by Marco Vichi
‘Why not?’
Bordelli paused for a moment to reflect, then took out his wallet to pay.
‘Then let’s go straight away, so we can catch them before they go to the beach.’ When he stood up, he felt slightly dizzy, and in his mind he saw Elvira, clear as a photograph.
‘Signor Salvetti?’
‘Yes, I’m Salvetti. Who are you?’
‘Inspector Bordelli. This is Piras. Would you mind if we asked you a few questions?’
‘About what?’
‘It’ll only take a minute. May we come in?’
Salvetti looked as if he’d just got out of bed. He was dishevelled and a bit irritable, wearing swimming trunks and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His thin black moustache cut his face into two equal parts. He glanced at Piras and opened the gate.
‘Is it all right if we stay here in the garden? My wife is asleep.’
‘As you wish.’
They crossed a large, just-mown lawn in silence and went to sit under a pergola of honeysuckle about fifty yards from the villa. The chairs were made of cast iron, softened by colourful cushions. There wasn’t a breath of wind, but it felt divine under that little roof of leaves. Salvetti rested his elbows on the armrests of his chair and folded his hands with an air of irritation. Piras was agitated and looking at the Milanese man with antipathy. Bordelli hated to ask questions in such a tense atmosphere, and so he tried to find a way to lighten the situation. Turning round to look at the villa, he nodded his head in admiration.
‘Beautiful house. My compliments.’
The Milanese changed expression and also turned towards the villa.
‘My grandfather bought it in 1912 for a song. It’s a famous villa, you know. It’s been featured in many books with big bright colour photos. Just imagine, even D’Annunzio slept here.’
It was indeed a very unusual villa, at once solid and light. All marble and brick. At one corner it featured a square sort of turret with mullioned windows on all four sides. Salvetti kept gazing at his house with a certain joy, a smile of satisfaction broadening his mouth. Piras also seemed calmer. Good. Now they could start asking questions.
‘You know the Morozzi brothers, is that right?’ he asked.
Salvetti pointed to a smallish, modern house beyond the hedgerow.
‘They live right next door.’
‘Yes, we know.’
The Milanese looked amused.
‘What have those two blockheads been up to this time?’
‘We just need to corroborate a few things. Are you very close friends with them?’
Salvetti smiled and threw up his hands without taking his elbows off the armrests.
‘How shall I put it, Inspector? We’ve known one another since childhood, but we only see each other in summer. I don’t know if you could really say we are friends … You know what I mean?’
‘Of course. Tell me, when did you last see them?’
‘Yesterday morning. They left rather early, and we greeted them from the garden. I’d thought they had things to do around here, but then I haven’t seen them since. Don’t tell me they …’ He raised a hand and traced a cross in the air. Bordelli shook his head.
‘No, nothing like that. Signor Salvetti, where were you last Thursday night at eleven o’clock?’
‘Thursday? I went out dancing with my wife. Shortly after we got there, the Morozzis showed up with their wives.’
‘At what establishment did you go dancing?’
‘At the Mecca. It’s right here, on the seafront. Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?’
‘For the moment I can’t. At what time did you leave the Mecca?’
‘I’d say midnight, more or less.’
‘Why so early?’
Salvetti appreciated the observation.
‘When we go dancing we leave our little boy with some friends here in the neighbourhood, who also have a ten-year-old boy. And normally we come and pick him up at midnight.’
‘What about the Morozzis?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Did they leave with you at midnight?’
‘No, they stayed.’
‘Do you remember at what time they arrived?’
‘They came in around eleven, more or less.’
The alibi was airtight, and Bordelli began to feel bored. He exchanged a glance of understanding with Piras. The Morozzis’ version of events had been confirmed, point by point. He would have to start all over again. The two nephews had nothing to do with their aunt’s death. Perhaps the motive wasn’t the inheritance at all, but something else which nobody suspected. The only sure thing was that she had been murdered. Period. And yet there was something that eluded him, like a fly buzzing inside his head without letting up. He felt tired, very tired. He couldn’t wait for night to come, so he could lie down and sleep. Maybe even die … to die, to sleep … to be or not to be … to dream … to dream or die …
‘Is there anything else, Inspector?’
