opened and seemed to draw him in with the power of a black ebbing tide. Luca heard himself swallow as he felt himself being drawn into the current of those eyes. He heard her ask, ‘Would you be very kind and get me another drink, please?' Like an automaton he reached out and took her proffered glass and in something of a crouch as if a large cat clung to his lap, disappeared behind the sofa towards the kitchen.        Upon receiving her refill, the contessa swirled it around and took a sip.       'Inspettore, you realise that this is a very improper and impertinent question to ask a woman, a lady, a mother, a widow?'       Luca was so beguiled by this exotic creature that he could not work out whether this was a remonstrance or perhaps she really rather liked a bit of impropriety and impertinence if and when it suited her. She mistook his confused silence for stone-walling.       'Very well, I will confide in you but only on the understanding that this is between us alone and will not become the subject of police prattle in the locker room. It is not only your mother who has influence and mine is national as well as regional. Do you understand?'       Luca nodded. She recrossed her legs and her skirt climbed slightly further up her well-sprung thigh. Luca placed his fingers together like a steeple so that she did not see him gulping again. He adopted what he considered a professorial countenance and gently gestured for the contessa to continue as perhaps a pope would to a confessional prince. This appearance of calm wisdom masked the commotion in the front of his trousers; he could not get out of his head what she had breathed down the phone.       ' I first met Alex about seven years ago in a professional capacity. I had been widowed some three years by then and through hard work and skill I had overcome the archaic misogyny around here and managed to build a successful estate agency. The necessity to provide for my son, the Count Tommaso, drove me to make a success monetarily. Personally also, it is extremely satisfying to prove so many people wrong and to succeed at something that one has natural flair for. That it flies in the face of some fuddy duddies' concepts of what a woman, widow or not, should do, provides me with a great deal of satisfaction.       'When I married my husband, Count Tancredo, I was young and niave and believed that I would always be provided for. My husband was quite a bit older than me and his sudden death a decade ago shocked me out of this fantasy, though. Due to his mismanagement, our son and I were left to fend for ourselves and even battle to keep the roof over our heads. I could have remarried, of course; there were plenty of offers, there still are, I can tell you. However, I am an independent woman and my husband's death lit in me a burning desire never to be anybody's property again.       'I have gained, or should I say, I enjoy something of a reputation around here and I'm seen as unapproachable which suits me fine as I abhor timewasters and phones. Now Alex was astute to notice that at that time my business was slowing down due to the drying up of suitable clients. Alex approached me with a proposal which involved him sifting his huge client base in Britain and beyond for potential clients. He would also filter out tourists who take fantasy holiday househunting holidays. In return, Alex would receive a modest commission from any resulting sale. I was impressed but didn't let on that I was. You should never let anyone as goodlooking as Alex know that you're impressed. Vanity is a curse as well as a vice, wouldn't you say, inspettore?' Luca nodded trying to look sage  and crossing his legs at the same time.       'When he offered me a spin in his car I was sure he was going to try and jump me like some yuppy playboy passed his sell by date. But he didn't and I was further impressed but again didn't let on. He has a wonderfully ironic sense of humour; he was terribly funny about his car. Where is it by the way?'       'I can't answer that just yet. Please continue.'       The contessa leant forward again, her hemline rose and Luca also caught a glimpse of firm mocha cleavage. From her bag she removed a gold case, slid out a cigarette with her fine fingers and held it up to just out of reach of her parted lips. Her gaze traveled from the cigarette tip, to Luca's eyes to the lighter on the arm of his chair. As her eyes sparkled, Luca became aware of a bulging sensation and dropped his hands to his lap. He, too, leant forwards in order to get up to light her cigarette. However, the now visible force in his baggy trousers meant he had to abort the movement halfway up. Instead, he fumbled a throw and the lighter bounced sharply off  the contessa's elbow and onto the sofa beside her. She raised a disparaging eyebrow and lit the cigarette herself.       'Quite the gentleman, aren't we?' As she exhaled, she crossed her legs again and Luca was forced to cross his, lean forward and cross his arms in his lap. He coughed out an apology.       'It was only in the last couple of years that we became intimate. Love blossomed between us. And before you say anything it was not some jumped up office romance. Our relationship is very discreet; nobody knows about it. One could say it is a secret but that makes it sound as if we were doing something wrong. We are discreet. My son does not know that our friendship has developed into this relationship and I would not want his feelings hurt in this matter. Tommaso is the most important thing in the world to me and Alex is something of a favourite uncle to him. Taught him to shoot, ski and ride. They built a toboggan together last winter. We are engaged to be married and intend to marry once Tommaso reaches sixteen next year. Intended... He's at Radley, you know. Alex pulled some strings to get him into his old school. A boy needs a father as well a mother, wouldn't you agree?'       