splendid day had faded in the rapidly falling dusk, and all that remained to him was a useless weight of memories. Living for the moment, taking delight in the sun on the day of San Martino on the deserted plain of Badignana had filled him with joy, but only for a fleeting moment. Happiness had briefly blossomed but immediately withered, like a late-flowering bud. Fortunately, the moon was appearing behind the crags of Montelupo.
He clambered out of the hollow on all fours to put as much distance as possible between himself and the stench, and to be able to see down the valley. He made out the Boldara road and watched the carabiniere truck begin its ascent, its headlights reflected on the slopes on either side of the road. The wind carried the smell even to where he was standing. He focused on the branches swaying slightly under the moon as it rose in the star-filled sky. Suddenly he heard something rustling at the foot of the hollow where the body lay, but again there was nothing to be seen. He went down cautiously, stopping some twenty metres short, but from that distance all that could be seen were shadows, murky outlines to which the most fantastical identities could be attached. He stood waiting for the moon to light up the darkness, and then he saw a dog crouched beside the corpse, continuing a vigil which must have begun at the moment of death.
He approached the dog cautiously, stopping when it rose to its feet and stared at him. It was a bloodhound of medium height, lean and very dirty. Soneri crouched down and tried to call it. The dog wagged its tail with every appearance of friendliness and did not react as the commissario inched closer. It was a bitch. She sniffed at him from a safe distance, and allowed Soneri to pat her. She was wearing a collar with metal links and a medal with the name, Dolly. Soneri studied the dog, thinking she was the only living creature who had remained faithful to Paride. He took a sliver of parmesan from the pocket of his duffel coat, offered it to her and watched as she swallowed it whole as though it were a tablet. She went on sniffing him, and followed him when he moved to another spot to answer his mobile. It was Crisafulli asking for directions.
“From Boldara, you take the road to Malpasso,” Soneri said.
“It’s pitch black,” came the complaint. “How are we to identify the said road,” he said, falling into the jargon of the military communique.
“I’ll wait for you on the said road. There’s no other way to go, and no doubt you’ll be dying to see me,” Soneri said, with heavy irony. “Anyway, I’ll make out the torches, won’t I?”
“You will. We’re not attempting an ascent without lights.”
Obviously Crisafulli was determined to show no weakness in the presence of Captain Bovolenta, who must have been right behind him. Other voices could be heard over that of the maresciallo, who was panting as he walked. After a while, Soneri saw the torches flickering in the more open spaces, but they were going as slowly as day trippers. The commissario sat down and felt Dolly’s wet nose rubbing delicately against his neck. He took the bag with the cheese from his pocket and laid out what was left on the ground. The dog devoured it all in a few seconds. It must have been her first food in days, and that gave the commissario another means of measuring how long the body had been lying there. His mobile rang once more.
“Is there far to go?” the maresciallo wanted to know.
Soneri looked down and could see the torches swaying not far off. “You’re nearly there. Another five minutes or so.”
He heard a curse somewhere in the background, mingled with another “Jesus!” uttered by Crisafulli, whose breathing was growing more tortured.
The first men arrived a few minutes later, but Soneri could not make out how many, because the maresciallo shone the torch in his face. Soneri gestured to him to move it, but just then Dolly began to bark and growl. He calmed her with a caress, but the carabinieri drew back.
“What are you doing, Commissario? Is this a hunting trip?” Crisafulli asked.
“She was on a hunting trip,” Soneri said, pointing to the dog. “That is, she was when her master was still alive.”
“So you’re saying that…”
“She was at his side.”
The maresciallo looked at the dog, accidentally turning his torch into her eyes and causing her to start barking again. The commissario calmed her once more, and turned back to the carabinieri, recognising Crisafulli and the policeman he had seen previously. In the midst of them stood a small, neatly uniformed man who gave the appearance of having come straight from a barber’s shop. This was Captain Bovolenta.
Soneri guided the group down to the hollow, and took some pleasure in noticing how gingerly they tackled the descent, taking hold of branches as they went down and slipping several times. Halfway down, Crisafulli was unable to restrain a cry of disgust at the stench when suddenly it hit him. When they reached the bottom, the torches lit up the area between the roots and the dead leaves. The commissario took the maresciallo’s torch and shone it on the body. In the light, he noticed various details that had escaped him in the semi-darkness. The wounds inflicted by the bites of the wild animals were deeper than he had realised, and marks on the ground made it clear that the body had been hauled and dragged. Captain Bovolenta took the torch quite brusquely from an officer and ran it slowly along the corpse and the surrounding ground. When a ray of light illuminated the face half-sunk in the mud and slime, one half-opened eye stared sombrely back at them, showing death in all its obscenity.
“I doubt if there is much to be done tonight,” Bovolenta said. “We have neither the equipment nor the appropriate lighting. Crisafulli, have the area sealed off and leave two officers on guard. Call for reinforcements from another company, to give the men here a break. To keep everything right, telephone the duty magistrate, but I think he’ll agree with these measures. Tomorrow morning, at first light, we’ll resume work. And get in touch with the Special Forensic Unit.”
The captain issued his orders calmly and precisely, in a tone which brooked no contradiction. Before setting off, he turned back to the maresciallo. “Don’t forget about the magistrate.”
He addressed Soneri for the first time since Crisafulli had introduced them. “Are you coming back with us?”
The moment Soneri said yes, Bovolenta was off down the path with his torch lighting the way. The commissario set off after him but he had not gone ten metres before he heard Dolly’s paws scrabbling on the rocks behind him. She followed him as far as Boldara and hesitated only when they reached the truck, as though she distrusted men in uniform. Soneri settled her in the back of the vehicle. As the truck moved off, Bovolenta turned to ask, “What do you think?”
“What everyone believed would happen, has happened,” was Soneri’s enigmatic reply.
“Everyone was convinced he was dead?”
“For some time, no-one would claim beyond peradventure that they had seen him alive. There was no shortage of rumours, but you know full well that…” Whatever was to be known full well petered out in a wave of the commissario’s hand.
“His wife said he had gone abroad. She was lying,” the captain stated with some emphasis.
“Perhaps Paride had lied to her, and never did leave.”
The captain nodded, staring out at the countryside over which the moon spread a phosphorescent light.
“Tomorrow we’ll find out how he was killed,” Bovolenta said. “Have you any idea?”
Soneri shook his head. “I can’t be sure. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say gunshot. It seems to me the most obvious thing.”
“Because of all the gunshots people have been complaining about? You think it was one of those?”
“Could be, but around here they use large-calibre hunting rounds. There was no sign I could see on the body of a bullet having passed right through.”
Bovolenta grunted his assent, then leaned over towards Crisafulli who was driving in silence but listening intently. “Will you inform the family?”
“As you wish, Captain.”
An owl hooted in the woods. Dolly got to her feet behind the seats and started growling.
“What are you going to do with her?” the captain said.
“I’ll take her back home and see if she still has a master.”
“Is there one left?”
“Paride’s son, but he’s crazy,” the maresciallo said.
“What about the wife?”
“Yes, there’s the wife,” Crisafulli said, without further explanation.
“Anyway, they’ve got other dogs. They loved going hunting, as did their master,” Soneri said.
