Death and the Olive Grove (12 page)

‘At first glance, everything's exactly the same as with the first murder,' the pathologist said.

‘Will that bite be of any use to us?' asked Bordelli.

‘I don't think so. Tooth marks on such a soft part of the body are very imprecise.'

‘Anything else?'

‘No, not for now.'

Bordelli shook his head, feeling more and more discouraged.

‘Want a lift?' he asked the doctor.

‘I've got a car waiting for me.'

‘Call me the minute you've got any news.'

‘I'm already sure there won't be any,' said Diotivede, frowning darkly. Nodding goodbye, he headed towards the grassy meadow. Piras stared into space. The deaths of these little girls were having a bad effect on everyone.

‘Wake up, Piras, we're going to go look for that young man.'

‘He didn't do it,' said Piras, following behind him.

‘I'm well aware of that,' said Bordelli, shrugging. Signora Beniamini had seen Simone Fantini walking ahead of her, and the corpse of the little girl lay farther ahead. Only afterwards did Beniamini see Fantini step off the footpath and bend over the girl, who was already dead. What sense would there be in the murderer coming back and kneeling down over his victim right after killing her?

They got into the car, and as they were leaving the meadow, they saw two technicians from Forensics arrive. Bordelli waved at them and noticed that they, too, looked very tense.

‘What should I do with Signora Benianimi's testimony, Inspector? Shall I put it in the report?' asked Piras, already knowing what Bordelli would say.

‘Forget it, Piras … If it ended up in the hands of you-know-who, it would trigger a useless manhunt.'

Piras tore Beniamini's deposition from the notepad, crumpled it up and put it in his pocket. Ginzillo would never get to read it.

They parked in Via Trieste and rang the buzzer to Fantini's flat, but nobody answered. It was a fine stone building, with big windows and a monumental entrance.

‘What should we do, Inspector?'

‘Let's hear what the neighbours have to say,' said Bordelli, pressing another button at random. A few seconds later they heard the front door unlock with a click and then open. The atrium was spacious and luminous, and a number of large potted plants created a nice effect.

They began to climb the fine granite staircase. A girl was waiting for them on the second-floor landing with a wooden spoon in her hand. She was wearing a blue apron and a white bonnet.

‘Was it you who rang?' she asked, looking at them with big green eyes. She was quite pretty, and Piras ran a hand through his hair to smooth it down.

‘Police,' said Bordelli.

‘The masters of the house aren't here,' said the girl, a bit frightened. She shot a quick glance at young Piras and felt embarrassed, as he was staring at her insistently and puffing his chest like a rooster.

‘Do you know Simone Fantini?' the inspector asked.

‘He lives upstairs, on the fourth floor … Why, what did he do?'

‘What kind of a person is he?'

‘He's very nice,' said the girl, blushing slightly.

‘As far as you know, does Fantini have any friends in this building?' the inspector asked.

‘I see him often with the Sicilian girl who lives across the landing from him. She's called Sonia.'

‘Is she his girlfriend?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘Does Fantini have a girlfriend?'

‘I don't know. For a while he was with a girl who lives across the street, but she left him a few months ago.'

‘Ottavia Beniamini?' asked Piras.

‘Yes,' said the girl, rather surprised. Bordelli and Piras both gave a hint of a smile and exchanged a glance of understanding.

‘Do you know by any chance at what time we might find Simone at home?' the inspector asked.

‘He's usually at home studying at this hour,' the girl said in a ringing voice. Then, realising she had spoken with too much enthusiasm, she blushed again.

‘Thank you, and sorry for the disturbance,' said Bordelli.

‘Not at all,' said the girl.

Bordelli and Piras headed upstairs. The girl remained standing in the doorway, watching them, and when Piras turned round to look at her, she quickly ducked back inside.

There were two doors on the fourth-floor landing. They rang the doorbell to Fantini's flat, but again there was no answer. On the door opposite was a plaque with the name
Zarcone
. Bordelli rang the doorbell and heard a sweet
ding-dong
sound within. The door opened, and there stood a tall blonde girl with green eyes, totally different from how one might expect a Sicilian to look. She was wearing a form-fitting black sweater that looked very good on her, and a red skirt that ended well above the knee.

