Murder in Buenos Aires (2/9)

Read part one here: Murder in Buenos Aires (ten-minute-mysteries.ghost.io)

II                       Six Suspects

When Detective Inspector León Marconi walked into the banquet room, he was immediately the focus of six faces: three women, three men. It was a striking group, suffused with an air of invincibility and almost aristocratic unconcern. They reminded him uncomfortably that he was the son of a single mother in the working-class barrio of Boca. Automatically, he was on the defensive, like a scruffy tomcat in a room full of show dogs.

“What’s going on here?” Barked a thin bald man in a turtle-neck sweater.

It was probably inevitable that Frank Giordano would assert himself first. A stick-thin figure in a black turtleneck sweater and wire-rimmed glasses, he was immediately recognizable. This was the tech billionaire with a reputation for aggression in an industry famous for aggressive types.

“I have a flight to catch in two hours and we’ve already been waiting for thirty minutes!”

“Buenos Dias ladies and gentlemen,” León said equably, “I’m Detective Inspector León Marconi and I’ve summoned you here this morning because I have some sad news: Your friend Lola Graf has died.”

He paused to observe their reactions. Sandra Lopez gasped; her expression was shocked and—possibly? —fearful. Looking at her, Marconi thought of one word: wholesome. She had an athletic physique, glowing coffee-latte skin, with a youthful smattering of freckles on her nose. Her curly dark hair was pulled up in a messy bun and she seemed to be dressed for a yoga session. Thanks to his briefing with Christina he knew she was a ‘health and wellbeing’ influencer and the fiancée of Lola’s ex-boyfriend Diego Sosa.

Next to her, Sosa took her hand and held it in his. He looked like what he was: a famous footballer and sometime playboy. Showy muscles, Polynesian tattoos, artful five o’clock shadow, topiary hair, expensive clothes and a leather bracelet. León had seen him play and knew him as a good striker. He looked solicitous for Sandra but not particularly surprised or shocked.

The others were harder to read. They were mostly silent, their faces slack. The noticeable exception was the Hollywood star Kristin Ocampo.

“How?” The actress leaned forward eagerly, eyes shining, a smile playing on brilliantly red lips. She tossed her head slightly, making the waves of strawberry blonde shimmer. Marconi wondered if she was looking for some sign from him that he recognized her. She must be used to dazzling people with that famous, strange beauty—the wide-set eyes and alluring mobile mouth. Even Marconi, habitually grim and suspicious, momentarily felt its power. Then he remembered Lola’s face, fish-white, against the tarp.

“How indeed?” he replied. “That’s why we’re here in fact.”

“What do you mean?” drawled Martín Gaviscon, who was dressed in a brightly colored pantsuit that would have looked ludicrous on anyone else. Marconi supposed that the reason he was good at polo was that he most likely had horse blood; the young man’s face was equine in its length, angles and in the big dark eyes with long lashes. Under his apparent cool nonchalance, Marconi perceived that Gaviscon was very much on edge.

“I mean,” said Marconi, drawing a curious comfort from Gaviscon’s discomfiture, “That I’m here to determine what caused the death of Lola Graf. I’m afraid I’ll need to ask each one of you about your movements yesterday.”

“That we’re murder suspects? How delicious!” said Kristin, licking her lips.

“This is preposterous!” Gaviscon sputtered.

Sandra murmured something continually under her breath, her eyes closed. Marconi realized it was some kind of yoga mantra.

A dark baby-faced woman threw her head back and laughed throatily. Marconi recognized her from the newspaper article as Juliet Harris, the brilliant young scientist. In real life she was even more striking than her photograph. She had deep chestnut skin, high apple-shaped cheeks and eyes that reminded him of ancient Egypt. Her braids were arranged in serpentine swirls.

Sandra moved to put her arm around Juliet and looked at Marconi.

“It’s the shock,” she said, “Some people react to bad news with laughter or jokes. It’s normal. I think we’re all just trying to process this.” She closed her eyes again, inhaling through her nostrils.

Juliet wiped her eyes, giggling.

“I’m sorry,” she said in. “But the idea is ab-so-lute-ly absurd. Who on earth would want to kill Lola?”

“Yes, it is absurd,” rumbled Frank Giordano. “What has all this got to do with us?”

