“Elena Sclafani. I spoke to her this morning, before coming here.”
“Did she tell you why?”
“No. Because she didn’t know. Angelo’d only made vague mention of it to her, but since she wasn’t interested in the matter, she didn’t ask any more questions.”
“Ah, the poor little angel! She wasn’t interested in the matter, but she was certainly in a rush to cast suspicion on it. She attacks, then looks the other way.”
She said this in a voice unfamiliar to the inspector, a voice that seemed produced not by vocal cords but by two sheets of sandpaper rubbed forcefully together.
“Well, why don’tyoutell me the reason?”
“Abortion.”
“Tell me more.”
“Angelo got an underage girl pregnant; what’s more, she was a patient of his. The girl, who was from a certain kind of family, didn’t dare say a thing at home and couldn’t turn to any public institution either. That left clandestine abortion as the only option. Except that the girl, once she got home, suffered a violent hemorrhage. Her father accompanied her to the hospital and learned the whole story. Angelo assumed full responsibility.”
“What do you mean, he ‘assumed full responsibility’? It seems clear to me he was fully responsible!”
“No, not fully. He had asked a colleague of his, a friend from his university days, to perform the abortion. The friend didn’t want to, but Angelo managed to persuade him. When the whole story came out, my brother claimed that he had done the abortion. And so he was condemned and barred from practicing medicine.”
“Tell me the girl’s name and surname.”
“But, Inspector, that was more than ten years ago! I know the girl got married and no longer lives in Vigata … Why do you want—”
“I’m not saying I want to interrogate her, but if it proves necessary, I’ll do so with the utmost discretion, I promise.”
“Teresa Cacciatore. She married a contractor named Mario Sciacca. They live in Palermo and have a little boy.”
“Signora Sclafani told me that she and your brother always met at his place.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“How is it you never crossed paths with her?”
“It was I who didn’t want to meet her. Not even by chance. I’d begged Angelo always to let me know whenever Elena was coming over.”
“Why didn’t you want to meet her?”
“Antipathy. Aversion. Take your pick.”
“But you saw her only once!”
“Once was enough. Anyway, Angelo often talked about her.”
“What did he say?”
“That she had no equal in bed but was too money-hungry.”
“Did your brother pay her?”
“He used to buy her very expensive gifts.”
“Such as?”
“A ring. A necklace. A sports car.” “Elena confided to me that she had made up her mind to leave Angelo.”
“Don’t believe it. She wasn’t done squeezing him yet. She was always throwing jealous fits to keep him close.” “So were you this hostile to Paola the Red, too?” She leapt, literally, out of her armchair. “Who…who told you about Paola?” “Elena Sclafani.” “The slut!”
The sandpaper voice had returned.
“I’m sorry, but who are you referring to?” the inspector asked angelically. “Paola or Elena?”
“Elena, for bringing her into this. Paola was …is a good person who fell sincerely in love with Angelo.”
“Why did your brother leave her?”
“The affair with Paola had gone on for so long …he met Elena at a moment when he was feeling tired of her… To Angelo she represented something new and intriguing that he couldn’t resist, even though I …”
“Give me Paola’s surname and address.”
“Inspector! Do you expect me to give you personal information on all the women who had relationships with Angelo? On Maria Martino? Stella Lojacono?”
“Not all of them. Just those you mentioned.”
“Paola Torrisi-Blanco lives in Montelusa, Via Millefiori 26. She teaches Italian at theliceo.”
“Married?”
“No, but she would have made an ideal wife for my brother.”
