Doctored Evidence

'Yes. Angelo,' she said, pleased that he knew whom she was talking about. 'He's an old friend of the family, and when I told him who I was having trouble with, he told me that she called him about ten years ago and asked him to come and give her an estimate for a new flight of steps. He said he already knew her or knew about her, so he knew it was pointless to go, but he went anyway. He measured the steps, did all the calculations, and went back the next day to tell her how many steps she needed and how high they would have to be, and how much it would cost’ Like anyone who enjoys telling a good story, she paused there, and he responded like any good listener.

'And?'

'And she said she knew he was trying to cheat her, and she wanted him to do it with fewer stairs and each of them lower.' She allowed the full idiocy of this to sink in, then added, ‘It makes you wonder whether maybe Palazzo Boldu really did throw her out.'

He nodded at this. 'Did people visit her, Signora?' he asked after a moment.

'No, no one I can remember, well, not anyone I remember seeing more than a few times. There were all the women who worked for her, of course. Most of them were black, and once I spoke to a woman who said she was from Peru. But they all left, usually after only a few weeks.'

'But Flori stayed?' he asked.

'She said she had three daughters and seven grandchildren, and I suppose she had to keep the job so she could send them money.'

'Do you know if she was paid, Signora?'

'Who? Flori?'

'Yes.'

‘I think so. At least she had a little money.' Before he could ask her to explain, she said, 'I met her once on Strada Nuova. It was about six weeks ago and I was having a coffee in a bar, and she came in. It was that place just at the corner near the Santa Fosca traghetto. When I went over, she recognized me, you know, from the window, and she kissed me on the cheek, as if we were old friends. She had her purse open in her hands, and I saw that all she had were some coins. I don't know how much. I didn't look, you know, but I saw there wasn't much.' She stopped speaking, memory taking her back to that afternoon in the bar. 'I asked why she had come in, and she said she wanted an ice-cream. I think she said she loved ice-cream. I know the man who runs the place, so I told him I was offering and not to take her money, that I'd pay.'

It was only now that the possibility occurred to her: ‘I hope I didn't hurt her feelings. By insisting I pay, I mean.'

'I don't think it would, Signora,' he said.

‘I asked her what she wanted and she said chocolate, so I asked him to give her a double cone, and I could see from her face when he gave it to her that all she had been going to get for herself was a single, and that made me feel so sorry for her. She had to put up with that horrible woman all day and all night long, and she couldn't even afford a double ice-cream cone.'

For a long time, neither of them said anything. 'And the money you gave her, Signora?' he asked.

‘It was an impulse, nothing more than that. The money I had was for a job I'd bid for and intentionally bid too high, hoping I wouldn't get it because it was very boring: designing packaging for a new range of light bulbs. But they gave me the job, and it turned out to be so easy that I felt a little bit guilty about being paid all that money. So I guess it was easier to give it away than it would have been if I'd really worked to get it.' She remembered the money and the impulse that had caused her to give it to Flori. ‘It didn't do her much good, did it?' she asked. 'She never got to spend it.'

As the idea came to her, she said, 'Wait a minute; I've just realized something. I've still got three hundred Euros of that money. I left it here when I went to England. I knew I couldn't use it there. So I've still got the notes.'

The evident interest in his glance prompted her to continue, 'That's all you've got to do to prove that I did give it to her, that she didn't steal it from Signora Battestini.' When he didn't respond, she went on. 'The notes were all new and were probably in a series, so all I've got to do is give you the notes I've still got, and if you compare the serial numbers with the ones on the money she had with her on the train, you'll see that she didn't steal anything.'

Puzzled by his lack of enthusiasm and, she admitted to herself, hurt by his lack of appreciation, she asked, 'Well? Wouldn't it be proof?'

'Yes’ he said with evident reluctance, 'it would be proof.' 'But?' she asked. 'But the money is gone.'

5

'How can that be?' she asked. Enough time elapsed between her question and his response to render it, when it came, redundant. She had to consider only for a moment to realize that such a sum of money passing through a series of public offices and officials had as much chance of survival as would an ice cube passed from hand to hand on the beach at the Lido.

'There seems to be no record of the money after it left the police in Villa Opicina,' he said.

'Why are you telling me this, Commissario?'

'In the hope that you won't tell anyone else,' he answered, making no attempt to avoid her gaze.

'Are you afraid of the bad publicity?' she asked with more than a little of Lieutenant Scarpa's sarcasm, as if it were somehow contagious.

'No, not particularly, Signora. But I would like this piece of information not to be made public, just as I would like to keep everything you're telling me from becoming public knowledge.'

'And may I ask why?' The sarcasm had backed off, but there was still plenty of scepticism left in her voice.

'Because, the less the person who did this knows about what we know, the better it is for us.'

'You say, 'the person who did this', Commissario. Does that mean you believe me, that Flori didn't kill her?'

He sat back in his chair and touched his lower lip with the forefinger of his left hand. 'From what you tell me, Signora, it doesn't sound likely that she was a killer, especially in that way.'

Hearing this and believing him, she relaxed, and he went on, 'And once she had a ticket home and some money, I find it unlikely that she'd go back and kill the old woman, no matter how difficult she had been.' He took a notebook from the pocket of his jacket and flipped it open. 'Could you tell me what she was wearing, please, when you took her to the train?'

'A housedress, the sort of thing you never see any more. Buttons down the front, short sleeves, made of something like nylon or rayon. Synthetic. Must have been terrible for her in this heat. It was grey or beige, some light colour, and had a small pattern on it; I don't remember what’

'Was it something you saw her wearing in the house, when you saw her from your window?'

Signora Gismondi considered this, then answered, ‘I think so. She had that and a light-coloured blouse and dark skirt. But most of the time she had an apron on, so I don't have a clear memory of her clothes.'

'Did you see any changes in her while she was there?'

‘I don't know what you mean by changes.'

'Did she get her hair cut, or coloured? Start to wear glasses?'

She remembered the white roots of Flori's hair that last day, when she'd taken her to the cafe to try to calm her down. 'She stopped dyeing her hair,' she finally said. 'She probably couldn't afford it’

'Why do you say that?' he asked.

'Do you have any idea of what it costs to have your hair dyed in this city?' she asked him, wondering if he had a wife and, if so, whether she was of an age to dye her hair. She guessed him to be somewhere in his fifties: he would have seemed younger than that, she realized, were it not for the thinning of the hair at the crown of his head and for the lines around his eyes. But, paradoxically, his eyes seemed those of a much younger man: astute, bright, quick to register what they saw.

'Of course,' he said, understanding the meaning of her question, and then, 'Is there anything else you can tell