Hunting Truffles

by Dick Rosano

  “What could be so important about truffles, that they would kill my friend?” Francesco pleaded.

  “You had better be more selective of friends in the future, my son. Now, we must return to Alba and notify the police.”

  Chapter 53

  A Somber Drive

  Francesco and Tomaso returned to the car, lowered themselves into the seats while still distracted by their find, and they spent a slow, quiet drive back to Alba. Francesco's hands gripped the wheel with a fierceness borne of regret and suspicion. He couldn't stop thinking about Lidia, hating her, somehow knowing that she must be the cause of all this. He resolved to find her as soon as he made his way back to Alba.

  Pulling the car to a stop beside the piazza, Francesco and Tomaso quickly leaped out.

  “I'm going to find Lidia,” Francesco declared.

  “No, you're not. We're going to the police and report this. And I hope your involvement is no more than the theft of the great jewel of the Piedmont!”

  After making a full report to the police, father and son were dismissed and allowed to return to their other responsibilities. The police planned a trip to Alfonso's warehouse, but they didn't want a civilian along for the ride.

  “We don't need any help there,” Captain Mussino told them, and added sternly, “but if there is no body, I will not be pleased.”

  Francesco pondered the slightly morbid way the captain wished to find a dead body, but he also knew that if something untoward became of Alfonso's remains, this matter would become even more complicated.

  Tomaso called Rita and asked her to gather everyone to meet in Piazza Risorgimento to explain what had happened. Moments later, they were all there, including Lucia, since she craved information on this no less than the others.

  “He'll explain,” barked Tomaso, with a thumb jerked in Francesco's direction, punctuating the statement with a piercing glare.

  “Alfonso is dead,” he blurted out. It seemed easier to tell the story once that point was made.

  Francesco retreated to the beginning of the story, explaining that he and Alfonso had argued, in a friendly way, about the great secrecy that surrounded truffle hunting. How every trifolào maintained his own fields and was absolutely certain that no one could discern where he hunted. The darkness of night was some cover, although the rustling of dogs on the stillness of night likely gave away even the most discrete of trifolài, but the mystique was maintained.

  Alfonso bet Francesco that he could weasel the information out of the trifolài and they would reveal their hunting grounds to him. Francesco scoffed at the idea.

  “No hunter would give up that information,” said Lucia, and her words made it clear that she was blaming Francesco and Alfonso for all of this.

  “That would violate hundreds of years of tradition,” Stefano said, “and jeopardize their own harvest.”

  Francesco continued with his story, explaining that Alfonso persisted in his boast. At first, he told Francesco that he just planned to write this program to prove he could do it.

  “But he was not a truffle hunter,” Francesco explained, as if anyone needed to hear that. “And he didn't know all of them.

  “He knew I was a trifolào,” and here he paused under the accusatory glare of his father, “and so he asked me for all the hunters' names and cell phone numbers so he could contact them.

  “We were drinking and, under the influence of wine, I still considered Alfonso's boast an empty threat. So I checked his own cell phone and, with the help of pen and paper from the bar, I began to write down cell numbers for all the trifolài that I know in the city.”

  “Why did you give him that?” Tomaso boomed. “He's untrustworthy!”

  Francesco explained that Alfonso was his friend and, besides, this was just a game.

  “It's not a game!” Tomaso shouted.

  Later, according to Francesco, Alfonso proudly showed him a computer program he had written. It used cell numbers and GPS information to track the movements of everyone holding those phones.

  Francesco continued, “Unfolding the lid of his laptop, he showed me a map that was displayed on the screen, with dozens of circled letters. Some of these letters were moving; some were still. The map was Alba and the surrounding area and the letters corresponded to a legend at the bottom of the screen.”

  Francesco told them that he read the legend and immediately recognized the names of the trifolài that he had given to Alfonso. He looked back at the moving figures on the screen and immediately realized what Alfonso had done.

  Lucia demanded to know if Francesco had given Alfonso her father's cell number. Francesco looked at her as if he was about to lie, but her glare froze him. He looked down at his feet and returned to his story.

  “It takes a few minutes for a trained cano da tartufo to find the truffle and for the hunter to unearth it,” Francesco said, and “Alfonso knew that any such delays would indicate that the trifolào had found truffles at that exact spot, a spot that his program could record.”

  Francesco clearly didn't want to go on, but Lucia picked up the thread of the description.

  “Yes, a recording of all the places where the trifolài found their truffles, a recording that could help a thief steal these treasures right from under our noses!” Lucia's use of “our,” combined with her raised fist, was as menacing as it was climactic.

  Francesco told everyone that he objected to this program, and had told Alfonso to destroy it. But Alfonso was too proud of his computing achievement, yet he promised not to tell anyone.

  But, by now, everyone standing in this small group on this street in Alba knew that either Alfonso told, or someone else found out about his program.

  “Italian men can't help but boast to their girlfriends,” Nicki said. With that, she gave Francesco a withering look, one that made the young man shrink from her gaze. She's mad as hell, he thought to himself, and she doesn't look like she's going to calm down.

