Marco Vichi - Inspector Bordelli 04 - Death in Florence (31 page)

‘I’m sorry, the admiral is in a meeting.’

‘Will he be long?’

‘I have no way of knowing … If you like, I can have him call you back as soon as he’s free.’

‘All right, thank you. Please tell him it’s extremely urgent.’

‘And could you please repeat your name for me?’

‘Inspector Bordelli.’

‘And your telephone number?’

‘Pietro knows it.’

‘I’ll pass this on to the admiral. Goodbye, Inspector.’

‘Goodbye.’

He hung up, sighing impatiently. Waiting, always waiting. He started pacing back and forth, daydreaming about the possible meaning of the coincidence. From the very start of this nasty affair, chance had been amusing herself by casting her ambiguous bait here and there, and he had bitten each time.

Smoking avidly, he tried to piece together the few elements he had available, launching into hasty hypotheses that lasted as long as a match flame. It was like seeing a faint light at the end of a dark, endless tunnel.

The ring of the telephone startled him, and he ran to pick up.

‘Yes?’

‘Is that you, Franco?’

‘Hello, Carnera.’

‘Hello, old boy, how are you?’ Agostinelli asked cheerfully.

‘Not too bad, and you? Still playing spy?’

‘It’s a thrilling job, you really ought to try it.’

‘Just the thought of it makes me shudder,’ Bordelli said, smiling.

‘I really mean it. Why don’t you quit the police force and come and work for us?’

‘I’d rather wait for my pension and retire to the countryside.’

‘Well, think about it anyway.’

‘I’m not made for sitting cooped up in an office all day, Pietro.’

‘How are things in Florence? I saw Burton’s appeal on the telly last night … A fine mess …’

‘Saragat came to have a look for himself, but we’re still waiting for Rome’s timely help.’

‘The hallways in Rome are long and tortuous, and people sometimes get lost in them,’ Agostinelli said sarcastically.

‘Never mind … Guess who just paid me a visit.’

‘Brigitte Bardot?’

‘One of yours: Colonel Arcieri,’ said Bordelli.

‘An excellent fellow, one of those who never breaks and doesn’t even bend,’ said the admiral.

‘He was pretty upset.’

‘I know, I know … We’re working on a sensitive case.’

‘I don’t want to know about it …’

‘I couldn’t tell you even if you did.’

‘So much the better … Listen, as to the matter at hand … I wanted to ask a favour.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I would like to know everything you know about three people, even though I doubt you’ve got much on two of them …’ And he gave him their names – Livio Panerai, Moreno Beccaroni and Alfonso Gattacci – as well as the public information he had on them. As for Gattacci, he mentioned only that he was about seventy years old.

‘All right, I’ll have someone search the archives and let you know.’

‘Thank you so much.’

‘I’ll call you back shortly,’ said the admiral, hanging up.

Bordelli seized the moment to go and have a coffee at the bar in Via di San Gallo, then paid in advance for one for Mugnai. Back in the office, he resumed pacing back and forth in front of the window, thinking about the girl. Maybe it was better to stay away, so she could see how much she missed the old Methuselah … But what if one of those students then … No, she wasn’t the type to waste time with snotty-nosed little boys … Which didn’t mean of course that she was the type who liked old police detectives, either … And yet, last night after dinner, in front of the car … Was she just having fun at his expense? But what if instead …

The ring of the telephone pulled him out of the swamp into which he was sinking. As he’d hoped, it was Agostinelli.

‘On Livio Panerai there’s hardly anything.’

‘As I expected.’

‘All we’ve got is that he’s a butcher by trade, a member of the MSI,
⁴⁶
a staunch Fascist and makes frequent visits to Predappio.’

‘More or less what I already knew.’

‘On to Moreno Beccaroni. Not much on him, either. Son of the barrister Romano Beccaroni. Fascist Youth, Avanguardia, and all the rest. Basically like everyone else who grew up under the regime. Carducci middle school, the Liceo Dante Alighieri after that, followed by law school. Temporarily interrupted his studies in 1940. Didn’t serve in the war because of an older brother who died in the Greek campaign. An adherent of the Republic of Salò, without any special posts. No documented atrocities … No Black Brigades, just to be clear. He’s suspected of having taken direct part in the confiscation of the possessions of a number of Jewish families in the Veneto in ’44, keeping some of it for himself, but there’s no proof of this. After the war he resumed his studies and graduated in ’49. Passed the bar in ’52. In ’55 he was charged with sexual molestation of a minor, the son of peasants—’

‘Gualtiero Cioni?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Our research shows that it never went to trial because the charges were dropped …’

‘That’s what we’ve found, too, but, given the situation, I’m taking the liberty of assuming that the family was paid off handsomely.’

