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Ben was kept waiting in an austere sitting room in her grandfather’s house in Capri while Francesca went and explained their presence to the old man. After about ten minutes she returned and led him out of the back door of the little villa and along a shady gravel path overhung by orange and lime trees. Ben could see the immature green fruit which were starting to develop.
The path terminated in a small paved loggia which was open on three sides, but with a low balustrade. The view from this point was one of the most spectacular which Ben had ever seen. As far as he could tell they were at a point several hundred feet directly above the sea and looking approximately north towards Ischia and Naples, although the land could only be vaguely discerned through the brown, early evening mist. However the clear peak above the looming mass of Vesuvius projected out of the haze.
Seated in a creaking old basket chair in front of this magnificent view and with his back half-turned to their approach was a frail, bent old man with long, snowy white hair. His face and hands were like brown, wrinkled parchment. A woollen rug was wrapped around his knees despite the warmth of the evening.
Francesca ran forward and crouched beside him. “Grandpapa, this is Ben. He has been a very good friend of Toni for seven years.”
The old man turned his face towards him and Ben noticed the pale, unfocused eyes. He was struck by the irony of the blind old man sitting in front of this splendid view of which he could see nothing.
The girl beckoned and Ben moved forward. “How do you do,” he said, rather formally. But he took hold of the offered hand and shook it warmly.
“You are welcome,” said the old man in a pale, reedy voice. “It is nice to hear English spoken again. Will you please take a seat?”
Ben looked around but could only see a single, rather rickety, upright chair. He looked at Francesca who nodded and settled herself on a footstool by her grandfather’s feet. So Ben collected the shaky chair and sat down near the balustrade.
“Do you like my view?” asked the old man, as though reading his thoughts.
“It’s unbelievable.”
“I have lived here for twenty years. I have not seen the view at all for three years. And before that I was not able to see it properly for another five years. But when I sit here and feel the breeze on my face, I can remember it all just the way it was. I can hear the sounds of the motoscafi going to the Grotta Azzura and the screams of the petrels along the cliff-edge and I can see them as brightly in my mind as if they were in front of my eyes. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I think I do,” Ben agreed.
“I remember things very well,” said the old man. “I sometimes think that it is the only thing that my brain can now do properly.” When Ben stayed silent, he went on. “I also remember many things which I do not wish to have in my memory. But a person cannot choose. I think it is about some of those unspoken things that you wish to speak to me.”
“Yes,” said Ben. “I’m sorry if it disturbs you.”
“Oh, it is not your fault. Perhaps it is my fault for trying to run away from them many years ago. Perhaps I should have faced up to them then, as you are now doing.”
Ben wasn’t quite sure what Francesca had told him. It began to sound as though she had cast him in the role of St George slaying the dragon. Ben wished he only had half her optimism - and half her innocence.
“Francesca said to me that you were the one who found the body of Toni,” said the old man.
“Yes.”
“The police do not know why he was murdered?”
“No. Whoever it was who killed him had ransacked our office. It seemed as if they were looking for something.”
A ghost of a smile crossed the old face. “But you do not know what it was?”
“I was hoping that you might be able to help me with that,” said Ben.
“You did not find anything yourself after they had gone?”
“No.” Then he remembered. “Well, I - I found one little thing. But I don’t think it’s important.”
The old man was leaning forward, his sightless eyes intent on Ben’s face. “Tell me what you found and I will tell you if it is important.”
Ben’s hand strayed to his jacket pocket where it fingered the badge he had picked up from beside the murdered man. “It was something that fell out of Toni’s hand when I - when I moved the body. It was a small metal object.”
“Describe it to me.”
He pulled out the piece of metal and looked at it. “I have it here. It is just over an inch - about three centimetres square, but less than half a centimetre thick. It is made of a heavy grey metal.”
“Yes. And what is on it?”
“There is a picture of a black dog held by a chain and with blood dripping from its jaws.”
“Ah.” The old man’s voice was so quiet that Ben found it difficult to make out the words. “That is the Wolf of Hades.”
“What is the Wolf of Hades?”
“That is the hound which, the myths say, guards the entrance to hell. You must understand that here in the South we have our own version of the old myths. A lot of strange things are supposed to have happened here. We are a very superstitious people. You will have heard of the Greek myth of the Sirens?”
“I believe so.”
“That occurred on this very island. And we have our own explanations for a lot of other things. There is an area to the west of Naples called the Campi Phlegraei which means the fields of fire. It was called that by the Greeks because there was so much volcanic activity there in ancient times. And there is a place in the Campi Phlegraei which the ancient peoples believed was the entrance to Hell. Even the Romans believed this. It was probably a kind of large volcanic hole from which hot air and gases emerged, but it must have been much greater than the usual fumaroles.”
He paused for a moment. “The hole which is left is more than a kilometre across. Now it has filled with water and is called Lake Avernus. This is where the old myths say the Wolf of Hades has his lair. It is said that he goes out into the world as far as his chain will allow him, and that he consumes the unwary souls who come too close to the gateway to Hell.”
“I see.”
“But what you do not see, my friend, is what this has to do with the death of Toni. It is this which leads me to the Vitelli. However, before I tell you about them I must first tell you some more about Toni. You see, he came to see me six days ago.”
That made Ben pay close attention. He could see that Francesca’s eyes were also fastened on the old man’s face.
“Yes, Toni also asked me about the Vitelli, and I told him what I am going to tell you now. It was the first time that he had heard it.” The old man sighed and shook his head. “When I was a boy I learned these things at my father’s knee. In the new world my people have become civilised, but they have also grown weak.”
Ben looked at Francesca. She shook her head slightly as if to indicate that she didn’t understand what he was talking about.
The old voice wandered on. “And from what Toni told me, I think he had found out some things about the Vitelli and Cimbrone families. He would not tell me exactly what it was. But what I told him made his mind up.”
“The Vitelli are the family of Alfredo’s wife, are they not?” asked Ben, somewhat unnecessarily.
“That is so.” The old man smiled bleakly. “More’s the pity.”
“So Toni had found out something about them?”
“That is right.”
“But you don’t know just what it was?”
“I’m afraid I do not. Toni said it was best that I did not know, in case the Vitelli came here looking for information.”
“Have they?”
He shook his head. “I told Toni they would not come. If nothing else, they at least have some respect for my age.”
“What was he going to do about the Vitelli?”
“He said he was investigating them. He had found out many interesting things. He wa
s staying at a secret address in Naples to avoid suspicion. He did not say where that was either.”
“We’ve been to that address,” said Ben. “Somebody else had got there before us. The place had been smashed up.”
“So it was discovered,” muttered the old man. “I was afraid he would not be able to keep it a secret.”
The Mafia Emblem Page 35