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CHAPTER
15
We stood outside the station as Milo worked his phone, researching Claudio Aggiunta.
Senior vice president of the shoe company, in charge of European and Asian sales.
I said, “The bulk of their market.”
Milo said, “Important guy, so the brains in the family…looks like an older version of Gio.” He showed me a headshot of a gray-haired man with a lean, seamed face and piercing blue eyes. A couple of additional clicks. “Here’s one of his wife, looks like Sophia Loren…four cute kids…wanna go out on a limb and say he’s the good son?”
Before I could answer, a black BMW 7 pulled up and a chauffeur rushed around to open the rear passenger door.
In real life, Claudio Aggiunta was short—five-five or so—with a fuller face than in his corporate photo. Since posing, he’d grown a full gray beard and let his hair grow longer. Eyeglasses in tiny gold frames perched atop a generous nose.
Nospezzatohere; steel-gray suit, blue-checked shirt, black alligator loafers. The blue eyes were less arresting in person, dull and sagging under heavy lids, bottomed by dark pouches. More than just acute stress. Someone frequently under pressure.
Milo said, “Mr. Aggiunta? Milo Sturgis. This is Alex Delaware.”
“Claudio, thank you for responding so quickly.” Soft voice, barely accented.
“So sorry to meet you under these circumstances, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Brief nod. Briefer handshakes.
No one spoke until we entered the elevator and Claudio Aggiunta said, “When we received your message and found out you solve murders, we knew the worst. Then we called your coroner and they confirmed it. They would not give us details, said to call you. So…” Resigned shrug.
The elevator dislodged us and Milo led the way to one of the smaller interview rooms. Square table, three folding chairs, hostile lighting that seemed to chill the space.
Stark space, sour-smelling and drab. No sign Claudio Aggiunta noticed. He stood there, arms hanging limply, until Milo motioned him to a chair.
He said, “My parents are suffering—very bad trauma.”
“Understandable,” said Milo. “Again, so sorry.”
Two smallish hands rose and waved. “Extremetrauma. My wife and my sisters and all our children are with them. I am the least useful in such a situation so I booked a flight as soon as I could.”
“Would you like some coffee, sir? Water? Something to eat?”
Claudio Aggiunta touched his gut. “No, thank you, Lieutenant. The time change…the situation. Could you please tell me what happened to Gio?”
“He was found shot to death in the backyard of his house on Sunday morning. It probably happened several hours before, in the darkness.”
“Guns,” said Claudio Aggiunta. “A robbery? One of those American things we hear about?”
Milo said, “Nothing appears to have been taken, so not likely, sir. There was a second victim found with your brother.”
“Who?”
“A woman named Meagin March.”
Claudio Aggiunta’s head shakes were rapid but restrained. Running on reserves and striving to conserve movement. “Who is this person?”
“Someone Gio was intimate with.”
Aggiunta’s eyes narrowed and his mouth set, rippling his beard. “And? What else about her?”
