and forth in Signora Pedretti’s room, hands joined behind his back. He was impatient to know why Bordelli had organised this sudden visit to the villa at 8.30 in the evening. The sun was slowly setting, colouring the sky orange. The heat was far more bearable than in the city. Piras sat in the chair in front of the secretaire, thinking, not asking any questions. The inspector glanced at his watch every minute, smoking by the window so as not to bother Piras. He had forgotten to get an ashtray and was putting out his cigarettes on the floor, under the radiator. He swore to himself that, starting tomorrow, no more than six or seven, eight at the most. As he still hadn’t answered Diotivede’s question, the doctor persisted.
‘We’ve already been here half an hour. Care to tell us what we’re waiting for?’
‘No, Doctor, I can’t, not yet.’
‘Hmph!’ said the doctor, and he resumed pacing about the room.
‘I’m not trying to be mysterious,’ said Bordelli.
‘You’re not?’
‘I simply want to be sure I haven’t made a mistake. Did you bring the microscope?’
‘You asked me to, so I brought it.’
‘Good.’
Bordelli kept glancing at the open door. A few minutes later he said:
‘All right, it’s almost time. If my hunch is correct, the killer will soon come in through that door.’
Piras shot to his feet.
‘Shall we turn out the lights, Inspector?’ he said in a whisper.
‘No, there’s no need,’ said Bordelli.
Diotivede put his glasses back on and, after a moment of perplexity, he smiled.
‘I think you’re having us on,’ he said. ‘Piras, you don’t know the inspector very well yet, but he’s a real ball- buster.’
Bordelli put a finger to his lips, asking for silence. He looked dead serious.
‘Shhh. I don’t want him to get scared,’ he said. He glanced at his watch. Nine on the dot. ‘Now be quiet. He’s going to come in and lie down on the bed.’
Diotivede shook his head.
‘On the bed? What the hell are you saying?’
Following Bordelli’s example, the other two started staring at the door, holding their breath, awaiting the killer. Diotivede took a hesitant step towards the door, and at that moment Gideon the cat appeared, tail pointing straight up. Seeing the three men in the room, he did an about-face, meowed twice on the landing outside, then came back into the room. He sniffed the air and started snapping his tail like a whip.
‘He’s nervous,’ Bordelli whispered. The cat circled round a few more times, restless, then slowly calmed down and leapt on to the bed. He rolled on to his back and meowed like a kitten. At that point Diotivede looked at Bordelli, spectacles in his hand.
‘Is
Bordelli went over to the cat and rubbed his belly.
‘He’s the one all right.’
‘Could you explain?’ said Piras.
‘Naturally, he’s completely unaware of it, right, pussy?’ said Bordelli, playing with the cat’s paws.
Piras clenched his fists.
‘The pollen!’ he shouted.
‘Precisely. The real killer put a good dose of the pollen between his shoulder blades, knowing that that every night at nine o’clock, Gideon came in to snuggle down with the lady.’
‘The classic Trojan horse,’ said Diotivede with a wry smile.
Piras punched himself in the head.
‘What an idiot! Why didn’t I think of that?’ he said.
‘It wasn’t easy. It came to me purely by chance.’
‘What makes you say they put the pollen between the cat’s shoulder blades?’
‘Because it’s a spot a cat can’t reach with his paws or his tongue, and therefore the pollen would have remained in his fur for a long time.’
The inspector picked Gideon up with both hands and put him upright on the bed, stroking his head so he would stay.
‘Take out your microscope, Diotivede. If we’re lucky, we’ll still find some traces of the pollen.’
The doctor went and picked up a small sort of spatula and came towards the bed.
‘Hold him still for me,’ he said. He placed the instrument between Gideon’s shoulder blades to take a sample, then put this between two glass slides, and set the microscope down on the secretaire. He brought his eye to the eyepiece and started turning some knobs. A minute later he raised his head.
‘You were right,’ he said with a sly grin. Piras also smiled. Bordelli celebrated by lighting a cigarette.
‘Now it will all be much easier,’ he said with satisfaction.
The pathologist, however, wasn’t jumping to conclusions.
‘To be honest, I still don’t know what sort of pollen it is and need to examine it. But such a high concentration of pollen in a cat’s fur cannot have got there by accident.’
‘Well, examine it quickly and have the report sent to me. I’ll bet the family jewels that it’s mate pollen.’
Bordelli kept stroking the cat, as if to thank him. The doctor returned to his microscope with a kind of joy; nothing pleased him more than to scrutinise the infinitesimal movements of nature. Gideon played with Bordelli’s fingers, nipping them playfully but hurting him every so often, so that the inspector jerked his hand away.
‘Ouch! Easy does it, boy!’
The cat stood up, ran across the bed, slipped under the covers and started running as if chasing a mouse.
Piras stood in the far corner, thinking. He turned towards Bordelli.
‘What should we do, Inspector? Interrogate all four again?’
‘Absolutely. Their alibi has finally gone to the dogs. Or the cats.’
‘Well, you two certainly seem pleased,’ said Diotivede. ‘May I ask a question?’
‘By all means.’
‘The lady was murdered. This we knew from the start. Now we also know how, which is a big step forward, no doubt about it. But to issue an indictment, the judge will want some proof, something beyond a speck of pollen in a cat’s fur.’
Bordelli thought of Judge Ginzillo and his scrupulous ways. He was a young, arse-licking arriviste who was afraid to make mistakes and ruin his career. With him it was always a struggle.
‘Don’t be always such a pessimist, Doctor. We may have some luck, as we did this evening.’
The doctor raised his hands as if to say he wouldn’t utter another word. He put his tools back in his bag and looked at the other two with the expression of one who wants to leave.
‘All right, then, we can go,’ said Bordelli. They left the cat to his games under the covers and went out. While descending the stairs, the inspector became pensive again. Diotivede took him by the arm and looked at him from behind his spectacles.
‘Want some friendly advice? Sleep on it,’ he said.
Bordelli smiled vacantly.
‘You’re right. Let’s sleep on it. Piras: eight o’clock tomorrow morning, in my office.’
‘Let’s not waste any time, Piras. Let’s try to reconstruct the whole affair in all its details, top to bottom.’
Piras was ready, fresh as a rose.
‘Should you go first, Inspector, or should I?’
Bordelli had two grey bags under his eyes. He had lain awake all night, caught between the heat and the mosquitoes. He had also thought about Elvira, and Annina … which amounted to the same thing.
‘You start, Piras … I’ll interrupt you if I need to.’
The Sardinian began pacing about the room, as he always did when he had the floor.
‘So, on the day of the crime, in the afternoon, someone, whom I’ll call X for now, enters the villa with a copy of the keys, which he acquired at some earlier point. At an opportune moment, he replaces the lady’s bottle of Asthmaben with an identical one filled with water, then goes out into the garden to find the cat, puts the mate
