‘It’ll only take a minute. May we come in?’
Salvetti looked as if he’d just got out of bed. He was dishevelled and a bit irritable, wearing swimming trunks and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His thin black moustache cut his face into two equal parts. He glanced at Piras and opened the gate.
‘Is it all right if we stay here in the garden? My wife is asleep.’
‘As you wish.’
They crossed a large, just-mown lawn in silence and went to sit under a pergola of honeysuckle about fifty yards from the villa. The chairs were made of cast iron, softened by colourful cushions. There wasn’t a breath of wind, but it felt divine under that little roof of leaves. Salvetti rested his elbows on the armrests of his chair and folded his hands with an air of irritation. Piras was agitated and looking at the Milanese man with antipathy. Bordelli hated to ask questions in such a tense atmosphere, and so he tried to find a way to lighten the situation. Turning round to look at the villa, he nodded his head in admiration.
‘Beautiful house. My compliments.’
The Milanese changed expression and also turned towards the villa.
‘My grandfather bought it in 1912 for a song. It’s a famous villa, you know. It’s been featured in many books with big bright colour photos. Just imagine, even D’Annunzio slept here.’
It was indeed a very unusual villa, at once solid and light. All marble and brick. At one corner it featured a square sort of turret with mullioned windows on all four sides. Salvetti kept gazing at his house with a certain joy, a smile of satisfaction broadening his mouth. Piras also seemed calmer. Good. Now they could start asking questions.
‘You know the Morozzi brothers, is that right?’ he asked.
Salvetti pointed to a smallish, modern house beyond the hedgerow.
‘They live right next door.’
‘Yes, we know.’
The Milanese looked amused.
‘What have those two blockheads been up to this time?’
‘We just need to corroborate a few things. Are you very close friends with them?’
Salvetti smiled and threw up his hands without taking his elbows off the armrests.
‘How shall I put it, Inspector? We’ve known one another since childhood, but we only see each other in summer. I don’t know if you could really say we are friends … You know what I mean?’
‘Of course. Tell me, when did you last see them?’
‘Yesterday morning. They left rather early, and we greeted them from the garden. I’d thought they had things to do around here, but then I haven’t seen them since. Don’t tell me they …’ He raised a hand and traced a cross in the air. Bordelli shook his head.
‘No, nothing like that. Signor Salvetti, where were you last Thursday night at eleven o’clock?’
‘Thursday? I went out dancing with my wife. Shortly after we got there, the Morozzis showed up with their wives.’
‘At what establishment did you go dancing?’
‘At the Mecca. It’s right here, on the seafront. Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?’
‘For the moment I can’t. At what time did you leave the Mecca?’
‘I’d say midnight, more or less.’
‘Why so early?’
Salvetti appreciated the observation.
‘When we go dancing we leave our little boy with some friends here in the neighbourhood, who also have a ten-year-old boy. And normally we come and pick him up at midnight.’
‘What about the Morozzis?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Did they leave with you at midnight?’
‘No, they stayed.’
‘Do you remember at what time they arrived?’
‘They came in around eleven, more or less.’
The alibi was airtight, and Bordelli began to feel bored. He exchanged a glance of understanding with Piras. The Morozzis’ version of events had been confirmed, point by point. He would have to start all over again. The two nephews had nothing to do with their aunt’s death. Perhaps the motive wasn’t the inheritance at all, but something else which nobody suspected. The only sure thing was that she had been murdered. Period. And yet there was something that eluded him, like a fly buzzing inside his head without letting up. He felt tired, very tired. He couldn’t wait for night to come, so he could lie down and sleep. Maybe even die … to die, to sleep … to be or not to be … to dream … to dream or die …
‘Is there anything else, Inspector?’
Bordelli snapped out of it and ran a hand over his face. Salvetti was staring at him.
‘That’ll be all, Signor Salvetti, thank you. Sorry to have bothered you,’ he said. He was about to rise from his chair, but Piras asked permission to ask a question himself. Bordelli nodded assent, and the Sardinian turned to the zip king.
‘At the Mecca, did you run into the Morrozis by accident, or had you arranged to meet there?’
‘Neither. My wife and I go there every Thursday night, and the Morozzis know this and sometimes drop in to see us there.’ Salvetti glanced at his watch and asked whether that would indeed be the last question. Bordelli rose by way of reply, and Piras followed. At that moment they heard a rather shrill female voice call out from the villa.
‘Artemioooo! Who are you talking tooooo?’ A woman in a dressing gown leaned out from a first-floor window. Salvetti waved at her, then raised his voice so she could hear.
‘Ciao, darling!.. I’ll explain later!’ Then he turned and said softly to Bordelli, ‘That’s my wife.’
The woman yelled louder:
‘Whaat diid youu saaayy?’
‘Laaater!.. I’ll tell you laaater!’
‘Is Giacomo there with youuuu?’ she persisted. Salvetti shook his arm in the air.
‘Nooo, he’s still at the Consaaaalvooos’.’
Bordelli put an unlit cigarette in his mouth, promising himself he wouldn’t smoke it until the drive back to Florence.
‘Is Giacomo your son?’
‘Yes. Every day after lunch he goes to stay with those friends I mentioned, to play with Matteo, their boy. He should be back by now. In a few minutes we’ll be going to the beach.’
Salvetti’s wife had disappeared from the window and reappeared on the lawn. She was wearing a gauzy little sundress covered with giant butterflies, her shoulders bare. She walked towards them with a rather studied step, planting the tapered wooden heels of her clogs into the grass with the nonchalance of habit. From afar she looked rather attractive, more plump than slender, hair full of airy curls. When she was under the arbour, she noticed the empty table.
‘Artemio! Haven’t you offered these gentlemen anything?’
‘Sorry, it didn’t occur to me.’
The wife gave him a playful little slap on the back of the neck but appeared to have miscalculated, striking him rather hard. Salvetti took it quite badly, but his wife paid no heed.
‘You’re always so impolite! Isn’t that so, signor …’ and she looked at Bordelli, holding out her hand. The inspector shook it and immediately felt as if his own had been greased up for life.
‘Inspector Bordelli, pleasure.’
‘Piras,’ said Piras, barely rising.
When she realised they were policemen, the woman got scared.
‘Has something happened to Giacomo?’ she said, alarmed.
Her husband snaked a hairy arm round her waist.
‘No, no, dear, there’s no need to worry. They only wanted to ask me a few questions. I’ll explain later.’
‘My God, what a fright!’ she said, putting a hand over her heart. She was indeed attractive. A bit too made up
