If you’ve ever attended an Italian wedding you were probably given a netted bag of confetti­­––white sugar-coated almonds , as a parting gift. And chances are they came from the town of Sulmona in Italy’s Abruzzo region, and very probably from Confetti Mario Pellino, which has been producing them since 1783.

    Were you ever to visit Sulmona, which is a small, reclusive town two hours' drive from Rome, there are several touristic attractions outside of its Cathedral and the medieval-Renaissance Palazzo Annunziata and Church of Saint Annunziata, where you will find dozens of shops selling confetti, brightly colored and knitted into various shapes of flowers and wreaths. There is also a Piazza Garibaldi with a large baroque fountain, where at Easter at the ceremony of the Madonna che Scappa, a  bronze statue of the Virgin Mary is carried by the remarkably well-preserved 12^th century Gothic aqueduct. Sulmona gave the Catholic world a pope, Innocent VII in the 15^th century. Piazza XX Settembre is the location of Sulmona’s foremost town’s historical figures, the greatest Roman poet Ovid, whose bronze statue stands sternly atop a pedestal. As the author of the witty Metamorphoses, he was a canny observer of the goodness and follies of the Romans, and wrote, ““I am the poet of the poor, because I was poor when I loved; since I could not give gifts, I gave words.”

    Located up a winding road, Sulmona itself is fairly flat and easy to walk through, and there are several very good restaurants that feature the cooking of Abruzzo. Semina Cucina Agricola, which is committed to locality and seasonality within a 39 tasting menu of five courses. There’s a lavish antipasto table at Ristorante Hostaria del’Arco, and the pasta to have is the tagliatelle with zucchini cream.

    On my last visit to the town I ate at the charming, sunny Ristorante Clemente Sulmona (Via Solimo 25), located just inside the town’s ancient gate. Begin with some local Abruzzese cheeses from Casari e Pastori,  like Pecorino, caciocavallo and pampanella goat’s cheese along with salami like salamella di tratturo made form mutton and  the locally revered salsiciotto di Guilmi of simply salt-cured pork,  served with puffy pizza-like bread. Next came the Abruzzese specialty spaghetti alla ghitarra, cut on a guitar-string-like interment, served with crispy pancetta bacon and local saffron. Risotto made from Canaroli rice also had saffron with an addition of anise, along with ricotta and salami-studded lamb ragù. (Half portions are also available.)  For dessert the signature sweet here is pan dell’Orso semi-freddo.

         The wine list is especially good for bottlings like Montepulciano d’Abruzzo––the Faraie label is very good and Trebbiano d’Abruzzo. The menu has English translations.

 
   Ovid,  by the way, seems to have been something of a vegetarian, writing, “I am the poet of the poor, because I was poor when I loved; since I could not give gifts, I gave words.”  O mortals, do not pollute your bodies with food so impious [the flesh of animals]! You have the fruits of the earth, you have apples, bending down the branches with their weight, and grapes swelling in ripeness on the vines, you also have sweet herb.” And not much of a drinker, saying, "There is more refreshment and stimulation in a nap, even of the briefest, than in all the alcohol ever distilled", notes Ovid. 

