Gold, Frankincense and Dust (25 page)

HE STAYED ON
in his office pretending to work until Juvara too started making preparations to leave, not before asking hesitantly: “If there’s anything you need, Commissario …”

“On you go,” Soneri said, with a grateful smile, but the moment he was on his own he grew dispirited at the prospect of the empty evening ahead of him. He decided not to go out until later when there would be fewer people about, apart from some lonely souls like him.

He went into the wine bar without seeing the people he feared. He ordered from Bruno a portion of Parmesan shavings and some slices of
coppa
, then he made for home, taking the long way round. On winter evenings, in spite of all the vandalism which had been wreaked on its inner spirit, Parma seemed to him simply beautiful. Its straw-coloured patina survived intact, indifferent to the torrent of vulgarity which threatened to drown it. Soneri still carried inside himself the city he had once known and attempted to locate it in the doorways, in the façades and in the irregularly shaped attics in the roofs on the far side of the river. He descended slowly into that malaise called memory, while simultaneously keeping a tight grip on his mobile in the hope of receiving a call in the present. But perhaps, as Angela’s persistent silence on
the future of their relationship implied, she too would soon belong to the realm of memory.

He walked in the direction of Piazzale della Pace where, in days that now seemed far off, he had taken the call from Juvara that had initiated the investigation. He thought back to that moment before his life had fallen apart, as it had now. He was reliving that situation when his mobile, in a curious reprise of the other occasion, rang again. It was Musumeci, wanting to update him on the developments concerning the rapist. The woman who had driven Candiani out of his wits
was
Nina.

“Commissario, this woman was a real demon with men!” the inspector exclaimed. Soneri thought about the more colourful expressions he would have employed with his fellow officers. “To keep up with her, they had to be forever snorting some substance or other.”

He had never thought of it in those terms. Many of her lovers were cocaine addicts, but that was not altogether unusual in the circles of wealthy men in search of new emotions. Everything was becoming complicated again. There were too many men who wanted that girl and too many who ended up frustrated. He quickened his pace. Once again, there was nothing for it but to let events take their course.

*

And the following morning they did, in fact, take their course. The printouts of the calls made by Soncini and Razzini on the night of the murder were at long last delivered. Soncini had switched off his mobile around 22.00 and had turned it back on about two hours later. The mast to which his phone received the signal was the one at Cortile San Martino, while the last call had been routed through the transmitter station near Lodi. Razzini, on the other hand,
had received half a dozen calls and texts via a mast somewhere south of Lake Como. Soncini’s alibi would not stand up. It was clear he had been with his friend until a certain time, and then they had gone their separate ways.

“That ties it all up,” Juvara said. “And this too is down to electronics,” he let fall after a moment’s silence.

Soneri did not immediately reply. “There’s still something that doesn’t add up. In this whole business, every time you seem to be getting to the heart of things, new doubts jump out at you and you’re back to where you started.”

“I was sure we’d found the ace this time. At least I hoped we had,” Juvara said.

“The car. That’s what doesn’t add up. The stolen B.M.W.”

“Commissario, that’s all based on the evidence of a drunk.”

“Yes, but he’s also a fanatic who knows all there is to know about cars.”

“It could’ve been another car of the same make.”

“You’re forgetting the horse on the side.”

“The symbol of the Cerreto equestrian club.”

“Did you get a membership list? Have a look and see if one of the members has a B.M.W. like Soncini’s.”

The commissario got up and went over to Juvara’s desk and picked up the folder with the documents. He began flicking through them.

“Can I help you?” Juvara said.

“I’m looking for the Cerreto number. Call that bar on Lake Como where Soncini claimed he spent the evening with his friend and ask the owner how Razzini got home.”

“In what sense?”

“If he left in his own car or if he got a lift from someone else.”

Without waiting for an answer, Soneri took hold of the telephone and dialled a number. Juvara watched him act with
the determination he showed at his best and assumed he must have formulated a precise theory, but then he noticed that, on the contrary, he was calling Nanetti.