Marconi stayed quiet and watched the six of them for a few moments. If he’d been a cat, the tip of his tail would have been twitching. Sandra hugged Juliet, who was still chuckling, Kristin was smiling at Marconi. Diego was glaring at Juliet, Martín frowning at the floor, and Frank Giordano had his arms crossed in front of his chest, staring at the wall.

Finally, Marconi nodded decisively, like a conductor who has heard an orchestra tune up and is satisfied that everyone is in a condition to start playing.

“You may return to your rooms. I’ll call each of you for an interview when I am ready. After that you’ll be free to leave.”

“Until then we’re prisoners here, is that it?” Giordano asked bitterly.

“Something like that,” Marconi smiled.

“Ridiculous!” Giordano muttered, stood up and stormed out.

Marconi inclined his head.

“Ms. Lopez, I’d like to speak to you first if I may.”

“Of course,” she smiled, though her eyes looked scared.

The others filed out of the room in silence.

Sandra Lopez

León took a seat closer to Sandra and commenced with what he hoped was a reassuring grin. She smiled back uncertainly.

“Sandra, I wanted to speak to you first. Can you tell me what happened in your own words?”

She exhaled deeply and looked at her hands, mentally gathering up her thoughts.

“I invited friends here to celebrate my engagement to Diego.”

“These are close friends of yours?”

“Two of them, yes. Martín and I were classmates at school and got into modelling at the same time. Julia—I met her at Oxford. Frank is her partner—for now.”

“And Martín’s dating Kristin Ocampo?”

“Oh no. But he met her on some magazine shoot so he decided to bring her along.”

“How does Lola fit in? Was she a good friend of yours?”

“I don’t know her very well actually. But Lola and Diego have been close ever since their break-up. He did a lot for her. Like I said, she was a sensitive soul and needed a lot of support. They were more like siblings than anything. And I wanted to be mindful of that relationship and nurture it.” Tears sprang to her eyes and spilled out as she squeezed them shut.

“About last night, there isn’t much to tell really. I arrived here at Palacio Asti at six. Diego had training so didn’t get here until ten.  It was a bit early but I’m very Type A, you know, I like to be organized. I put my guests’ gift baskets together and left them down in the bar area. Then took a bath, got dressed. At eight I was in the bar so I could greet everyone as they arrived.”

“Juliet and Frank got here at nine. We had a drink together and chatted, then they went to their room to rest. At ten o’clock Lola arrived, then Kristin and Marty. Diego arrived at last and we went up to our room. He had a shower and dressed and I freshened up. We went to the rooftop bar at ten-thirty to get the party started and Diego made a beautiful speech. We had a toast and everything was lovely. At some point Lola got emotional because of something Kristin said. I went to find her in her room, she was so upset. We chatted and she finally agreed to come back upstairs. Diego took care of her for a while. Then the rest of the night went pretty quietly.”

“What time did you go to bed?”

“It would have been about one o’clock.”

“Were you aware that Lola was in the pool area?”

“No, I had no idea. I thought she’d gone to bed early.”

“As far as you know, did she have much to drink? Or was she on drugs?”

She shook her head emphatically.

“Lola was totally straightedge. Ever since the— For years, she’d sworn off it all: alcohol, drugs, even caffeine. She took vitamins and herbal supplements occasionally, that’s all.”

“Apart from being upset, as you say, was her behavior unusual in any way?”

Sandra thought.

“It’s funny you should say that. She did seem unlike herself. A little slow and clumsy. I was worried that she might be getting sick or something. Her speech was slurring. But to be honest I thought that was stress. I still wonder if she was having a stroke or something? That would explain her dying so suddenly. Or else… You don’t suppose, do you,” she glanced quickly up at León, “That she might have done it herself?”

“Suicide? What makes you think she wanted to end her life? Had she had some kind of personal crisis?””

“The thing about Lola…” Sandra shifted uncomfortably. “She was a sweetheart but she was very…emotionally and mentally fragile. I talked to her last night about doing a spiritual retreat to help center herself. She said she’d consider it.”

“There’s one possibility that you haven’t brought up,” León said. “She was, very publicly, on the cusp of revealing some explosive allegations about powerful people. Did you believe her?”

Sandra toyed with a coffee cup in front of her.

“I was supportive, an ally. I didn’t want to be the kind of woman who denies abuse, you know? But I wish she’d gone about it…more carefully.”

“Why? Because it put her in danger?”

“She was getting death threats on social media but, well, you expect that if you’re a celebrity. Especially a female celebrity. There were nasty comments. Incredibly hateful. But you never take that stuff seriously, right?”

