hurry.
‘What time did you get to the restaurant?’
‘Half past eight. Right, Giulio?’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘And what time did you leave?’
‘Roughly, about ten thirty … right, Giulio?’
‘Yes, yes, about ten thirty … more or less.’
‘And did you go dancing straight away, or did you do something else first?’
‘Straight away.’
‘And how late did you stay?’
‘We were the last to leave … right, Giulio?’
‘Yes, yes, the very last.’
Bordelli looked over at Piras.
‘Did you write that down, Piras?’
‘Certainly did, Inspector.’
‘Good. What time does this Mecca close?’
‘At five o’clock, right, Giulio?’
‘Yes, five.’
‘Were you alone?’
‘We were with our wives, Inspector. But at the Mecca we ran into a friend, who was also with his wife. They’re from Milan.’
‘Yes, yes, from Milan.’
‘And you all stayed there together until five o’clock in the morning?’
‘No, Inspector, the Milanese couple left much earlier, round midnight, I think … They have a small child … Right, Giulio?’
‘Yes, a little boy.’
Bordelli was beginning to think that at any moment the Morozzi brothers would take each other by the hand.
‘And neither of you has any children?’ he asked.
‘Not yet … Why?’
‘Just curious.’
Bordelli waited for Piras to finish clacking, then continued.
‘What’s the name of your Milanese friends?’
Anselmo took a deep breath.
‘Salvetti. He owns a zip factory. In the summer they stay at the villa next to ours, at Cinquale.’
Bordelli started to massage his chin, looking pensive, like someone trying to grasp a hidden truth. The Morozzi brothers looked at him with suspicion.
‘When did you last see your aunt?’
‘A couple of weeks ago, before leaving for the coast,’ said Anselmo.
And his brother: ‘Yes, yes, a couple of weeks ago, a fortnight, more or less …’
The inspector was beginning to feel a powerful antipathy towards the two brothers. But he couldn’t let this influence him. He was well aware that murderers are very often quite likeable.
‘What sort of relations did you have with your aunt? I want you, Giulio, to answer me first.’
Giulio gave a start, as if he had just sat on a pin.
‘What sort of relations? Well, I’d say … rather good relations. Eh, Anselmo?’
‘Oh, yes … I’d say so myself, good relations … Quite good.’
Bordelli paused for a moment for Piras’s sake, taking advantage of the lull to finish his beer, which had already gone warm.
‘And what can you tell me about the inheritance?’
‘In what sense, may I ask?’
‘It’s a whole lot of money. The villa alone must be worth many millions, no?’
There was a momentary flash of joy in Anselmo’s eyes, but he quickly suppressed it. Tilting his head sideways, he threw up his hands.
‘Well, what can we do about that?’ he said in the tone of someone who has just punctured a tyre.
‘It’s certainly not our fault,’ Giulio confirmed.
Bordelli felt almost fascinated by these two imbeciles.
‘What sort of work do you do?’ he asked.
‘We deal in property. Why?’ Anselmo asked, alarmed.
‘Why are you getting upset? I only need it for the report.’
‘I’m certainly not upset. Do I seem upset to you? Why should I get upset?’
‘What kind of car do you drive?’ asked Bordelli, ignoring Anselmo’s questions.
‘What’s the car got to do with this?’
‘Just to make conversation.’
Giulio gulped, sounding like the bathroom sink.
‘A Fiat 600 Multipla,’ said Anselmo.
‘Me too,’ said Giulio.
‘But when we go to the coast we take only one car.’
Biting an unlit cigarette, Bordelli got ready to ask the final questions.
‘And what can you tell me about your Uncle Dante?’
Both brothers smiled idiotically.
‘Uncle Dante? He’s a bit strange, someone with a couple of screws loose … Right, Giulio?’
‘Yes, yes, a bit strange, very strange, in fact,’ he said with a giggle.
Bordelli could no longer bear to listen to them or to see their faces.
‘Strange in what sense?’ he asked, looking at them with malice. Anselmo shrugged.
‘He stays shut up in a great big room all day, mixing chemicals and building gadgets that are totally useless,’ he said with a certain disdain. Bordelli remembered Dante’s broad, unruly face and felt great compassion for the whimsical giant who jumped from one subject to another when he spoke. Talking to him was like entering another world, where imagination, play and intellectual freedom were more important than anything else. It irked the inspector to hear others refer to him as mad.
‘Dr Morozzi, how long has it been since you last saw your Uncle Dante?’
‘Maybe three months, maybe four,’ said Anselmo.
Bordelli looked at Giulio.
‘And you?’
‘Me too, yes. We always go there together, to see my uncle.’
Bordelli gestured as if to conclude.
‘Piras, could you read the transcript back to us, please?’ he said. Piras stopped his clattering, pulled the sheet from the typewriter and stood up, scraping the legs of his chair on the floor. Planting himself next to the Morozzis, he read the questions and answers in an indifferent voice, gave the report to the inspector, and returned to his post. Bordelli handed the transcript to the two brothers and leaned back in his chair.
‘If everything’s all right with you, please sign at the bottom.’ The Morozzis hesitated for a moment, then signed, wetting the document with sweat. Bordelli looked first at Anselmo, and then at Giulio, staring long and hard at them.
‘Good. Now we’re all done,’ he said. At the sound of these words, Anselmo’s flabby face relaxed. But after a calculated pause, Bordelli added:
‘… for the moment, that is.’
Both brothers gave a start. Giulio looked at Anselmo as if awaiting a reply.
‘What do you mean,
The inspector tried to seem as polite and contrite as possible, as if wanting to apologise for the inescapable annoyances of bureaucracy.