“Listen, what model was the B.M.W. stolen from Soncini? What was that? A turbo diesel 520, year of make 2005?”

Next, without even replacing the receiver on the cradle, he dialled another number. “Hello? Is that the Vehicles Registration Office? This is Commissario Soneri. Could I speak to Ronchini, please? … Ciao, how are things, Eugenio? Listen, I need you to do me a favour. Could you run a check on all the cars owned by Arnaldo Razzini? That’s the one, the lawyer.”

As he waited, he turned to look at Juvara but saw that he too was on the telephone. A few minutes later, he called Ronchini back. “What’s that? A Fiat Punto and a B.M.W. turbo diesel 520 convertible? Thank you. That’s a great help.”

Soneri and Juvara hung up at the same time, but before the inspector had time to open his mouth the commissario picked up the phone again. “Musumeci, go and find Razzini, in his office or at his home. Have a good look at his B.M.W. It’s a black turbo diesel 520 convertible. What I want you to do is check if it has a sticker with a galloping horse attached to one side. Let me know right away.”

“Commissario, do you suspect …” Juvara stuttered.

Soneri nodded. “I suspect that Nina’s burned body was not dumped from Soncini’s car but from his friend’s. They’re identical, and that would mean that Mariotto was not mistaken.”

“At the joint on Como they told me Razzini went home with an acquaintance. He was a bit tipsy and was seen getting into a car with this other man, an habitué of the place.”

Soneri confirmed this version. “In fact Razzini must have had a lift, because that evening Soncini took his B.M.W.”

“This time you can’t say there are any doubts.”

“We’ve reached the first solid point in the whole story,” the commissario conceded, “but there are still doubts. Bear in mind that there’s never any closure except in a judicial sense, but that’ll do us.”

Their satisfaction lasted no longer than the delivery of the newspapers which fired off a fresh round of accusations, aimed equally at the police and the civic authorities. The prefect was quoted as saying he was “on the side of the people” for the “restoration of law disrupted by recent events”.

“A bunch of arseholes,” Soneri yelled. He was heartily sick of such drivel in a city given to preaching, as if the much-vaunted “civil society” was made up of saints. “They go around shitting in the streets like their pet dogs and then complain about there being dirt everywhere,” he shouted, banging the papers down on the desk. To make matters worse, he had heard that Capuozzo was furious with Soneri for deserting his post the day before.

“Don’t get too worried,” Marcotti tried to calm him down over the phone. “Until somebody decides otherwise, I’m coordinating this investigation and I’ll decide who to put in charge of the case. Capuozzo can jump up and down all he likes.”

Here at last was a woman who dispensed reassurance, the commissario thought to himself, reflecting again that she was the one he would have chosen to marry.

“I would like a warrant to search Signor Razzini’s car. I have reason to believe it was the one used for the murder.”

“Could you give me the background?”

“Soncini carried out some internet searches with compromising key words at a time when very few people could have known about the murder. In addition, Razzini owns a
car identical to Soncini’s, with, as I believe, the same emblem on the side. We’ve learned from the owner of the bar where Soncini and Razzini say they spent the evening when Iliescu was murdered that Razzini was given a lift home by an acquaintance. Am I making sense?”

“Perfect sense. In this regard, I meant to tell you that the head of the Romas arrested at Suzzara in connection with the theft of gold has admitted that the boys driving the car have nothing to do with this case, and said he’ll provide the proof soon.”

“So let’s wait a bit. Dottoressa, will you take it on yourself to inform Capuozzo? Right at this moment, our relations are not of the best.”

“Certainly. I’ll see to it,” she said. The commissario would have liked to kiss her.

At last he felt at peace. He looked up at Juvara and saw him looking in his direction. “This is the moment to put the noose round Soncini’s neck,” Juvara said.

Soneri’s mood darkened once more. “But what made him do it?”

The motive, one of the fundamental elements in a murder case, escaped him. Did Nina want to leave him? She had had so many other relationships. Or did he plan to leave her only to find he could not get rid of her? But she was not the type of woman to entertain regret, even if accompanied by threats of blackmail. No matter from which angle he examined the question, he could not make out what had led Soncini to kill her.

