But while for Laura it had been just another form of conceding to her weaknesses, for Suzy one evening was not enough, she was incurably corrupt, she had enjoyed it too much.
She had continued to call Laura, insisted on seeing her again with Ridolfi who had also taken on the burden of covering one of her gambling debts.
Those meetings had continued, but the most annoying thing was that Susanna had become insistent, had started to push her way into her life, offering to pay off some of her debts in exchange for some extra services with other clients. Laura had refused, offended and Suzy, in her chatty, sing-song ruffian ways had apologised and then even offered to lend Laura her cleaner, when she learned that hers had returned home to her country of origin.
The worst thing was that she had started to interfere in the relationship with Giorgia, the one person Laura really cared about.
A month earlier Laura had confessed, in tears, to her friend who had consoled her, promising to help her, even financially. Once she obtained her inevitable forgiveness, she had then convinced her to become her accomplice in spinning a new web of intrigue to squeeze some money out of Ridolfi.
Then, so it seems, the mystery killer had come to her rescue.. she smiled wickedly. She wondered if Giorgia already knew of the strong evidence that pointed the finger at her husband? This time she wouldn’t call, she couldn’t.
She stubbed out the cigarette on the ashtray and paused to reflect, covering her face with her hands, but it was a brief moment, she pulled herself together immediately, recovered her usual coldness which served to compensate her frequent mood changes.
She dressed hurriedly, pulling on black jeans and a black high-necked jumper, picked up her raincoat and left the house.
The sky had become darker and a few raindrops had started to fall.
She got into the black Mini Cooper with its white roof, driving into the Ponte Pietra descent towards the night traffic of the Adige S. Michele road.
The usual bar was closed, but Cesare Cavasso’s shop was still open when she parked, and a light was on inside.
He was no doubt there, cataloguing his objects.
She got out of the car, turning her collar up against the rain which had started to fall again on the city and stepped into a puddle, swearing.
She rang the bell.
No-one answered.
She knocked on the glass, swept by a sudden gust of rain. At last the dealer appeared inside the shop, scratching his head as if he been asleep. He clicked open the lock from inside and Laura could slip inside, dripping wet.
“What are you doing here at this time of night?” the dealer asked in amazement.
“I wanted to know something from you about my swords, the one that this killer is using.” Laura replied, shaking the rain off her coat.
“What are you talking about?” Cesare moved closer to the window, looking out into the street. “Ssh. Don’t talk rubbish and don’t drip water everywhere. I want to see if I’m still being followed. Since yesterday a couple of plain cars are taking turns watching and a policeman was strolling around in front of my window. I heard there has been another death, is that true?”
“Listen Cavasso, let’s cut out the formalities” Laura said, lighting another cigarette and starting to draw on it deeply. “They are killing people that you and I know, and I am convinced that in one way or another someone is using my swords, the ones I made you buy from the Venetian. I want to see them.”
“But I don’t have them anymore!”
“You are joking, aren’t you? You know they’re worth a fortune and I did everything to make sure I could still get my hands on them. Tell me who you sold them to and what did you take for them?”
“Listen Madam, I bought those swords, on your advice. You also advised me, with the help of the DI’s wife, to purchase that Flemish painting which got me into trouble, making me appear on the list of people suspected of killing Ridolfi. I didn’t kill anybody, but I think the killer did me a favour. Now that I have got rid of those swords, I certainly don’t want to get killed for them.”
“As usual, it’s every man for himself. I knew you were like that, as false as your paintings!” said Laura, visibly annoyed, stubbing out her cigarette inside a luxurious crystal ashtray.
“At least tell me who you sold them to?”
“I can’t. I promised to forget the person. I can tell you that it was… not a beautiful woman like you” he replied with a voice suddenly gallant and complimentary.
“Listen Cesare, I am losing my patience!” Laura reacted, sweeping the ashtray off the table onto the ground, knocking against a 19th century mirror standing on the floor.
“Stop that please. Are you trying to destroy my shop?” the dealer held his hand up to stop her while immediately checking for any damage.
“You have no idea what I’m capable of, you don’t know me at all! “ her voice suddenly became hard and evil, her eyes lit by a different light.
“What do you want from me?” Cavasso implored.
“I want to know who you sold the swords to!”
Cesare shrugged in annoyance.
“To a type of phantom, to a man who has a scar instead of a face, who talks with a voice so low it sounds like a voice from beyond the grave. I only looked at his face once, and that was enough. I could not recognise him again. Then all I saw was his skeleton hand giving me a roll of banknotes of 8000 euros and I breathed a sigh of relief when he went out of that door.”
“But why did he come to you?” Laura insisted
“He had been to your old friend, the dealer in Venice. I don’t know how but he knew about those swords. I can’t tell you anything else, because I’ve told you everything I know.”
Laura stared into his eyes and was convinced that he had told her the truth.
She left and went into the night.
The rain had stopped.