These avuncular images managed to calm the commotion in Luca's trousers. Her gaze drew him towards her and he obeyed and sat next to her on the sofa. He looked into her black eyes; blacker than any he had ever seen. Black like ink even down to that dark blue shade that it shares with the feather of a raven. Those eyes compelled him to take a hold of her delicate hand in his.       'I have something to confess, Contessa.' Her eyes shot skywards and then returned to engulf his gaze.' I'm afraid it looks like Alex's death was no accident. It looks like murder.'        Her huge eyes helplessly filled with tears and Luca himself was almost moved to weeping at the sheer beauty of the sight.       'Who would want to kill him? Look at him, he's lovely. He wouldn't hurt anyone.'       Luca wondered that himself, what had Alex gone and got himself involved in when he had so much going for him. These ruminations came to a sudden end when he became aware of something more powerful. It was the aroma emanating from her sobbing bosom. Madonna, she smelt delicious, a kind of spicy scent that almost made him drool. He pulled himself together and determined to prove his chivalry; he flourished the silk handkerchief kept in his breast pocket and dabbed at a tear. She took the silk and patted away a drop that had begun to run down her high cheek. Again she sobbed and this time he felt the warmth of the air on which the scent wafted from within her firm, full cleavage. The thunderbolt thudded between his legs again. He adjusted his position and was accidentally awarded a glimpse of black lace clinging to her heaving breasts.       Porca Madonna! What was the matter with him? He was a happily married man, a father. This woman had just lost her fidanzante, the man who would take care of her fatherless son. As he comforted her by stroking her back, he looked out of the window towards the mountains which were being caressed by the late afternoon son. The contessa's head leant forward and her whole body quaked with sobs. How could this beautiful, vulnerable creature be cast as a Black Widow? It just showed what these small-minded locals knew and how petty they were to be intimidated by a working mother who only wanted the best for her young son. What did a pair of silly little checce like Ugo and Sam know about women anyway? They were just a pair of bitchy old queens jealous of her business acumen. She was worthy of admiration, sympathy, service...Luca became entranced by her elegant long fingers and remembered where he had seen them before; they were just like the finely tapered ones on the Madonna by Crivelli in the Macerata Gallery. There was definitely something other-worldly about her that made him feel outside himself.       She pressed the damp silk into his hand, 'No, please take it.' He beheld it like a sacred relic. The blotches, which to Luca even seemed beautiful, melted from her cheeks. He paused and then continued. "I don't know how to say this, but as his fiancée you have a right to know. We believe that Alex was executed.'       Any vestiges of sorrow were reined in by rage.       'Executed?' A black fury appeared in her eyes.       'Yes, in the style of the Russian mafia. I don't know whether you have seen a recent film starring Harvey Keitel...?' Luca floundered but was mercifully cut off as the contessa growled 'Russians? Alex didn't have any dealings with Russians. His family have not had any contact with Russia for over nine decades. Alex was thoroughly British and in fact was going to anglicise him name  to Pullen when we got married  and drop the title completely. He is an Englishman. Was.' She paused.        Luca grimaced as he waded on. ' You are not aware of any business he did with Russians?' Luca swallowed and went for it. 'Drugs? illegals? guns?'        She looked straight into his eyes. 'No absolutely not. I am certain. Alex would never get into anything as filthy as that.' She said venomously.' Alex was a wonderful, kind, honorable man. Both Tommaso and I would have felt blessed to have had him in our lives for evermore. Now all we have are memories. Find the evil people who took my love away. For me and my son.'       Luca felt a complete heal.       She placed a soft kiss on Luca's cheek which blushed with a chivalric pride and in the bashfulness of a schoolboy tousled by a goddess. In his confusion, he bowed his head in salute. They exchanged cards. She looked at her Cartier Delphine.' Now, I'm afraid I have to tell this news to poor Tommaso. It'll break his heart, too. Please call me with any further developments.'       She turned and with feline stealth made her way towards the hall.       'Contessa, one final thing. Does the word Tartuffo mean anything to you?'       She looked over her shoulder, askance, 'In connection with Alex; no. Except he couldn't stand them, truffles. Just couldn't abide them, made him physically sick. Goodbye, Inspettore and please remember what I've said.'        She turned and raise a hand in farewell. From the window Luca followed her progress to her black Porche Cayenne. He noticed she had her phone to her ear. She snapped it shut as she opened the car door. Luca rushed downstairs and shook the mesmerised caribiniere as the car disappeared up the track.       'You didn't hear what she said, did you?'       'What?' Replied the slack-jawed officer.       'What did she say on the phone? It could be important.'       'Er. Oh. Yes. 'They've murdered Alex'.'       'Are you sure? '       'Yes. ‘They’ve murdered Alex.' Nothing else.' ,answered the man as in from inside a dream.       They both stood and watched the plume zigzag up towards the village until the car reached the tarmac road. The dust cloud was momentarily turned blood red by the brake lights then melted into nothingness.