LITMIR.BIZ

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who had it in for celebrities. Then I calmed down and thought maybe it was an accident — some moronic kid playing about. Then, when I heard about the damage to the costumes, I thought it was a malicious attempt to scare us off the project.”

      “But it’s a possibility, isn’t it?”

      “But why Toni? If you wanted to make a point, you’d try for me again, or go for Monty, or maybe one of the actors taking political roles, wouldn’t you? Toni was Mr. Sunshine — a kind of male Pollyanna. Most of the locations had already been scouted, you know, and Monty used him to appease the marchesa. He did damn all and nobody cared, because he was so bloody cheerful and good-tempered. Got up my nose, but I like my humans to be bastards or bitches — that’s why I married Syd, isn’t it, honeybunch?”

      Sydney Tremaine slipped down off the windowsill. “I’ll be right outside if you need me, Inspector,” she said.

      “I probably won’t need to keep you today. Just be available to give a written statement some time.” As she walked from the room, Moretti had the feeling she was removing herself before she lost control.

      “I thought it was Mario Bianchi who hired Toni Albarosa, for his local contacts — at least, that’s what he told me.”

      Gilbert Ensor gave a contemptuous laugh. “He would, poor sod. Trying to hang on to the illusion he has some sort of creative control over Rastrellotitanic, as I like to call it.”

      “You think the project’s doomed?”

      “Oh, it’ll get made. But it won’t be the movie we started with, and I am seriously thinking of removing my name from the project.”

      “Have you said that to anyone?”

      “Most likely. When I’m in a blind rage or in my cups — which is most of the time lately — I say all kinds of things I don’t remember.”

      “I see. Thank you, Mr. Ensor. The office will be in touch with you some time tomorrow.”

      Gilbert Ensor got up from the sofa and crossed to the door. For all his marital raging and sniping, he was a lost soul without his wife to guide him through the maze and morass of everyday life — such as where to find the limousine that would take him home.

      “Syd?” His plaintive call reverberated through the echoing expanses of the manor house.

      But Sydney Tremaine wasn’t there.

      "Not one of them, Guv, can think of any reason why anyone would want to kill the marchesa’s son-in-law.”

      Moretti and Liz Falla were exchanging information as they made their way across the park and up the flight of stone steps to the upper floor of the lodge where the first attack with a dagger had taken place. Liz Falla had acquired a complete list of everyone employed on Rastrellamento from the associate producer, Piero Bonini, and was compiling a record of who lived where. Not just eagle-eyed, thought Moretti, but organized. It wasn’t her fault Hanley had said “eagle-eyed” until everyone was fed up to the back teeth with hearing it.

      Most of the cast and crew lived in hotels and guest houses in St. Martin’s and St. Peter Port, with the level of luxury matching their level of importance. There were a few exceptions. All the Vannonis and Toni Albarosa were at the manor, and three of the cast were staying there also. These were the two female leads: newcomer Vittoria Salviati, who played the young love interest, Maddelena, and an established star, Adriana Ferrini, whose role as the Contessa Alessandra di Cavalli was creating the latest problems on the movie. One of the leading men, Clifford Wesley, an up-and-coming British actor, recruited from the classical stage, who was starring as the escaped British prisoner, Tom Byers, was also at the manor. The internationally known German film actor, Gunter Sachs, who was playing the commandant of the prison camp in the imaginary Tuscan village of Santa Marina, had stayed briefly, but had now transferred to the Héritage Hotel, where Betty Chesler and Eddie Christie were also billeted.

      “Did Piero Bonini have any interesting comments to make about his cast?”

      “Mostly he went on about Gilbert Ensor, who seems to be at the top of everyone’s hit list. Hit-and-miss list, I suppose I should say. Do you think someone thought Toni Albarosa was Ensor in the dark?”

      “Could be, but unlikely. What would Gilbert Ensor be doing skulking about outside the manor in the small hours?”

      “Well, that was one of the things Bonini went on about — about Ensor, I mean. Seems there’d been a spot of bother in Italy somewhere. He wouldn’t go any further, but he did say Ensor was lucky his wife was the forgiving kind, and if he’d heard that Ensor was the one with a dagger in the chest he wouldn’t have been surprised.”

      “Interesting. So what was Toni Albarosa doing in the wee small hours? Did Bonini shed any light on that?”

      “I was just coming to that. When I was leaving his office — he’s got a trailer on the far side of the manor, quite close to the bunker — I could hear him through the open window. He was shouting at the interpreter they’ve got here — it must have been her, because she was the only other person there — and it was all in Italian, but I can understand quite a bit now, of course, and what I managed to pick up was her name, Bella, and then another two names — Vittoria, and Toni.”

      “Ah,” said Moretti.

      “That’s what I thought, Guv.” DC Falla turned and grinned at Moretti.

      Betty Chesler was waiting for them at the top of the steps, only too eager to speak her mind.

      “I see you’ve brought your superior officer with you this time,” she said to the young policewoman. She turned and glared at Moretti. “I’m so glad someone is now taking this seriously, and what a wicked shame it took poor Toni’s death to do it! I can’t tell you how upset I was with the cavalier attitude of just about everyone about the damage — mark my words, I said to Piero, this is like an omen. It’s a warning, and there’s more to come. But until Gilbert Ensor’s wife said about the attack on her husband, no one cared a tinker’s cuss about my costumes — here, let me show you the damage.” She led the way inside.

      The damaged costumes were still where Liz Falla had seen them, lined up on the foldaway table: the three women’s tailored suits, one dress, a man’s suit, and a German uniform.

      “To which characters in the film do these belong?” Moretti asked, bending over them and examining the gashes in the German uniform. The dagger must have been sharp to have torn the tough fabric as it had.

      “The dress and two of the suits belong to the countess, the other woman’s suit is for a fairly minor character, the housekeeper, the man’s suit belongs to the village priest, and the German uniform is for Gunter’s character. Those are the dummies I was using over there.”

      Liz Falla went over and poked her fingers through the holes. “Through the heart,” she said, “— or where it would be.”

      “That’s exactly what I said to Piero,” said Betty Chesler. “Through the heart, I said.”

      “I presume there’d been a break-in?”

      “In a manner of speaking, though it wasn’t that difficult. I wish now I’d opted for a trailer, but this was so roomy and I like the higher ceiling. Besides, I wasn’t that worried with security guards patrolling the grounds. Whoever it was came in through the window.” Betty Chesler indicated the broken pane. “And now that we’ve lost the location manager” — this was said with heavy sarcasm — “the police have dusted for fingerprints. The young lady took the dagger away.”

      “He — whoever — left the weapon.”

      “Yes. Very fancy, like something out of an Errol Flynn movie, as I said to the police officer here, but I imagine you’re too young, aren’t you, to know who I mean.” Betty Chesler shuddered. “I just screamed when I got in here and saw what had happened. It looked like a massacre.”

      “Was it generally known that these particular

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