The Savage Garden

    'Just tell me what you meant.'

    Fausto sighed. 'Look, it was something Gaetano's uncle told my father the next day.'

    'What?'

    'He said he was almost run down by the Germans when they were leaving.'

    'Gaetano said that?'

    'To his uncle.'

    Adam digested this news. 'He turned up later. He wasn't there when it happened.'

    'It was a long time ago. Who knows what really happened? Who cares?'

    'I do.'

    Fausto leaned forward in his chair. 'Listen to me. The Doccis' business is their own. Who are you? You've been here—what—a week? You didn't know them before and you'll probably never see them again. Just leave it alone.'

    'How do you know I didn't know them before?' 'What?'

    'How do you know I didn't know the Doccis before?'

    'You said.'

    'No I didn't.'

    'Yes you did.'

    'No.'

    'Porca l'oca! Look at you. Look at you! I'd chuck a bucket of water over you if the well wasn't dry. I warned you about that place. Didn't I warn you? Pull yourself together, this isn't normal behavior, you're acting like a crazy man. Just leave it alone.'

    Adam wanted to tell him that he'd tried to leave it alone—more than once—but he couldn't. He no longer had any choice in the matter.

    'Did Maurizio kill Emilio?' he asked bluntly.

    'I'm not going to answer that.'

    'Why not?'

    'Because how the hell should I know?'

    'But you think it's possible . . .'

    'Anything's possible.'

    'Well, I think he did it.'

    'What if he did?'

    'I think I can prove it.'

    'What if you can?'

    'You don't believe in justice?'

    Fausto gave a short, despairing laugh. 'This is madness. You should go now. I'm serious. Go. Leave.'

    Fausto got to his feet to press home his point. He made no move to shake Adam's hand, so Adam turned and left.

    Signora, are you awake?

    Yes.

    Shall I open the shutters?

    Thank you, Maria.

    Did you manage to sleep?

    Not much.

    Antonella called. She has bought fish for dinner this evening.

    What kind of fish?

    Does it matter? She knows I don't like cooking fish.

    I'm sure she didn't do it to annoy you.

    I'll mess it up. I always mess it up.

    Maria, I've never known you to mess anything up.

    Except the wild boar in chocolate sauce.

    Yes, that was truly terrible. It was also twenty years ago.

    Twenty-three.