         Yves Collard’s apartment was in Montparnasse (below), not far from where David and Katie had had their first meal together in Paris. He was tall, lanky sandy-haired and in his thirties, with horn rimmed glasses. He apparently lived with a woman in the one-bedroom apartment, and it appeared she had been the decorator.              Yves spoke impeccable English, as demanded by his job. He also spoke some Spanish, Italian and, given the Anastasia’s history, a smattering of Russian. He was as gracious off-duty as he needed to be on-duty, deferential to his guests. Katie asked him to call her and David by their first names, but he kept addressing them as Madame and Monsieur.
         “I do not know if I can help you,” he said. “I told Catherine pretty much all I knew about that night. It all happened very fast.”
         “But you did  not get infected, right?” asked Katie. 
         “No, Madame. I was lucky.”
         “Did you have to help guests exit the hotel?” asked David.
         “Ah, oui, it was pandemonium until the police and ambulances arrived. People were very, very sick, mostly coughing and trying to get some air.”
         “And I think you told Catherine there was nothing suspicious about any of the clientele that day?”
         “No, nothing I recall. We were not very full, because the fashion shows had not yet begun, so we did not have the number of guests we would normally have had this week, if the hotel was open. We are always fully booked a year in advance for the shows.”
         David thought to himself that that must be the reason the perpetrator had acted the week before, in case he would have failed to get a room reservation during the shows, when all the luxury hotels were booked solid. That would also apply to both the Hôtel de la Reine and the Prince de Carignan. He wondered how all those people must have scrambled to find rooms when three of the most desirable were shut down; he also realized that the loss of income during fashion week would have been enormous. The prospects that the attacks were very well-coordinated by someone or some group were obvious.
         “Do you know Messieurs Kōvar and Bazarov, the two ambassadors,” asked Katie?
         “Ah, oui, they are regular guests. They almost always stay at the Anastasia when they are in Paris.”
         “What time did they check in?”
         “I was not on duty, but the registry showed Monsieur Kōvar checked in around noon and Monsieur Bazarov around three.  I came on duty at seven.”
         David took on the interview from there.
         “Did you see either or both of them when you came on duty?”
         “Oui, I saw them in the lobby when they came down to go to dinner. I believe they were going together. There was a reservation in our book that the concierge had made for two people under Bazarov’s name at Le Stresa; it’s a casual little Italian bistro nearby.”
         “And that was about seven, when you came on duty?”
         “Oui, I had just arrived.”
         “So, you saw them come back soon afterwards?”
         “Oui, they were back by eight o’clock, then they went to our bar to have a drink. About fifteen minutes later they went upstairs to their rooms.”
         “Can you tell me what rooms Kōvar and Bazarov were staying in?”
         Yves looked at his laptop, which had the hotel’s registry on it, and said, “Here it is. Monsieur Kōvar was in Room 310, and Monsieur Bazarov was in 316 down the hall.”
         “I ask because Kōvar told us that he got off at the third floor but Bazarov continued to a higher one.”
         Yves shook his head and said, “I do not know, Monsieur. I was not watching the elevator. But Bazarov did check out of the hotel around nine-thirty.”
         Katie and David looked at each other, and she said, “Well, that’s odd. Isn’t it?”
         “He said that he had unfortunately been ordered to Brussels for an impromptu business meeting and had a flight early the next morning, but first he had to collect papers and things at his embassy, so he would spend the night there.”
         Katie joined in, asking, “And as far as you remember, there was no one suspicious entering or leaving the hotel, maybe people visiting guests?”
         “There may have been one or two, but they would have to come to see me to so that I could call upstairs and get the guest to allow them to come up to their room.”
         “Nobody went up to Bazarov’s room?”
         “It is possible someone can simply get in the elevator and go up, but I do not recall seeing anyone that night do so.”
         “So, as far as you know, everybody was upstairs asleep by, say, midnight?” asked David.
         “I think so. We usually make a notation as to when or if a guest was in the room.”
         “And is there another way to exit the hotel without passing by you in the lobby?”
         “Ah, oui, you could go out the side door onto the Rue Daru.”
         “And you saw no one else coming or going from, say, eight till midnight?”
         Yves rubbed his chin, then said, “Ah, I forgot. There was a technician from T-Mobile who came in around eight o’clock. He said he was called to check into a problem in service on the seventh floor and asked if he could gain access to an empty room.  I told him we had several that night, and I asked a security man to accompany him to go up.”