‘I thought the same thing.’

‘And that’s all for Beccaroni.’

‘All right.’

‘As for Alfonso Gattacci, we’ve even got a rather detailed dossier from the OVRA.’
⁴⁷

‘I’m all ears.’

‘He was an active participant in the Fascist project from the very start. The paramilitary
Fasci di combattimento
, the March on Rome, and so on … he didn’t miss a thing. University degree in literature and philosophy. A man of culture, not a thug à la Dumini. In ’32 he founded a publishing house which went bankrupt after one year and folded. A failed poet who used to rub elbows with important writers and painters, including Marinetti and Boccioni. He was a minion of Pavolini, who protected him during some unpleasant moments. Under the Salò regime he was one of the founders of the PDM, a clandestine organisation of the Salò gang which we know little about. And during the pathetic days of the Valtellina Redoubt,
⁴⁸
he escaped to Switzerland …’

‘Is there anything more personal on him?’

‘Let’s see …’ said Agostinelli, leafing through the pages of the file.

‘There ought to be … The OVRA used to know how many times a person pissed a day.’

‘Here we are. And I quote: “A pervert. Prefers very young males. Spends a great deal on his sexual pleasures …”’

‘That’s exactly what I was looking for,’ Bordelli interrupted him, fumbling for his packet of cigarettes.

‘So now you know everything,’ Bordelli said, after telling Piras of his latest discoveries. For the whole time, the Sardinian had been squeezing his lower lip between two fingers.

‘Very interesting,’ he said under his breath.

‘We have to keep an eye on all three; it’s the only thing we can do.’

‘Right …’

‘Let’s get started straight away – I’ll leave it to you to organise the shifts. If anything happens, contact me immediately, even via radio. I’ve been using a squad car, the grey 1100.’

‘All right, Inspector.’

‘And you know what? We never did start looking for the owner of the flat in Via Luna …’

‘Would that help?’

‘You never know. But I imagine the Land Registry office was flooded.’

‘It was, and so was the records office. Destroyed,’ said Piras, who was always very well informed.

‘And there’s no point looking at the Conservatory. Without a name, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’

‘We could try asking the neighbours, if you like.’

‘All right. But use the utmost discretion.’

‘We could ask Canu to do it. He’s very good at that sort of thing.’

‘Yes, send him. And fill me in as soon as you can,’ Bordelli said, standing up.

They went down the stairs together, and he was pleased to note that Piras was limping less and less. He nodded goodbye and drove away in the 1100. The flow of traffic on the Viali was decidedly better. He glanced at his watch. He’d resisted the call of the wild until almost noon, but now he had to see her again. When she was beside him he forgot about old age and death … Well, not really, perhaps, but at least they seemed far away, unreal, not to be taken seriously. Every woman he’d ever taken a fancy to had had the same effect on him, but this one even more, much more. Amelia’s prediction came back to him again, in full this time, and he suddenly felt overwhelmed by sadness. The fortune-teller had said that the
dark young woman
was not the woman of his life, and that it wouldn’t last … What a bloody fool … Nothing had even happened yet and here he was getting lost in the hocus-pocus predictions of a card-reader.

When he got to San Niccolò he looked around through the crowd. She wasn’t there. The windows of her flat were wide open, like so many others, to air out the rooms. He felt a tap on the shoulder and turned round. It was Don Baldesi, and his eyes looked even more ironic than usual.

‘Hello, Inspector.’

‘Hello …’

‘Chicca’s gone to her parents’ place for a bath and a bite to eat.’

‘What’s that?’

‘She should be back soon.’

‘Oh, right … Such a nice girl,’ Bordelli muttered.

‘Don’t tell me that’s the only thing you noticed.’

‘No, of course not … She’s also very intelligent.’