Bordelli snapped out of it and ran a hand over his face. Salvetti was staring at him.
‘That’ll be all, Signor Salvetti, thank you. Sorry to have bothered you,’ he said. He was about to rise from his chair, but Piras asked permission to ask a question himself. Bordelli nodded assent, and the Sardinian turned to the zip king.
‘At the Mecca, did you run into the Morrozis by accident, or had you arranged to meet there?’
‘Neither. My wife and I go there every Thursday night, and the Morozzis know this and sometimes drop in to see us there.’ Salvetti glanced at his watch and asked whether that would indeed be the last question. Bordelli rose by way of reply, and Piras followed. At that moment they heard a rather shrill female voice call out from the villa.
‘Artemioooo! Who are you talking tooooo?’ A woman in a dressing gown leaned out from a first-floor window. Salvetti waved at her, then raised his voice so she could hear.
‘Ciao, darling!.. I’ll explain later!’ Then he turned and said softly to Bordelli, ‘That’s my wife.’
The woman yelled louder:
‘Whaat diid youu saaayy?’
‘Laaater!.. I’ll tell you laaater!’
‘Is Giacomo there with youuuu?’ she persisted. Salvetti shook his arm in the air.
‘Nooo, he’s still at the Consaaaalvooos’.’
Bordelli put an unlit cigarette in his mouth, promising himself he wouldn’t smoke it until the drive back to Florence.
‘Is Giacomo your son?’
‘Yes. Every day after lunch he goes to stay with those friends I mentioned, to play with Matteo, their boy. He should be back by now. In a few minutes we’ll be going to the beach.’
Salvetti’s wife had disappeared from the window and reappeared on the lawn. She was wearing a gauzy little sundress covered with giant butterflies, her shoulders bare. She walked towards them with a rather studied step, planting the tapered wooden heels of her clogs into the grass with the nonchalance of habit. From afar she looked rather attractive, more plump than slender, hair full of airy curls. When she was under the arbour, she noticed the empty table.
‘Artemio! Haven’t you offered these gentlemen anything?’
‘Sorry, it didn’t occur to me.’
The wife gave him a playful little slap on the back of the neck but appeared to have miscalculated, striking him rather hard. Salvetti took it quite badly, but his wife paid no heed.
‘You’re always so impolite! Isn’t that so, signor …’ and she looked at Bordelli, holding out her hand. The inspector shook it and immediately felt as if his own had been greased up for life.
‘Inspector Bordelli, pleasure.’
‘Piras,’ said Piras, barely rising.
When she realised they were policemen, the woman got scared.
‘Has something happened to Giacomo?’ she said, alarmed.
Her husband snaked a hairy arm round her waist.
‘No, no, dear, there’s no need to worry. They only wanted to ask me a few
questions. I’ll explain later.’
‘My God, what a fright!’ she said, putting a hand over her heart. She was indeed attractive. A bit too made up for Bordelli, but attractive, all in all. She soon recovered her smile and asked what the two nice policemen might want to drink.
‘No need to bother, signora, we have to leave,’ said Bordelli.
‘Won’t you have a glass of orzata? Or mint?’
‘Come on, Giovanna, can’t you see these men are in a hurry?’
‘Don’t be such a bore, Artemio! Come now, Inspector. What can I get for you?’
Bordelli looked at Piras and bit his lip.
‘An orzata would be fine,’ he said.
‘And this handsome young man, what would he like?’
‘That would be fine for me too, thank you,’ said Piras, his dark eyes staring hard at her. Signora Salvetti excused herself to prepare the drinks and walked away, swaying on her pretty clogs, followed by Piras’s analytical gaze. The three men sat back down, at a loss for words. Piras pretended to tidy his hair but was actually having a last look at Giovanna before she disappeared into the house. Salvetti noticed and felt annoyed. He crossed his legs, shaking the top one furiously, as if trying to make time speed up.