‘Hello,' she said, somewhat perplexed. Bordelli flashed his badge before those smiling eyes.

‘Police,' he said. ‘Are you Sonia Zarcone?'

‘Yes,' she said, her smile fading.

‘Can we come in?'

‘Has something happened?'

‘Nothing serious,' said the inspector. The girl looked first at one, then the other, with a confused expression. Piras's face brightened in a broad smile, to the great surprise of the inspector, who had never seen him smile like that.

‘We'll only take a minute of your time,' said Piras, casting another furtive glance at Sonia's legs, which were as beautiful as a movie star's.

‘All right,' she said, pulling the door open and standing aside to let them pass. They followed her into a fairly large room, rather unusually furnished. It was a lovely apartment to begin with, but the girl's imagination had made it even more pleasurable, with its combination of antique and modern furnishings.

‘Please sit down,' said Sonia, gesturing towards a black-leather sofa, then sitting down opposite them in an old armchair that had probably belonged to her grandmother. Piras studied the girl's figure, eyes wandering everywhere. She, too, was an interesting mix of antique and modern, he thought.

The primordial female and the woman of today, combined in the best manner possible. The Sardinian liked her. A lot, in fact. It was the first time since he had arrived ‘on the continent' that he had met a girl he really, truly liked. He even liked her Sicilian accent, which got all the O and E sounds wrong. Bordelli noticed Piras's admiration for the girl but said nothing.

Sonia, meanwhile, had recovered her smile, and her eyes sparkled with a hint of vanity. She, too, seemed to notice how Piras was looking at her. She asked the policemen whether they wanted something to drink, then blushed as if she had said something silly. They were hardly a couple of guests paying a social call.

‘Please don't bother, thank you,' Bordelli replied for both of them. ‘We only wanted to ask you a few questions.'

‘Go right ahead,' said Sonia, her curiosity aroused. She rearranged her hair and crossed her legs, much to the embarrassment of Piras, who couldn't stop looking at all those wonders of nature. The inspector grabbed his packet of cigarettes.

‘May I?' he asked.

‘Of course,' said Sonia.

Bordelli lit up, took a deep drag, and exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling. Piras was too busy with other concerns to grimace with irritation. It was the first time he had failed to do so.

‘Are you really Sicilian?' the inspector asked. Sonia smiled.

‘You Northerners seem to think Sicilians are all four foot tall and black as coal,' she said. ‘But there are a lot of people like me.'

‘Because of the Normans,' said Piras.

‘Very good,' she said. Piras smiled with satisfaction. Staring at the girl, he felt glad that the Normans had passed through Sicily.
¹²
The inspector glanced at his watch: almost noon.

‘The young man who lives across the landing, Simone Fantini … is he a friend of yours?'

‘Yes. Why? Has something happened?' asked the girl, alarmed.

‘No need to get upset. Do you know where we can find Simone?'

‘Normally he's at home at this time of day.'

‘We tried, but nobody answers,' said Bordelli.

‘He must have gone out for a walk, or to study at a friend's house.' Sonia seemed rather concerned, which brought a slight furrow to her brow that Piras liked very much.

‘What does Simone do?' the inspector asked.

‘He's in his last year of Engineering, but his real passion is writing.'

Sonia had a lovely voice, warm and deep, and a vague smile in her eyes which never faded. It was a pleasure just to look at her. Every so often she shot a quick glance over at Piras, who was getting as excited as a little kid. Bordelli witnessed everything and smiled to himself.

‘Forgive my asking, miss,' said the inspector, ‘but are you and Simone just friends or are you …?'

Piras pricked up his ears, staring at a tiny mole on Sonia's lower lip while awaiting the reply.

‘We're just friends … why do you ask?' she said.

Piras relaxed. Bordelli brought his cigarette over to a little pot that looked like an ashtray, but before tapping it with his finger, he looked at Sonia for approval. She nodded and Bordelli knocked off some ash. At that moment he felt a bitter surge of bile rise up through his oesophagus and burst at the back of his throat like a rotten flower. He'd been having digestive problems the past few days.

