be able to do you this little favor with the address.”
“I don’t want to be beholden to you.”
“Wonderful! That’s the spirit,” said Innocenzi. “This is the sort of relationship that we should have. I like a neat distinction of roles. I gave you the address because I want nothing to do with all this. You check the place out, you’ll find no connections leading back to me.”
Blume said, “Tell me about Alleva and how he worked with you.”
“Alleva’s trick was to come up with new ways for doing stuff that wasn’t so important. Not so big as to make people jealous. He didn’t trespass on other people’s turf. He avoided building up his own group, though maybe he could have done better in his choice of personnel.”
“You’re using the past tense,” said Blume.
“Alleva cannot operate anymore now. That must be clear. He has gone from the scene. Pity. He was not a saint. Few of us are. But he had some integrity.”
“What’s wrong with his personnel?” Blume asked.
“He never found good men. That guy, Massoni, he kept around? He was always going to get Alleva into something stupid. I’m only surprised it took so long.”
“How long have they been together?”
“Ten years. Maybe more. They go back some. Before the dogs, Alleva used to sell slimming pills on TeleCapri, then he moved into selling those anticancer pills invented by that doctor from up north. The one who died from a tumor?”
“I remember that,” said Blume.
“The dog thing-it wasn’t really anything to do with me. Personally, I don’t mind dogs. We were all happy to allow him to organize it, then reap rewards for his efforts, share out his proceeds, wink at some of his tricks, because he was not always up front with us. You know how it is, a man who deals in honey licks his fingers. But after Clemente got himself killed the other day, I had a serious chat with Alleva. I looked deep into his face. He said he had nothing to do with Clemente’s murder, and I believed him. But he doesn’t always keep control of Massoni, so he couldn’t be sure.”
“You didn’t talk to Massoni himself?” asked Blume.
“No. I was planning to have a chat, when, bang, all of a sudden Massoni starts a shoot-up with the police and the two of them disappear. It’d make you wonder.”
“So, you want me to find Massoni, because maybe he killed Clemente. Won’t he be in Argentina, too?”
“I don’t think Alleva would have allowed Massoni to come with him. Alec, my friend…”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I consider you a friend nonetheless. Alec, perhaps Massoni killed Clemente, but perhaps he did not. You see, Massoni knew who Manuela was, and, let’s be fair to the man, I don’t think even he could have been so criminally negligent. Can you imagine, murdering my daughter’s partner, illicit or not? It almost scares me to think of the consequences. But let’s say Massoni thought of getting someone else to do it. Well then. I would not have considered him the subcontracting type, but you never can tell.”
“Why not find him yourself?”
“Conflict of interest. I can’t get remotely caught up in this now that a policeman has been killed. I would appreciate Massoni being kept alive, though. Your moral integrity offers me better guarantees in that respect than Paoloni. And perhaps you’ll share any ideas you might have about the person who did this to my daughter’s… I don’t know what to call him.”
“Her lover,” said Blume.
“Please,” said Innocenzi. “This is my daughter we’re talking about. Anyhow, your cooperation would be really appreciated.”
“Don’t count on it,” said Blume.
“Manuela says you are to be treated as a friend now, so I forgive your attitude. Unfortunately, when talking to her friends, Manuela confesses all sorts of things she should keep to herself. She’s very open. Did she perhaps tell you about losing her dog when she was a kid?”
When Blume nodded, he continued, “She always tells people that story. Poor child. She tell you about losing her mother, too?”
“Yes.”
“See?” said Innocenzi opening his arms wide as if making his point to a silent circle of onlookers. “That was a bad time in our lives. There were uncharitable people at the time. Losing my wife wasn’t enough for them. They wanted to crucify me, pin the murder on me, too.”
“People?”
“An investigating magistrate in partic ular. A bitter devil of an old man, nearing retirement. Never did anything with his useless little life, wanted some fleeting fame before going to meet his Maker. I heard afterwards he had succumbed to a heart attack after a road accident.” Innocenzi smiled, revealing two long canines, “Luckily, the assistant prosecutor of Foggia was an intelligent young man, bright future in front of him, knew how to run an investigation, knew what made a real case and, more importantly, what didn’t. Thanks to his intervention, the investigation finally moved off in the right direction.”
Blume said, “The perp was never caught. The investigation hardly went in the right direction.”
“It was the right path. But the right path does not always lead to the result you wish for,” said Innocenzi. “No one was charged for her murder. That happens sometimes.”
“Happens a lot,” said Blume.
“Yeah. Must be frustrating for you,” said Innocenzi. “That young magistrate, he’s older now, of course. I hear he operates here in Rome. Maybe you’ve even worked with him? He’s called Filippo Principe.”
35
When Innocenzi pronounced Principe’s name, Blume felt as if some invisible noxious gas had seeped into him.
“Principe? Maybe it was another…” He stopped.
Innocenzi circled his finger over the green felt of the poker table. “Do you know what kompromat means?”
Blume was thinking of how Principe had assigned him to the road rage case, and did not answer.
“Kompromat,” repeated Innocenzi.
“Sounds like a type of cash card or a place to wash your clothes or something,” said Blume. “Maybe it’s a Russian word?”
“It is Russian. How did you guess?”
“I’m good at languages.”
“You are very gifted. The Russians are making inroads. Lots of Russians. Albanians, too, of course. Can you imagine that? Back in my Fronte Gioventu days, I used to think Russians were naturally Communists. Turns out I was wrong. The Russians are very hierarchical, organized.”
Blume began to refocus. “So are you.”
“Not as much as people think. The 1970s and 1980s. Those years were a step back. Politics got in the way, and groups started organizing them into cells like they were terrorists. Started acting like terrorists, too. Manifestos, political programs and-” He waved his hand in exasperation. “There was no central authority, no one to turn to, no respect, no way of settling disputes. A disaster. Then things started improving, we went back to the old ways, threw out the politicians, dropped the ideologies. Just in time, too. A few years later the Russians arrived.”
“So now you’re organized?”
“Things are much better than they were, Alec. Everyone appreciates this. More hierarchical, as it should be. There is a separation of roles. Politicians and ideologues are now kept at arm’s length.”
“I feel comforted.”
“You should. It’s why we can talk like this. Kompromat.”