  “So, now, where's Lidia?” Rita asked. It was a question that everyone wanted an answer to.

  Chapter 54

  A Thief is Named

  “How are you going to make this right?” asked Tomaso. “Truffles are not just a commodity or an ingredient in everyday dishes. They are the jewels of the Piedmont, prized throughout the world. And you have helped a thief with no honor to take our treasure, sell it, and ruin our hunting grounds. What will happen next?” he cried.

  “We didn't help them steal the truffles,” Francesco said.

  “Yes, you did,” Tomaso barked in anger.

  “Well, I didn't mean to. And I certainly didn't have anything to do with Alfonso's murder.”

  They exchanged heated theories on the whereabouts of the missing truffles, the identity of the murderer, and what steps to take next. Most of the attention was on Lidia since none of them had seen her since the day before. But she was not from Alba and didn't even seem that interested in the culinary feats of the tartufo.

  “But she would be interested in the commercial feats of it,” declared Stefano.

  Captain Mussino appeared at the edge of the group and approached Tomaso.

  “My men have been to the warehouse. It is as you reported, a dead body, probably of a gunshot wound to the left temple, and that's all,” he reported. Francesco was surprised that he found himself relieved by the news, but his friend was already dead; he didn't want the police to drive out there and find nothing.

  “Any evidence of why it happened?” Tomaso asked. He had omitted reference to Alfonso's involvement in the grand theft of truffles in his earlier report, and once again decided to keep that out of the conversation. There was nothing specifically illegal about the truffle trade, but most of the sales took place outside of normal commerce and so no tax was being paid on them. The police even preferred to look the other way – occasionally rewarded for their oblivious stance with a handful of the blessed tubers – but the fisco, the tax man would be more curious about the trade. Tomaso was not only saving the t
rifolài by not mentioning the part played by truffles in this murder investigation, he was actually saving the police from a lot of unnecessary, and unwanted, work to cover up the theft.

  “No evidence yet. We found many fingerprints around the facility, but they will not help much. It was frequented by Alfonso's workers, the local market men, restaurant owners, and many others.” Mussino seemed already exhausted just listing the possible suspects. “We'll give this some thought and you'll probably hear from us later.”

  He turned to leave and made it just a few steps before pausing and turning around.

  “One thing, though. A farmer who works near the warehouse reported seeing a strange truck approach the building, remain for about an hour, and then leave. It's probably nothing, but we'll be looking into that also.”

  Chapter 55

  Tampering with the Evidence

  Before Captain Mussino was able to escape the group, Francesco had a brainstorm, and called after him.

  “Capitano! Aspetta, per favore,” he called out, “wait, please.”

  “Your men inspected the office and the refrigerated room, si?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “And they saw the things that Alfonso had there.”

  “Uh, yes, but what is your concern?” Mussino asked, a bit confused by the line of questioning.

  “Let's see, Alfonso had his office, his filing cabinets, which I'm sure were filled with possibly useful information, and his laptop.”

  “Si,” Mussino said, drawing out the single syllable as if to draw out a better explanation from Francesco.

  “Did your men secure any of that information, for example, the files in the file cabinet?”

  “No, not yet, they want the forensics team to go there first, and they won't be ready until after they've had their dinner.” It was a time-weary story about Italian police. They were well intentioned, and the upper ranks were serious policemen, but the rank and file behind the badge seldom let duty interfere with the customs of their homeland, and one of the most cherished customs was eating.

  “Grazie,” said Francesco, and to make a finer point, “Then all the things are still there?”

  “Yes, as I said,” repeated Mussino, who then cast a suspicious eye on Francesco.

  Francesco only smiled and replied, “Good, good,” and nearly skipped away back to his father and the others gathered there.

  “What was that about?” his father asked.

  “Alfonso's laptop is still at the warehouse,” Francesco reported.

  “Of course,” Tomaso said, “and that's where it's going to stay.”

  “But no,” Francesco disagreed. “We need that computer. Alfonso taught me to use his program.”

  Confused looks from everyone circled Francesco, so he continued.

  “Father, remember, we thought Alfonso had been robbed, his wallet, ring, and keys were gone…and so was his cell phone.”

  As if it was still not clear enough, Francesco triumphantly proclaimed that he might be able to find the thief by using Alfonso's program to trace the movements of his own phone!

  Tomaso considered this, but Paolo interrupted their thoughts.

  “Mussino made it clear that his forensics team was coming by later today. I think they'll know if the laptop has been taken.”

  Francesco smiled again. “Don't worry. Alfonso and I bought our laptops the same day, at the same store. In fact, we have the same model, if you understand what I mean.”

  “You're going to swap your laptop for his?” Nicki asked.

  “Of course. So the police will have their laptop and we'll have Alfonso's program.”

  “Great, wonderful,” said an exasperated Tomaso, raising his palms in near surrender. “You may escape involvement in the murder, so let's tamper with the evidence, just for fun!”

  “It's definitely not for fun,” was Francesco's quick retort. “But it may be the only way we can find the truffles and, if you care, Alfonso's killer.”

