CHAPTER 4
Glancing at his wristwatch, Scala still had one hour to the time when Mrs. Moretti, said she would be home.
That meant he had the chance to grab a quick bite before reaching her apartment.
He entered the car and started to drive. His capability of miscalculating distances was once again spot on, and he didn’t consider the traffic jam that always managed to freeze the central area of the city. Between his curses and prayers to be able to control his anger welling from his guts, he finally parked the car in front of the building.
A thundering noise grabbed his attention, forcing him to instinctively inspect the horizon, expecting to spot dark clouds approaching. The perfect blue sky didn’t conform with the rumbling he started to hear, making him reconsider the fact that he probably needed a holiday when, finally, he realized the storm wasn’t coming from the sky, but from his empty belly.
The journey through the city took longer than he’d predicted—forty minutes more, to be exact. He didn’t have a second to waste. Placing a hand at the height of his stomach a grimace twisted his expression, “If you can give me one hour to get my information, I promise you a Porchetta sandwich, the one you like so much,” he begged, talking to his belly, as if it had a mind of its own.
As the storm quieted, he rushed to the floor where the apartment of Mr. Calvani was, and taking note of the name on the plate, he rang at the door of Berenice Moretti.
“Detective Scala, what a pleasure, please come in,” she said, greeting him with a broad smile on her face. “I was almost certain you wouldn’t show up.”
Guiding him to the living room, she opened the blinds to allow the last bit of daylight to illuminate the room. “You see, I just returned from my errands. Please have a seat as I prepare the coffee.”
Maurizio couldn’t reply, as she was already headed toward the kitchen; he scanned around to have an idea of the type of person he was dealing with. The top of the antique desk beside the display cabinet was the first thing that caught his attention. He wondered whether it was something coming with age, to have the desire to furnish the home with darker furniture and keep an insane number of pictures in the display.
Thinking about his apartment, where his wife insisted on furnishing with a more modern look and to keep the photographs stored in albums or on the computer, he wondered whether this would be the way his home would look like once he would become a grandpa.
He smirked at that thought – There’s still some time for it, at least I hope so. His eyes continued to browse the old photographs of children, grandchildren, and relatives. Entire generations had a place in what resembled more a museum than a home.
There were war heroes, proudly standing to pose in their uniforms, the medals collected were displayed at the sides, and the family gatherings were duly reported through pictures.
“At my age, all you have left are the memories of those who are no more within us and of those who come only for special occasions.” The melancholic, yet energetic voice of Berenice shook his senses, and with a light jolt, he turned to look at her.
“I didn’t mean to be nosey,” Maurizio tried to justify himself, like a child being caught doing a bit of mischief.
Her eyes twinkled, “Detective, you don’t need to apologize. I put the pictures on display, not only for myself, but to show them to those who come to visit. It doesn’t matter whether you are here for work or for pleasure, those pictures certainly provide a good discussion starter. But let’s not wait till the coffee gets cold. It won’t be a pleasure anymore, after all.”
With a nod, Maurizio turned on his heels and stared at the table where Berenice brought not just the coffee, but a large assortment of cookies and sweets. He recalled the days when he was a child, and a guest was expected to arrive home. Those were the times when, for once, there was the chance of having his belly filled with all sorts of delicacies bought by her mother for the guests and by the guests to greet the hostess of the house.
A chuckle relaxed his tensed expression, but immediately he recalled the reason for his visit and the fact that he wasn’t supposed to accept anything besides, perhaps, the coffee.
“I’m on duty...” he mumbled in an attempt to refuse the hospitality of Berenice. He sat on the couch, and a loud rumble echoed in the room as a protest from his belly to his words.
A giggle escaped Berenice’s mouth, “You are on duty, but your belly isn’t, so I don’t offer anything to the detective, but to the empty stomach, which is already suffering enough.”
“I guess I have to accept, then.” His hand reached the tray with the cookies and grabbed one. “So, Mrs. Moretti, let’s go through the facts relating to what happened last night in the apartment of Mr. Calvani. What do you recall?”
“As I told you this morning, at three o’clock or so, I couldn’t sleep anymore, and I heard Mr. Calvani slamming the door as he returned home.” She snorted, disappointed for his irresponsible behavior. “This kind of thing should happen with his son, Luciano. He is at that age when you want to stay out at night with your friends or with girls. As an adult, Mr. Calvani, instead...” she shook her head disapprovingly.
Maurizio took out his notebook and started to scribble some notes. There were important bits of information also on her gossiping, as for example, Luciano wasn’t