“It depends…” León said. “Sometimes it’s worth taking it seriously.”

“I suppose she might have been killed by someone who wanted to keep her quiet. But the thing is I don’t see how anyone could have got in! We had serious security detail on that door.”

“Why, if I may ask?” León asked.

“Frank never travels without security. He’s worth gazillions and he’s a little paranoid. He also probably also wanted to show off for Juliet. So, you see, the point is that no outsider could have got in.”

“Which raises the possibility, does it not,” said León, “That if Lola was killed it must have been one of you who did it.”

Sandra shook her head, the crisp curls of her hair bouncing like springs.

“I don’t believe it,” she said with conviction.

Marconi wondered.

“Well. Thank you Ms. Lopez. That’s all for now. Please ask your fiance to see me next.”

Diego Sosa

Diego Sosa loped into the room like a mountain lion. He wore a singlet that exposed alarmingly bulky arms and his neck resembled a thick steel cable. There was a vein on his forehead that bulged. His skin was a warm, glowing brown and his teeth were perfectly white. He could have been sculpted by the Greeks as the Platonic Athlete. Marconi felt a stab of inadequacy realizing that in comparison he cut a poor figure: thin, pasty and stooped like a scholarly blue heron. He was used to watching guys like Diego Sosa on the TV. To see one here in the flesh was unnerving.

Marconi stood up and shook hands with the athlete. A strong grasp but not overpowering. He had nothing to prove. His eyes were deep brown, sincere.

“Take a seat,” Marconi gestured to the chair opposite. “First of all, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” the athlete’s smile was a little lopsided.

“Can you tell me what you did last night as accurately as possible?”

“I was at practice until nine-thirty, then I drove over here. Got here at about ten and went up to the room with Sandra. At ten-thirty we went to the upstairs bar we’d booked for our private use. We had some champagne and snacks. There was some scrap between Kristin and Lola so Sandra asked me to play peacekeeper for a bit. Apart from that, I spent most of the time talking to Frank about the club. I was hoping to get him interested in backing El Taladro.

“Anyway, I was tired after practice and I can’t drink thanks to my training regimen, so I went to bed before midnight. Getting old!” he laughed.

“You were close to Lola?”

Diego nodded.

“We dated for a year. She was like a sister to me.”

“Your break-up--was it acrimonious?”

“OK. No we split—how do they put it in the papers? Amicably. That’s it. ‘Amicably’. Fact is, she was seeing people on the side so I started seeing people on the side too. The tabloids got hold of it. We called it quits.”

“Was it your idea to invite her to the party last night?”

“No, man. That was Sandra’s idea. I like a peaceful life, you know.”

“You were afraid Lola might cause problems?”

“I was afraid of drama. Sandra said it would be fine. She likes people to get along so she thinks they will get along. Life doesn’t work like that.”

“What was Kristin saying to Lola that upset her?”

Diego sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.

“It was about that sex-ring conspiracy shit she’s been talking about on TV. Kristin told her she’s making a fool of herself, being an attention-seeker. Lola got mad.” He shrugged.

“You thought Lola’s allegations had something behind them?”

“No way. I mean…I’m no Suzy Sunshine, I’ve seen some dark situations; I have no doubt there are these types in high places. Having said that, you think there’s a Pervert’s Club like the Masons, pulling the strings and controlling the keys to the city?” He shook his head. “Uh uh.”

“Did you tell Lola that?”

“I let her believe what she wanted to believe. I figured it was good for her to get interested in something, you know, a kind of hobby for her. I mean, she was going to get worked up about something anyway. Better than turning on her friends, you know what I mean?” he laughed.

“So what do you think happened last night?” León asked. “Why is Lola at the coroner’s right now?”

Sosa scratched the back of his neck.

“Listen inspector, you’re barking up the wrong tree talking to us. We were her friends,” the footballer said gruffly. His arms, showily muscular and decorated with Hawaiian-style tattoos, were crossed defensively in front of his chest. “I loved her and this is horrible news. But it’s not a total surprise.”

“What do you mean?” Marconi asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She was a great girl but high-maintenance and now and then she’d lie. It wasn’t malicious or nothing; she just had to have people looking at her all the time. She was always chasing fame. I used to tell her is that fame isn’t so great when you got it, you know? She couldn’t hear it. She didn’t want to hear it. She’s made attempts before. This time it worked,” he shrugged.

