‘witches’, emphasising the
‘They were just waiting for the signora to die, you could see it in the eyes of those two milksops and their whores!’ she said, sobbing again. Bordelli objected that greed might be a sin, but it was not a crime. Maria twisted her mouth up.
‘Wait till you see them in person; they’re wicked. They killed her, I know it, I feel it.’
Bordelli felt a drop of sweat roll down his belly and stick to his shirt.
‘What is Signora Pedretti’s degree of kinship with these nephews?’
‘They are the sons of a sister of hers, who drowned in the lake at Lausanne ten years ago.’
‘An accident?’
‘They called it a suicide.’
‘What sort of work do these nephews do?’
Maria grimaced.
‘They sell houses,’ she said disdainfully. ‘They have none of the Pedrettis’ class.’
The inspector rifled through his drawers, searching again for a cigarette. He found two under a sheaf of papers and lit one.
‘Tell me, Maria, what did Signora Pedretti herself think of her two nephews?’
‘In their presence she never let anything show; but with me she would vent her feelings. She used to called them “the two worms”.’
‘And what can you tell me about her asthma?’
Maria confirmed that the signora’s rare attacks usually subsided in a matter of minutes, thanks to the Asthmaben. Bordelli repeated what Dr Bacci had told him; that asthmatic allergy was a treacherous illness.
‘They killed her …’ she whimpered again.
‘We shall perform a very thorough post-mortem,’ said Bordelli. He then asked her to explain Signora Pedretti’s difficult character, and she burst into tears again.
‘She was a bit authoritarian, and not very generous, but, deep down, she was a very good person. Mostly, she was very, very lonely.’
‘When did you see her for the last time?’
‘Yesterday evening at eight. I always leave at that hour,’ and down came the tears, the nose in the handkerchief. The inspector never knew what to do in front of weeping women. His first impulse was always to pat them on the shoulder and utter some trite words of encouragement, but he always ended up letting it drop and simply waited in silence for the tears to run their course.
As soon as Maria stopped sobbing, Bordelli asked her whether Signora Pedretti had any other close relatives. She pulled another handkerchief out of her purse and blew her nose, trying not to make any noise: first one nostril, then the other.
‘There’s a brother, who’s half crazy. He didn’t come to see her very often,’ she said.
‘What’s his name?’
‘Dante.’
‘Do you know where he lives?’
‘In an old house at Mezzomonte.’
‘What sort of relations did he have with his sister?’
‘They spoke over the telephone rather often. They would have long conversations, and sometimes I would actually hear the signora laugh,’ she said, opening her eyes wide.
‘Was it so unusual for her to laugh?’ asked Bordelli.
Maria raised her eyebrows and bobbed her head up and down.
‘Very unusual. She hardly ever laughed.’
‘Whereas, with her brother …’
‘With her brother she laughed a lot. And when she said goodbye, she would blow kisses into the receiver.’
Like Rosa, thought Bordelli.
‘You haven’t got this Dante’s telephone number by any chance, have you?’
‘I should have it, I think. Often it was I who dialled the number for Signora Pedretti.’ She rummaged through her handbag for a long time until she found a little telephone booklet. Between the pages was a loose piece of paper.
‘This must be it.’
Bordelli took the scrap of paper, glanced at it, and set it down on the desk.
‘And where can I find the nephews?’
‘Oh, those two! They’re at the seaside villa, taking it easy. I’ll give you their telephone number.’
‘Thank you.’
‘They always go on holiday together, the worms.’ The woman recited the number in a quavering voice, then started crying again. Bordelli waited another minute as Maria sniffled. Then he stood up.
‘Thank you ever so much. If I need to talk to you again, I’ll let you know.’
‘Throw them in jail, both of them,’ said Maria, looking him in the eye.
‘We will arrest the killer, I can assure you of that.’
Maria came up to him and clutched his arm with both hands, imploring him.
‘Inspector, please do your best to find out whether Signora Pedretti died by the hand of God or by.…’ Chin trembling, she didn’t finish her sentence. The inspector put his hand on her shoulder.
‘Sleep easy, Maria, that’s my job.’
‘She was so alone, so very alone … And those four rascals …’
‘Please don’t worry.’
‘Those disgusting …’
‘I promise you that if they are guilty, they will not get off lightly.’
He accompanied the woman to the exit, then turned her over to a uniformed officer who would drive her home. Before she left, he asked her one more question.
‘Aside from Signora Pedretti, who else had keys to the villa?’
‘Nobody, Inspector. Signora Pedretti couldn’t bear the thought of someone entering the house without her permission.’
‘Not even Dante?’
‘I have no way of knowing. But if Signor Dante does have them, I am sure he has forgotten where he put them.’
‘Is he absent minded?’
‘He is a very strange man.’
‘Thank you again for your patience, Maria. Now go home and rest.’
‘Mr Inspector, please, don’t forget.’
‘You can sleep easy,’ Bordelli repeated, unable to think of any variations.
It was already seven o’clock. The inspector went back into his office and decided to call Dante, the brother, at once. The telephone rang for a long time. Bordelli was about to hang up when he heard someone pick up. A deep, warm voice replied.
‘Dante here.’
‘Signor Pedretti, please forgive me for calling at this hour.’
‘Why? What time is it?’
‘Just after seven o’clock.’
‘A.M. or P.M.?’
‘A.M.’
‘Go on.’
‘This is Inspector Bordelli. I have some unpleasant news for you.’
‘Not over the phone.’
‘When could you come in?’
‘I’d rather you came here.’ He gave Bordelli the address and hung up without allowing him time to respond. He had a beautiful voice, but perhaps Maria was right: he must be a bit strange. Bordelli thought that, in the end, a