  “Let's go,” said Paolo, recognizing that time was against them. It was already seven o'clock in the evening. The police would probably eat early just so they could get to the warehouse before it was too late.

  “I'll drive,” said Francesco, but Tomaso stopped him.

  “Your car is too small. We'll take my fruit truck. At least you and I can fit in the front seat, and Paolo and Stefano can ride in back.”

  “What about us?” complained Nicki, referring to herself and Rita and Lucia.

  “Alfonso's body is still there,” said Francesco, “do you really want to see that?”

  The women looked at each other, perhaps waiting for a volunteer and, seeing none, Nicki just waved the men away.

  Chapter 56

  Twisting the Facts

  Tomaso made a detour going out of town to run by their house. Coming to a quick stop in front, Francesco jumped out and returned almost immediately with his laptop. Before they could leave, Dolce, Tomaso's best truffle dog, leaped into the back of the truck. It took Tomaso only seconds to conclude that the dog would refuse to get out, and he might come in handy looking for the pilfered truffles.

  Tomaso was about to speed off when Francesco called out, “Stop.”

  “What? What's the matter?” Tomaso said.

  “I need one thing more,” Francesco said before running back into the house and returning moments later. He had a small thumb drive in his hand and waved it at his father as if he expected a congratulatory slap on the back. Tomaso didn't even understand computers, so this tiny little instrument meant nothing to him.

  “If I'm going to leave my laptop there,” Francesco explained, “I want to make copies of my files on here,” as he indicated the thumb drive, “then delete them all from the laptop. It would be better if the police found nothing on the computer they think is Alfonso's than if they found a bunch of files belonging to me.”

  “The polizia aren't stupid. They will be able to tell from the computer who the owner is,” Tomaso said.

  “Actually, no,” Francesco replied, surprised that his father would know that much about computers. “Alfonso has friends in the computer business, and he gets a discount of purchases. He bought both computers in his own name and just gave this one to me.”

  Speeding down the rural roads to the warehouse, the men were more excited now than before. Stefano and Paolo discussed the chances of finding the truffles, and even Tomaso grudgingly spoke to his errant son about finding a solution to the mess.

  When they pulled up to the warehouse, they saw a police car parked out front. All four men exchanged surprised glances, recalling Mussino's comment that the police were gone, and would return later. Of course, they would not have left a dead body unattended. There must be an officer inside, making sure no one tampered with the evidence. Which was exactly what they intended to do.

  They knew the sound of their truck must have alerted the guard, so they conferred quickly about next steps.

  “They don't know I found him there,” offered Francesco, “so why not say that Captain Mussino, who knows I'm a friend of Alfonso, sent me here to identify the body. Remember, there was no identification left behind.”

  “Great, except for one thing,” countered Paolo. “Actually, two things. If you didn't find the body, how would you know there was no identification? And besides, all we need is for the policeman to pass that information on to the captain, and he'll come after us.”

  “And another thing,” added Stefano. “We can't all go in there, and it makes sense for you, Francesco, to stay out in the office while we distract the policeman and you're switching laptops.”

  All good points he had to admit. Then Tomaso chimed in.

  “So, we need Francesco to stay out in the office and only one, perhaps more, of us to go inside.”

  Nods all around.

  “Okay,” Tomaso continued. “We need to play as dumb as that man inside guarding the body. Follow me.”

  With a finger to his lips, Tomaso reminded Dolce to keep
quiet, and the four men left the truck.

  They drew the warehouse door open slowly, but deliberately. Seeing no one in the office, Tomaso silently motioned for Francesco to go over to the desk and begin the swapping operation. Then Tomaso signaled for Stefano and Paolo to follow him into the refrigerator room.

  As they stepped through the flaps shutting the office out from the storage unit, a twenty-something policeman stood up from a folding chair in the corner. He put his hand on his sidearm, but suspended his motion when Tomaso raised his hands.

  “Signore, io sono Tomaso,” he began, introducing himself. He proceeded to introduce his friends while still holding his hands in the air. Slowly, as he sensed the officer relaxing, he lowered his hands.

  “Did Captain Mussino tell you we were coming?” he asked.

  Before the policeman could answer, Stefano picked up on the ruse, and chimed in.

  “No, Tomaso. Captain Mussino said the officer asked you to come, to identify the body.”

  “I didn't ask you to come,” said the officer.

  “I didn't say you asked,” said Stefano, “I said Captain Mussino said you asked.”

  Paolo had caught on quickly too and joined in.

  “No, no. Captain Mussino asked Alfonso's girlfriend to come to identify the body,” and, turning to the officer, he asked, “Is she here yet?”

  “Oh, yes, she asked us to meet her here,” added Tomaso.

  “No, I left her back at the hotel,” said Paolo.

  By then the three men were conferring with each other as if the officer was not even in the room. The policeman stood by, with growing confusion, while the visitors debated who was supposed to be where. A moment later, Francesco walked in. This time, feeling outnumbered and ill at ease, the officer did draw his weapon.

  All four men raised their hands and offered muted protests.

  “Please, signore, don't shoot,” pleaded Tomaso, but he was equally sure the officer was too uncertain of the situation to risk firing his weapon.