‘You wouldn't happen to have the keys to Simone's place, would you?' he asked, repressing a grimace.

‘Yes, I would. Why?'

‘We'd like to go and have a look.'

‘Maybe he's at home and doesn't feel like answering the door,' said the girl, embarrassed.

‘Let's go and see,' said Bordelli. There were a few seconds of silence, a few quick exchanges of glances.

‘You really don't want to tell me what's happened?' Sonia asked with a worried smile.

‘Nothing serious, but we need to talk to Simone as soon as possible,' said Bordelli.

‘Has he done something wrong?'

‘Please, I beg you …'

‘I'll go and get the keys,' she said, standing up. She crossed the room, devoured by Piras's gaze, and disappeared behind the door, which she closed behind her.

Piras sought the inspector's eyes. A gleam of suffering shone in his black pupils. Bordelli smiled.

‘Pretty, eh?'

‘Not bad,' Piras said indifferently.

Sonia returned with the keys, and they followed her out to the landing. She had a beautiful body, and Piras didn't miss a single movement. Those two fine legs stretching out from under her skirt were good for his health.

Before going into Simone's flat, the girl rang the doorbell and knocked several times, but there was no answer. In the end she made up her mind to unlock the door. Sticking her head inside, she called out loudly to her friend. The apartment was dark and all was still.

‘He's not here,' she said needlessly, then automatically turned on the light and let the two policemen inside. From her movements it was clear she knew the space well. The flat was messy but pleasant.

‘This is the conversation room,' said Sonia, going through the first door they encountered in the hallway. It was a big room covered with carpets and large cushions strewn across the floor. One wall was entirely taken up by a bookcase painted blue and overflowing with books all the way to the ceiling. Bordelli went up to it and started reading the spines: Dostoyevsky, Mann, Kafka, Leopardi, Svevo, Lermontov, Flaubert, Primo Levi, Poe, Foscolo, Tolstoy, Simenon, Chekov, Bulgakov … All good stuff, he thought. On one shelf was a framed photo of a young man with black hair, intense eyes, and a large, imperfect nose that nevertheless looked good on him.

‘Is this Simone?' the inspector asked. Sonia nodded.

‘Handsome, isn't he?' she said, picking up the photo. Piras craned his neck to have a look, and a furrow appeared between his eyebrows. Simone really was handsome, he had to admit. This discovery troubled him, and in reacting to it he smiled like an idiot. Bordelli had never seen him look so asinine. Sonia put the photo back in its place and folded her arms over her breasts, awaiting instructions.

‘I'd like to have a look around the place,' Bordelli said.

‘I'll come with you,' said the girl.

The inspector raised a hand.

‘Thanks, there's no need. Meanwhile Piras will ask you a few questions.'

‘Don't you want to tell me what's happened?' Sonia persisted.

‘Well, not now, anyway,' said the inspector.

‘Then when?' she asked.

‘Piras, be sure to write everything down.'

‘Of course, Inspector,' said the Sardinian, blushing. Bordelli suppressed a smile and left the room, leaving Piras in Sonia's hands. There was no need to ask Sonia anything. He had merely wanted to play a little trick on Piras. Or do him a favour.

At the end of the hallway he pushed open a door and entered a large room that looked on to Via Trieste. More shelves full of books. It must be Simone's room. The bed was unmade. On the wall was a poster of a film starring Virna Lisi, the most beautiful of Italian actresses. A few books lay scattered across the desk, along with a full ashtray, a typewriter and a number of typescripts stapled together or bound with paper clips. They must be Simone's stories. The inspector picked one up at random and started reading the first page. It wasn't bad, though there was a certain immaturity in the fanciness of the words. He put it back in the pile, picked up another, and began to leaf through it, reading a passage here and there. All the same, there was something powerful in his way of writing, a sincerity that one read with pleasure. But this wasn't the time for it. He put it back down and continued thumbing through the typescripts, reading only the titles:
The Paralytic; The Contract; Love's Darkness; Half the House; Betrayal …
The last in the stack was
The Tower
, a rather short story. He read the first page. It wasn't bad, so he continued …