“Why now?” Marconi asked.

“Well, this is strictly between you and me, OK? But her boyfriend died yesterday morning. A priest from Lobos. She told me this last night. Apparently he’d quit the priesthood for her and they were going to get married.  Then yesterday morning he shot himself.”

“You know his name?”

“She didn’t tell me. She said she didn’t want to put his family in danger. She had some idea that he was assassinated or some shit. Honestly, I don’t think she was mentally well.”

Frank Giordano

“Do you believe Lola Graf killed herself?”

Giordano met Marconi’s gaze with a look that radiated intense dislike. For a moment, Marconi felt that they were wrestling for dweeb dominance with their eyes. Marconi smiled, Giordano scowled and then shrugged.

“How should I know? I never met the woman before last night. Maybe she did it herself. Maybe some crazy good-for-nothing broke into her room. Whatever happened, it’s got nothing to do with me.”

“From what I hear, it would have been very difficult for ‘some crazy’, as you put it, to break into the hotel last night. It’s one of the most expensive establishments in the city and has its own security. Not only that, but you seem to have had a private army standing guard.”

“I had security, so what? When you’re as rich as I am security starts to look like a good idea.”

“So no specific threat?”

“No.”

“Mr. Giordano, I’m afraid we’ve got off on the wrong foot. I’m trying to investigate a woman’s sudden death not to aggravate you.”

“So far you’re doing a wonderful job,” Giordano’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Listen, like I told you this is a waste of my time and yours. I have no further comment until my lawyer is present.”

“Certainly Mr. Giordano, we’ll get a lawyer for you at once.”

“No, you misheard. I want my lawyer. She’s coming in from Paris and will get here tomorrow.”

“Bueno,” said Marconi. “I guess we’re finished here for now then.”

“I guess we are,” Giordano answered and left the room with a triumphant skip in his step.

Kristin Ocampo

“You know what I think?” Kristin leaned forward, her blonde locks shimmering charmingly under the light of the electric chandelier.

“What’s that?” León asked cautiously.

“I think the butler did it,” she smiled.

“You think this is a joke, Ms. Ocampo?” he asked drily.

She smirked.

“I think it’s farcical, if that’s what you mean.”

“Please, tell me more about what you think,” said León. “I’m curious.”

“What I think? Hmmm…how should I put this? Well, let’s see. We were at a party last night. And sometimes at a party there are special snacks that make you feel good. Some snacks make you feel all happy and energetic. Other snacks make you feel sleepy, and so on. And if you’re a little greedy and have too many snacks, well…” she shrugged and sat back to observe the effect on the detective.

Marconi saw quite clearly that she was playing with him and made sure he did not rise to the bait.

“Can I take this to mean, for the record, that you are saying that recreational drugs were being consumed?”

“That’s not what I said,” she said with a smile that looked almost pitying.

Marconi bit his tongue.

“You and Ms. Graf had a heated discussion. Do you mind telling me what it was about?”

“Not at all. I told her she was acting like a jackass alienating everyone with those vague threats to big-shots on national TV. I told her she was losing credibility and embarrassing herself and her friends and that if by some chance that there was any substance to those threats then she’d better spit it out before she got whacked.”

“Wow,” Marconi shook his head, unsure whether he was disgusted or impressed.

She shrugged.

“It was the truth. Her friends weren’t going to tell her. It’s easier coming from a stranger.”

“I don’t think Lola found it particularly easy coming from you.”

“Not my problem.”

“Tell me Ms. Ocampo.”

“Call me Kristin,” she said with a strange kind of flirtatious defiance.

“Kristin, then: Why did you come to the party last night?”

“Marty invited me,” she said crisply.

“Is there any special reason why you should have behaved unpleasantly towards Lola Graf?”

She continued to smirk but he saw something in her eye like a fish darting for cover.

“Do you, for example, have a connection to someone whom Lola may have hurt?”

Kristin looked at him evenly, chin obstinate, eyes clear and proud.

“So you know?” she said quietly. “Why not just say it outright? I’m not afraid. Yes. She ruined my brother’s life. My parents were so proud when he became a priest. It had been their dream for him. Then that bimbo comes along. He meant nothing to her but an amusing challenge, tabloid fodder. Our parents’ sacrifices meant nothing. I wanted to see her squirm. I wanted to give her hell before his body is in the ground.”

“An eye for an eye, eh?”

“I didn’t kill her. Don’t be an idiot Detective Inspector.”