‘Let me treat you to a glass of wine, I need to warm up,’ said Don Baldesi, smiling. They went uphill to the Osteria Fuori Porta, ordered two glasses of red, and sat down at a table.

‘The Church and the state, drinking together …’ said Don Baldesi, raising his glass.

‘It’s sure to be in all the papers,’ Bordelli said, smiling.

‘Have you heard the one about the pope who went to see the Pyramids?’

‘No …’ said Bordelli, still smiling and ready to listen. At that moment Eleonora walked in and approached their table. Her hair was clean and she smelled of soap.

‘Mind if I sit down with you two?’

‘I don’t know … What do you think, Inspector?’

‘Just this once …’ Bordelli said, hiding his embarrassment.

‘Oh, I’m so honoured,’ the girl said. She settled into her chair and asked the waiter for a glass of red.

‘How’s your flat coming along?’ Don Baldesi asked her.

‘Everything’s drying out, but it still stinks of heating oil. I’ll have to scrape down all the plaster,’ she said, shrugging in resignation.

‘It would have been worse if you lived on the ground floor.’

‘Who ever expected twenty feet of water?’ said Eleonora, making a gesture of thanks to the tavern owner, who’d just brought her wine. People were starting to pour in for refreshment after the morning’s work, muddying the
osteria
’s floor. Every now and then Bordelli felt the girl’s knee lightly touch his. He couldn’t tell whether she was doing it on purpose or not, and remained stock still. He was also trying not to look at her too much, for fear of being unmasked. Don Baldesi finally told his pope joke, at high volume, and everyone laughed. He put two hundred lire on the table for the wine, emptied his glass, and stood up.

‘I’m going to get the remaining furniture from the sacristy,’ he said, caressing Eleonora’s face in a fatherly way.

‘He’s a very special priest,’ she said after he was gone.

‘I’ve noticed.’

‘Do you believe in God?’

‘I’ve never really been sure … Do you?’

‘Sometimes yes, sometimes no, it depends on the day,’ the girl said with a hint of a smile.

‘That’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone say that,’ Bordelli admitted, and again he felt her knee touch his. The girl stared into space.

‘It’s sort of the same with love. One day I think I’ve found the man for me, then the next morning I don’t care for him any more.’

‘
La donna è mobile
,’ said the inspector, feeling a twist in his stomach.

‘Men have always slandered women, because they’re afraid of them.’

‘Quite true,’ Bordelli acknowledged. He found every tiniest detail about her fascinating, even the way she moved her lips when speaking.

‘I slept really badly last night,’ the girl said.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Good God, was he profound. He had to try to be a little more original if he wanted at least to arouse her curiosity.

‘I had a terrible nightmare …’

‘No man was wooing you any more?’

‘Oh, that would be a relief.’

‘For a week, perhaps, but then you would start crying, I’m sure.’

‘What rubbish …’

‘What did you dream?’ Bordelli asked, curious.

‘You were in the nightmare, too.’

‘Me?’

‘I was surprised too, since I barely know you.’

‘Was I a monster chasing after you?’

‘It was much worse than that, but I couldn’t possibly tell you,’ said Eleonora, staring into his eyes. Bordelli grabbed his glass and downed the last sip. The girl sighed.

‘I guess I’ll have to start emptying out the cellar today.’

‘I don’t envy you.’

‘Would you lend me a hand?’ she asked, standing up.

‘If you like …’

He followed behind her like a little dog. They went down the street together to San Niccolò, amid the usual chaotic hustle and bustle. And straight away they got to work, which consisted of repeatedly going down to the cellar with two buckets, filling them up, and then pouring them out in the street. Ever so slowly the level of the smelly muck began to descend.

‘What we really need is one of those motorised contraptions that suck the water out,’ said Eleonora.

‘Maybe they’ll arrive by Christmas.’

It was a thankless, laborious task, but Bordelli rolled his sleeves up and tackled it. He was ready to do whatever it took to be by her side. He wondered whether he was in love with the girl or with the fact that she could fall in love with him. Deep down, however, there wasn’t much difference between the two. He simply felt besotted and that was enough for him.

Every so often the long-haired little students came over and tried to buttonhole Eleonora, but when they saw that she wasn’t giving in an inch, they would leave, to the great joy of the old inspector.