‘I really would like to get to the beach before dark,’ he said, seeming a bit on edge. Piras was looking at him harshly, as if wanting to rearrange his face. Bordelli couldn’t stand the tension any longer and got up out of his chair.
‘Signor Salvetti, we’re going to go. Please give our regards to your wife.’
Salvetti was already standing, pleased to put an end to the encounter and particularly pleased to be rid of this Sardinian who was undressing his wife with his eyes. But Giovanna reappeared in the distance with a tray full of glasses and bottles. The husband sighed and fell back into his chair, resigned. As the woman approached, smiling, they all heard the clanging of an iron gate and then saw the two little boys appear on the lawn with their bicycles, excited and sweaty. They rode up to the arbour and skidded on the grass when they stopped.
‘Papa, papa! Can we go and drive in the garage?’
Salvetti raised a hand to shield the sun from his eyes.
‘Before anything else you must say hello to these gentlemen,’ he said.
‘Hello … Can we go now?’
‘All right, but be careful.’
The boys turned their bikes round and sped away, pedalling madly. Signora Giovanna poured the orzata into the glasses and smiled at Bordelli.
‘They’re going to play in the car … You’ve removed the keys, dear, haven’t you?’
‘What a question!’
Giovanni handed the two policemen and her husband their respective glasses, then served herself some mint and sat down with the sun directly on her face, not wanting to miss a single ray. She started talking about how much she had always loved the sea, from childhood.
‘I assure you, Inspector, when we come here I have a better appetite, I digest better, sleep better, breathe better — in short, I do everything better, ev-ery-thing … Don’t I, Artemio?’ She squeezed her knees together and giggled in a way that her husband found irritating.
‘Please, Giovanna …’
‘Why, what did I say?’ and she laughed again, slyly, hiding behind her glass of mint. Bordelli couldn’t wait to be liberated, and he finished his milky orzata in one long draught that bordered on the impolite. He glanced at Piras, hoping he would do the same. His assistant got the message and drank hastily, darting lightning-quick glances at Signora Giovanna’s legs, her fancy gold-rimmed clogs, and her naked, sunburnt, peeling shoulders. Salvetti, if he could have, would have killed him.
Signora Giovanna kept on talking, saying how much she adored the hot sand, how wonderful it was to lie and roast in the sun, how much she loved to take the rowing boat out to sea so she could finally take off her bathing suit and get some sun on her breasts and bottom. She had a beautiful smile, did Salvetti’s wife. Bordelli pictured her naked on the boat, covered head to toe in tanning oil, breasts in the sunlight, and at the same time he pictured people who had nothing, who toiled all day in order to eat just a little, who didn’t even know that lotions to prevent sunburn existed. Clenching his teeth, he rose with a sigh.
‘We really must go, thank you so much,’ he said. Salvetti didn’t wait for him to say it twice, but shot up like a spring to show them out of his territory. Signora Giovanna beamed a panoramic smile and, remaining seated, offered her hand to the policemen.
‘Well, see you soon, Inspector. Ciao, young man.’
Piras and Bordelli politely said goodbye and headed out across the lawn, struggling to keep pace with Salvetti, who was practically running. Piras stared at the Milanese’s neck with a disagreeable look on his face. At the gate, the three men very quickly shook hands. Bordelli and Piras were about to leave when Giacomo, Salvetti’s son, came running from the garage.
‘Papa, papa, the car’s been scratched!’ he cried with the proud intonation of someone delivering bad news. Salvetti’s eyes opened wide and he turned round abruptly, losing his balance, and would have fallen had Piras not caught hold of his arm.
‘What do you mean, “scratched?”‘ he yelled, brusquely yanking his arm out of the Sardinian’s grip.
‘We didn’t do it, it was already there! It was already there!’ Giacomo screamed cheerfully, before running back to the garage. At the far end of the garden, Signora Giovanna waved her arm to say goodbye again to the policemen, wondering why they were lingering at the gate. Salvetti, meanwhile, had disappeared into the garage, and Bordelli didn’t know whether to leave or to wait for him. He leaned against a gatepost and looked at his watch. The sweat was flowing down his back. It seemed the afternoon would never end.