“If you needled her, a sensitive woman, to the point where she overdosed…wouldn’t that be killing her?”

“Sensitive! You make me laugh,” she snorted with a sound that had very little merriment in it. “She was as sensitive as a block of marble.”

“Ms. Ocampo, I’d like you to answer the following questions as simply as possible.”

“OK.”

“Where were you between nine-thirty and ten o’clock yesterday evening?”

“I was on the roof of the hotel having a cocktail with Marty.”

“And where were you at midnight?”

“I was sitting in the bar talking to Juliet. We were talking about our astrology signs.”

“Did you at any time yesterday evening enter Lola Graf’s room?”

“No.”

“Were you wearing perfume last night? And what kind.”

“Yes. Fleur de Gingembre.”

“Would you be willing to take a drug test?”

“Certainly not.”

“Thank you Kristin. That’s all. I’m sorry about your brother, for what it’s worth.”

Martín Gaviscon

Martín Gaviscon looked miserable. Marconi suspected it was a hangover combined with various other kinds of withdrawal. He moved gingerly, like an invalid afraid of sudden movements, and nursed a cup of strong black coffee.

“I don’t understand why you need to talk to me,” he mumbled. “I don’t know anything about it.”

“You were one of a handful of people who were present at Lola Graf’s last night on earth. From my point of view, it’s worth hearing what you have to say about it.”

“Why?” he said.

Marconi didn’t bother answering.

“Can you tell me what you did last night?”

“I came to a party, had a good time then next morning I get woken up by a cop.”

“Hmmm, OK. Were you wearing perfume?”

Gaviscon frowned.

“Yes I was. Larme de paon, pour homme. Why? You want some? I can tell you now it’s out of your price range,” he laughed at his joke.

“What did you think of Lola’s list of names?”

“Oh that,” the model grimaced. “I thought it was embarrassing for her. The kind of thing an aging starlet does to stay relevant.”

“As far as you know, did she have any enemies?”

He shook his head.

Juliet Harris

For the second time, the dark British girl reminded Marconi of Ancient Egypt. She sailed rather than walked, smiling serenely, and sat down with a floating motion.

“Well, Detective Inspector?” she began. “What would you like to know?”

“I’d like to know why you are dating Frank Giordano.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“Hmmm, doesn’t seem immediately relevant to whatever this is but…OK. Frank and I have a lot in common. We were both keynote speakers at a ‘Science and Technology Intersect’ conference, got bored and went to play blackjack at the nearest casino instead.”

“What exactly is it that you have in common? Because at first glance it’s not clear. You’re a brilliant young woman and he’s—”

“An internationally famous tech entrepreneur?”

Marconi shrugged.

“I was going to say something else, but…if you like.”

“We’re both disrupters, I guess you could say,” she grinned disarmingly. “But it’s not like you imagine. Frank’s got an endlessly curious mind. He’s interested in my research. The reason we hit it off was because he was asking very intelligent questions about it. He wasn’t just after…you know.”

Marconi looked sceptical. She laughed.

“Well OK, he was after that too, but secondarily.”

“What is your field of research exactly?”

“Pharmacokinetics,” she said crisply. “In other words, how a medicine moves and interacts with the body.”

“I imagine that could be a lucrative field of study.”

“Oh yeah,” she laughed. “Big Pharma here I come!”

“What’s Giordano’s interest in it? Is he going to be the next Pfizer or something? Charging diabetics five-hundred bucks per shot of insulin?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” she smiled.

“I will. Did you know Lola Graf before you saw her last night?”

“I’d never spoken to her before. I knew who she was.”

“What did you think of her?”

“I didn’t like her. I thought she was an airhead and a dangerous airhead at that.”

“What did she think of you?”

“I have no idea! Nothing good I’m sure,” she laughed.

“Sandra Lopez is a good friend of yours, isn’t that right?”

“Yes she is a dear friend.”

“What do you have in common with her?”

“Well, we used to be lovers, at Oxford.”

“I see,” Marconi said and tapped his pen on the desk. “Interesting. Oh, one last thing. Were you wearing perfume yesterday?”

“No. I’m allergic to most perfumes so I don’t wear scent.”

Marconi’s Notes

Marconi felt as Theseus may have felt when arriving at the entrance to the labyrinth. He looked at his notebook, where he’d jotted three bullet-points:

· Money

· MG—criminal record?

· Who is Juliet H.?