Free Daggers and Men's Smiles by Jill Downie

easy to come by, unless you’re in America — but why bother with decorative daggers? If you can find that one out, Detective Inspector, you’ve probably got the answer.”
    â€œSo these are not like any knives or daggers used in the film?”
    Betty Chesler shook her blond beehive vigorously. “I don’t do weapons, but I know that much. There’s guns of all sorts, and a few knives — World War Two army issue type things, I suppose. Plus the odd bomb or grenade. But no fancy handles.”
    As they went back down the steps, Liz Falla asked, “Was she helpful, or were you just saying that, Guv?”
    â€œA bit of both. I’d like to know why such a major change in a minor character — it could mean absolutely nothing, but it could also be part of that feeling she has that all this has something to do with the past.”
    â€œWhich past, that’s what I thought when she said that.”
    â€œExactly. But daggers, not just knives, have been used three times and that has to be significant. Murderers have quirks, but I can’t believe this guy has managed to get hold of a handful of fancy daggers cheap, and is using them for reasons of economy.”
    Liz Falla reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out several sheets of paper. “I got what they call a shooting schedule from Mr. Bonini, as well as the list of cast and crew members. They usually make out a schedule for the whole project and it is updated each day. It gives names, times, and location. Who are we interested in next?”
    â€œVittoria Salviati, DC Falla — if your Italian steered you right.”
    They were in luck. The young actress was scheduled for a shoot that afternoon. By now it was late morning and, according to the schedule, she would be in makeup. Moretti went back up the steps and asked Betty Chesler where they would find her.
    As they made their way back up the drive, Moretti asked, “Has anyone mentioned anything that might be of interest from any of the statements taken so far?”
    â€œNothing, Guv. I did ask about the security guard’s statement, and apparently he saw and heard nothing unusual, until he came across the body — except that one of those big lights were on. There’s nerve for you, illuminating the scene of the crime!”
    â€œUnless,” said Moretti, “it was Toni Albarosa who switched it on, because he saw something unusual — something he was not supposed to see. I think we’re about to find out why he was on the terrace at night, taking a murderer by surprise. But I don’t think he was the original target.”
    Vittoria Salviati was as pretty as a picture, chocolate-box beautiful. As she turned around in the chair before the brightly lit mirrors, Moretti could not restrain a sharp intake of breath. She looked no more than eighteen years old and, even allowing for the miracle of movie makeup, her pouting red lips, cloud of tousled dark hair, and huge dark eyes against her porcelain skin did indeed take the breath away. But the white around those huge dark eyes was bloodshot, and their expression was anguished. Moretti introduced himself and Liz Falla, and established that she was reasonably comfortable speaking English.
    â€œDo I have to speak to you now? I have a difficult scene to do — could it wait until tomorrow?”
    â€œWe would like just a brief word now with you, Miss Salviati. It would be better, coming from you, rather than from anyone else — wouldn’t it?” said Moretti, gently.
    The young actress turned and nodded at the makeup artist, a middle-aged man with purple hair and a nose ring. As he left the trailer, he turned and rolled his eyes knowingly at the two policemen. As soon as he had left, Vittoria Salviati burst into tears.
    â€œYou know, don’t you? Who told you?”
    â€œGuessed would be a better word, Miss Salviati. Toni Albarosa was either coming to see you,