         “Can you tell me what room he used?”
         “I believe it was. . . oui, it was Room 702.” 
         “And that’s the highest floor?” Yves said yes.
         “And do you have security cameras in all the hallways?”
         “Oui, ever since 9/11, we installed them. It took some time because it is an old building.”
         Katie asked when the technician came down and if he said anything.
         “He came down around nine or nine-fifteen, I believe, and he came over and asked me to sign a receipt for the service.”
         “But he was the one who told you that there was a problem with the Internet or some technical problem. No one at the hotel on the seventh floor called you to complain?”
         Yves thought very hard and said, “No, no one called me. But it is possible they called the switchboard and asked for the engineer.”
         “Would there be a record of that?” asked David. Yves said there should be, but it would not be on his laptop.
         “These are things I think we need to find out, Yves. Can we get that information quickly?”
         “You mean you think this T-Mobile guy was an imposter and he put the virus into the air ducts?”
         “If he got access to an air duct on a higher floor, that’s the way it would have been done.”
         Yves looked blanched, thinking that he may have been the one who let in a man who could commit such a crime. He was always so careful. It was his job to know and handle everything while he was on duty.
         “Well, let’s see what we can find out about this T-Mobile guy. Can you call the local office and see if they actually sent a guy over?” Yves nodded, yes, yes, of course, and looked up the T-Mobile office closest to the Anastasia. After going through three different personnel, he got the service agent who sent technicians out on calls. Yves asked about the night of the attack. A few moments passed and the man spoke to Yves, who put the call on speaker.  The man said, “Il n'y a pas eu de demande de service,” and, “Non, nous n'avons envoyé aucun technicien à l'hôtel ce soir-là.”
         Yves thanked the man and hung up. “No, they had no request for service and sent no one to the hotel.”
         David was constructing a time line in his head. “So, let me make sure I have this correct: Kōvar and Bazarov come back from a quick dinner about eight o’clock, then they have a quick drink in your bar, then they both go up in the elevator.”
         “Oui, Monsieur.”
         “Meanwhile, the T-Mobile guy arrives to fix something on the seventh floor, and he leaves about nine, nine-fifteen. Then Bazarov comes down with his suitcase and checks out.”
         “Oui, Monsieur.”
         “How big a suitcase?”
         “Oh, it was one those, how do you call them? Suiters. You put in your suit and zip it up and you can hang it in the closet.”
         David turned to Katie and said, “A good piece to carry a HAZMAT outfit in. Yves, what was the T-Mobile guy carrying?”
         “Just a small tool kit, as far as I could see.”
         “You think Bazarov helped plant the virus?” Katie asked David.
         “No, I think he gave the suiter with a HAZMAT outfit in it to the fake T-Mobile guy, the guy put it on, put the virus in an air duct, put the HAZMAT outfit and his mask and gloves into the suiter, waved goodbye to Yves and left the hotel,  and then Bazarov took the suiter out of the hotel.”
         “Back to the Russian Embassy?”
         “If that’s where he really went, yes. They would know how to dispose of poisonous material like that, especially if they knew he was coming over with it.”
         Katie and David could see the concierge was deeply troubled by all he’d heard. Katie said, “As far as I can see, Yves, you just followed your protocol. How could you have any idea this guy was going to plant a virus in  the hotel?”
         Yves was not convinced his superiors would see it that way, but said, “If there is any possible way I can help you, please let me know.”
         “Well,” said David, “you’re going to have to speak with the police about all this. They want to catch this guy. He’s the last of three, and they’ve got a pretty good case against the other two. You can do nothing but help them tremendously with the information you gave us. You’ll come out of it a hero. Meanwhile I need you to check those security camera tapes of the seventh floor hallway. The police will want to see them, too, I’m sure.”
         “Whatever they need,” said Yves.
         “I’m going to give you the phone number for a Detective Borel we’ve been working with. I suggest you call him and tell him everything you told us, and he’ll take it from there.”
         Yves was anxious to clear himself of any wrong-doing as a professional and called Borel as soon as the Americans left. Borel asked him to come to the Sûreté headquarters as soon as possible. Meanwhile the police would contact the hotel manager and ask to see the security video. Within a couple of hours, the manager was able to transfer the videos to the police headquarters, and Borel called Katie and David in to watch them.