She got back into her car and leaned back on the seat, fingering her hair, turning on the stereo
“Fill it with devils and dust..” were the last words, barely whispered, in the song by her favourite singer.
She was beginning to feel a certain attraction towards that mysterious man, even if she was not sure she ever wanted to meet him, God forbid! She decided to go to Venice the next day, trying to avoid the Casino.
37
Wednesday
It was exactly eight am.
The alarm clock set the previous evening was ringing, but Gianni Veronesi, leaning against the head of the bed, already awake, in the semidarkness of the room, appeared not to notice its annoying sound.
He switched it off automatically.
He got up almost staggering from the bed in which he had spent only a few hours, feeling as if he was living a nightmare, hoping that waking up would let him escape from what seemed to him to be an incredible dream.
Unfortunately it was reality.
His face was disfigured in anger, not even sleeping pills had allowed him any sleep that night. Three people he knew had been killed, the fourth he had got to know a few minutes before being murdered, it could not be a coincidence.
Was there something inside him that had come to an end, something that had irremediably changed in a few days, or had the mutation taken place a while ago? His whole world was crumbling down on top of him. He went into the kitchen and prepared a coffee. He noticed from the messy table that Giorgia had already had breakfast. The evening before they had not met, but she had come home before him.
They each stayed in their own room, now even the last spasms of their strange living together were coming to an end. He should inform their son that their marriage had probably reached the end of the line, or perhaps she had already done so.
Still holding his cup, he went back into the large room which served as a hall and went towards the Louis XVI cabinet. He put his coffee cup on the top and slowly opened one of the main drawers.
He looked inside at the elegant package that contained the two swords as if he wanted
to ask it a question.
He picked up the sharkskin cover containing the long “katana”.
There could have been thousands around, even in Italy. There were plenty of martial arts enthusiasts, or even fans of Japanese films.
He left the shorter sword asleep in the drawer and with his right hand drew the sword out of its cover, unsheathing it and admiring it.
As a man accustomed to handling instruments of defence or attack, he could not ignore the subtle fascination which emanated from that type of weapon. He noticed it must have been cleaned recently. He called his wife.
“Giorgia! Giorgia!”
She too was awake, but not yet dressed.
She came out of the bedroom holding a book on furniture.
“Have you been touching this sword recently, or have you handled it? It looks as if someone has used it.”
“Are you mad? When did you ever see me playing with your weapons?”
The lie slipped out easily from her lips, and she continued.
“It must have been the cleaner, you wanted her, the faithful Philippino, with the excuse that I don’t keep the house clean enough. She’s always cleaning everything like a mad woman, she will have cleaned your swords too! Any further questions, DI? I have to inform you that after your raid in my office I took some time off and today I’m going to see my lawyer. I want a separation! By the way, am I still on the list of suspects?”
“Who knows? I’m on it myself now!”
His wife seemed not to notice his strange announcement, he had not informed her of the developments which involved him, he did not feel like giving any explanations, especially to her and Giorgia did not ask him anything, going back to her reading vexed.
He looked at her for a moment, it had been a long time since he could tell whether his wife was telling him the truth or lying. He tried imagining that she might have wanted to frame him, perhaps with Laura’s complicity, but he did not bother thinking along those lines any further.
He realised that someone, perhaps even from his own office, had already informed her that her husband was in serious trouble, but she seemed uninterested.
She had been uninterested for a long time.
The DI shut the drawer with the two swords inside and was struck by a sudden thought.
Something in his past sprang to his memory for a moment but he couldn’t quite grasp it and it quickly slipped from his mind.
He looked at his watch, he did not have much time, he had to hurry; the procurator had asked him to hand over his files to the new investigators.
His position would soon be shaky, not only had his dreams of progressing up to the top steps of the hierarchy already crumbled, but he risked being thrown out of the Force altogether.
He had to find the culprit, at least for the first murders and charge him even if he had only committed one of them, then he would think about the others.
Susanna’s murderer could not have imagined he would have found his scarf there, he had forgotten it and…new doubts crowded into his mind, tormenting him. Now everything would be against him and he could not afford a lengthy enquiry.
Others would investigate his past, they would probe deep and something, somewhere, sooner or later, would be found.
Some misuse of power on his part on which he slipped during some investigation, someone he had opposed in the past.
Anyone trying to jump over him would take advantage of the situation; some small office vendetta would play against him. His career was over, but it would be worse, much worse if he did not find a culprit immediately to throw to his colleagues and superiors.
The evening Susanna was killed Cesare Cavasso was in the bar playing cards and the other suspects, including anyone who received loans from Patrizia or were cuckolded by Ridolfi, had no immediate connections to Susanna and then, why kill her?
Someone who saw him go into her house and wanted to frame him?
Who hated him to that extent?
Laura?
He still believed it wasn’t a woman.