At last Salvetti emerged from the garage. He looked quite upset.
‘Jesus bloody Christ, is that any way to act?! That scrape’s going to cost me a good two hundred thousand! The least they could have done is tell me!’
Bordelli threw up his hands.
‘Well, we’ll be off now,’ he said, ready to flee. For his part Piras had taken a step forward and was staring at Salvetti, who was gesticulating and shaking his head as he approached. The Milanese seemed angry and was talking to himself.
‘Is that any way to act? La madonna! They could have told me at least, dammit! Is that any way to act?’
Piras waited until Salvetti was beside him, and then asked:
‘Who are you talking about?’
Bordelli wasn’t expecting this sort of question. It actually seemed a bit intrusive on Piras’s part. But the Sardinian looked so serious that the inspector let him continue. Salvetti had stopped and was scratching his cheek and staring into space.
‘What pricks!’ he added.
Piras persisted.
‘Who are you talking about?’ he asked, eyes fixed on Salvetti.
‘Who? Why, those wretched Morozzi brothers, damn it all!’
Bordelli came away from the gate and back into the garden.
‘The Morozzi brothers?’ he said.
Salvetti was fuming.
‘I’ll never let them borrow it again, so help me God!’ he said, shaking his hands wildly in the air.
‘I’m sorry, but when did you lend them your car?’ Bordelli asked. Salvetti looked at him as if he’d just realised he was there.
‘What did you say?’
‘Your car … when did you lend it to the Morozzis?’
‘How should I know! They wanted to go for a drive in the hills, the show-offs! So much for trusting your friends!.. Two hundred thousand that scrape’s going to cost me! The cunts! Have you any idea how much a car like that costs?’
Piras gestured towards the garage, where one could still hear the sounds of the two little boys pretending they were driving.
‘Could I see it?’ he asked. Salvetti ignored him and walked in the direction of his wife, cupping his hands round his mouth.
‘Giovannaaaa! The Morozzis ha
ve scratched the caaaaar!’ he yelled.
‘Whaaaaat?’ she shouted back.
‘The caaaar! They scraaaaatched it! The Morozziiiiis diiiid!’
The wife then yelled at the top of her lungs.
‘Yes, I know, they waaaaashed it! They’re soooo sweeeeet!’ and she started waving her arm again. The husband was hopping from one foot to the other.
‘What did you saaayyy?’ he yelled.
‘They’re sooo sweeeeet!’
‘It’s scraaaaatched!’
Signora Giovanna gestured with her hand as if to say she couldn’t understand. Meanwhile Piras had gone into the garage and was already on his way back. He came up behind Salvetti.
‘Signor Salvetti, when, exactly, did you lend your car to the Morozzis?’
‘What? What’s my car got to do with any of this?’
Bordelli was right there beside him.
‘Please try to remember; it could be very important,’ he said in a serious tone.
‘Oh, really?’ Salvetti looked first at one, then the other, still in the grips of his tantrum. ‘They wanted to go for a drive through the hills. I think it was last Friday.’
Piras butted in.
‘Did you lend it to them Friday morning?’
‘Yes … I mean, no. I must have given it to them Thursday afternoon; that nincompoop Giulio came by to pick it up.’
‘Are you sure it was Thursday? Think it over carefully.’
‘Yes, yes, of course it was Thursday … because that morning we went early to the beach, whereas they normally don’t go out until ten, the bums. And so I let them take it the day before. A fine way to behave, bloody hell. They scrape your car and then don’t tell you! Neither of them, the pricks!’
‘It’s a pretty nasty scrape, Inspector,’ Piras commented. ‘Looks like they clipped a tree.’
By this point Salvetti was out of control, stamping his feet and cursing between clenched teeth.
‘Never mind washing it, they shouldn’t have scratched it. Bloody hell. The little boors!’
Bordelli tried to summon forth the least irritating tone possible.
‘Oh, so they washed it?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, they washed it! To thank me for the favour. Bloody hell!’