Musumeci’s call disturbed his reflections. “Commissario, I can confirm that the B.M.W. has the emblem of the equestrian club on its side.”

“Stay where you are. I’ll send Nanetti over to join you.”

“But we need a warrant.”

“You’ll get one.”

He called Marcotti immediately. “Dottoressa, there is a horse on Razzini’s car as well.”

“Carry on. I’ll sign the warrant at once.”

He then telephoned Nanetti, who said to him: “You sound in good form. That means that everything is coming to a head.”

“I might have found the person who murdered Nina.”

“Is that all? I thought it was something else entirely. That’s just routine for you.”

He would have liked to tell him to go to hell, but the moment was not right.

*

Two hours later, the first results came in. Traces of petrol were found in the boot of the car, perhaps spilled from the container of petrol used to set fire to the body. In addition, luminol had shown up traces of blood on the rugs, even though it was evident that the car had been valeted with immense care. Tests would establish whether the blood was Nina’s.

While having a sandwich in a bar in the city centre with Soneri and Nanetti, who had spent the morning working on Razzini’s car, Dottoressa Marcotti set out her own conclusions. “It’s clear to me that the proof is overwhelming, but I have to warn you that in the present situation that proof is only circumstantial. That’s sufficient for me to lock him up, but it will be a different kettle of fish when the case comes to court.”

The commissario was the first to share her doubts and feel dissatisfied. He thought he had had Soncini in his grasp, but instead he only had him by the hem of his coat. The affair still looked murky. It stank, but like something which spreads
foul air all around without anyone being able to determine its source.

“If you want my advice,” she said, shaking her magnificent blonde hair, “don’t stop working on this case. We haven’t got to the bottom of it yet. Anyway, you know what the next step is.”

“Soncini,” Soneri said.

“Come to my office and I’ll sign a warrant for his arrest here and now.”

*

It seemed as though he had been waiting. Possibly Razzini had managed to make a call before the police arrived, but Soncini had the complexion of a man who had been ill. His face no longer showed that world-weary look which the commissario had found so unsettling. Two days’ growth on his chin, greasy hair straggling around a head which suddenly appeared small and pointed, wrinkles in the leather-coloured skin of his cheeks, all combined to give the impression of a man who had grown old overnight. The combative manner which the commissario had been confronted by in the first interviews was gone, and he now looked like a man resigned to letting himself go without even the slightest attempt to fight back.

“This is not a happy situation,” Soneri said, after a silence in which he pretended to be reading through some documents. In fact, he knew every word by heart, yet took his time so as to keep his adversary on tenterhooks. He expected Soncini to deny the charge or seek some way out but against all expectation he murmured: “Yes, I know.”

The lawyer who had accompanied him, a young man about Soncini’s daughter’s age, was also surprisingly reticent.

The commissario took that meekness as a sign of assent,
and went straight to the heart of the matter. “Why did you kill her?”

“I didn’t mean to. It was an accident,” Soncini said, in a whisper.

“Bollocks!” Soneri threw back at him in an explosion of anger which surprised even himself. The figure of Nina pregnant appeared in front of him, with once again the memory of his wife superimposed.

“It was obviously premeditated,” he said, trying to control the words which were tumbling out of him in real fury. “You borrowed the car from your friend Razzini so that you could incriminate whoever had stolen yours. Maybe that was because you knew exactly who
had
stolen it.”

“It all happened by sheer chance,” Soncini protested. “Razzini was drunk. Nina had called to ask if we could meet as soon as possible. That was why I borrowed my friend’s car, and anyway he was in no state to drive. Do you really think I’d have planned to use a car the same as my own?”

“It was the best way to ward off suspicion.”

“It was an accident, I tell you. I left the place on Lake Como before ten o’clock. I don’t deny that. Nina was pestering me with calls, so I arranged to meet her in Parma in a bar not far from the toll booth on the autostrada, and after a short while I switched off my mobile. She sounded extremely agitated and kept on saying she had something very important to tell me.”