The blow to Suzy’s neck made him think of someone strong or expert in martial arts .. or workouts… his wife and her friend often went to the gym, at least once a week.
He brushed aside the idea with an angry jerk of his head.
Valeria Anselmi? No, impossible, she could only just manage to stand up..
There was only one immediate solution: Lorenzo Anselmi.
He stood alone at the forefront of his thoughts.
He looked peaceful, but he was a large man, medium height, presumably strong enough to throttle a woman.
He had a motive for the first murders and even a motive to kill Suzy: she had been a pawn in the game against him and she also helped to ruin his family.
He could have gone to HQ and when he learned that he was going, gone to kill Suzy, but how did he know the DI was going to see her?
He could have listened to Ridolfi’s mobile phone, after killing him, just as the police did.
But a supermarket manager could not think like a policeman, plus there was something childlike in the confidence he had shown while demonstrating his alibi for the night of Ridolfi’s murder. He expected the police to go straight to him once the murder was discovered because of his bragging, and Veronesi’s policeman’s instinct told him that he had been preparing his alibi for a while.
He was convinced that was where he had made a mistake, but he had to check it personally.
He looked for his own gun in the cabinet, took it out, counted the bullets and placed it inside his jacket.
As soon as he was outside the door he felt inside his pocket and then pressed a finger to the bell.
His wife opened the door looking annoyed.
“What’s wrong?”
“I forgot my keys” and he ran back into the bedroom to get them.
While he was on his way out he noticed that Giorgia had opened the drawer where the Japanese swords were kept again.
A doubt sprang to his mind; he looked at her beautiful long slim legs, fruit of intense exercises in the gym, and looked at her questioningly.
“I wanted to make sure they are authentic. You know what? I think Cavasso sold you copies” she said laconically.
He didn’t even answer her, but the urge to kill her leapt into his head.
He went down into the garage.
His garage was also fitted with CCTV; he walked under it, deep in thought with his head bent.
38
The bell inside the Veronesi’s apartment rang again.
Giorgia, annoyed now, returned to the door exclaiming “What did you forget this time? Have you finished? You’d better find yourself a new apartment very quick”..and she opened the door suddenly.
A fist made of a hand wearing a black leather glove hit her, smashing in her face. She fell to the floor, unconscious, while the person wearing a dark raincoat entered the apartment closing the door quickly.
The person gave a quick, almost automatic, look around the room; their eyes immediately stopped on the antique chest on which a pair of swords rested. The longest one was still unsheathed.
The killer picked it up confidently and started to examine it carefully, then dismantled it and looked for the author’s signature and ideogram, the mei.
It was not there.
The figure reassembled it and held it, weighing it in one hand.
In the meantime Giorgia was coming round and, coughing, she tried to lean on her left hand to stand up.
She saw the figure in the raincoat and recoiled instinctively, then stared incredulously, as if waking up from a long sleep that had lasted an entire lifetime and opened her mouth wide in a desperate attempt to scream.
She did not have the time.
Her neck and throat were struck by a formidable blow. Giorgia’s large green eyes remained frozen in fear, staring into space, and then her head fell forward, completely detached from her body which stayed on the floor, immobile.
The killer examined the wea
pon now purple red with blood and made sure no fingerprints were left. Barely giving a distracted glance to the body which was contracting in a few last soundless spasms, the killer grabbed the katana with both hands and plunged it strongly into the stomach, until the tip touched the wooden floor.
The killer walked towards the drawer and took out the short wakishazi, checking the tip. Careful inspection did not miss the fact that the blade had been washed and dried recently, but too hurriedly and not very accurately. The killer lifted the sword up and sniffed the odour of the blood the sword had drunk, and then put it back into its sheath, hiding it in a long, stitched pocket inside the raincoat. The killer looked through the spy hole to make sure no-one was in the corridor and left, silently closing the door.
39
Gianni Veronesi, having driven out of the garage in his own car, a metallic grey Audi, after a moment of hesitation headed towards the Police scientific squad department.
He was the subject of strange glances due to the unseemly way he entered. He was extremely agitated and his whole body showed strong emotion. Even Dr. Renzi, head of the squad and his old friend and companion of many past investigations greeted him with difficulty.
“You shouldn’t come in, I have been forbidden to show you any elements of proof and today you’re not normal, you’re not yourself, your pupils are dilated,,”
“I got no sleep last night! I have no precise clues, I don’t know where to start, it seems like a conspiracy, but … are you sure there’s nothing out of the ordinary that you haven’t noticed? I would like to look at the video tape from the garage… the killer must be on it “ he said in an agitated tone, gesticulating oddly. His behaviour was alarming in itself.
Dr. Renzi consented unwillingly, but gestured at one of his colleagues and went into his office followed by Veronesi.
They watched the video at the vital moment.
There was nothing that could reveal anything. It could have been anyone, but if the assassin was the figure filmed by the camera in the garage, he decided that it could not have been Cavasso, he was too small.
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