“Something to do with the partisans?”
“Perhaps. I never really understood. Gualerzi is one of those people who never gives a straight answer to a question. If you ask him things directly, he clams up.”
Soneri experienced another wave of impotence. He felt like dropping it all and leaving, but this mood dissolved on the instant. He had no choice but to continue with this bizarre investigation. Ghidini went back into the bar, and Soneri turned towards Malpasso.
He stopped at the stables next to the summer grazing lands, hoping to meet the man who had acted as messenger the day before, but he found the doors locked and bolted against drifting snow. He was about to take the path down the mountain when his mobile rang. Angela seemed flustered, or perhaps she had some important information to communicate.
“Monica, the one whose barn they burned, he’s put all the blame on the banks and on the Rodolfis.”
“So?” Soneri said, sitting on a rock to savour the heat of the sun.
“He says the banks had been perfectly aware for some time of the company’s plight, and for that reason should never have advised their customers to buy the bonds, nor should they have sold them themselves.”
“That’s true as far as it goes, but if the company had never run up all those debts…”
“You could equally say that about the savers. They knew, and continued to invest in junk bonds because the rates of interest were much higher than usual.”
“They all knew and they all went along with it, hoping it would all turn out right in the end. There wasn’t a single one with the courage to dig his heels in, or just say no!”
“It wouldn’t have resolved anything. There were too many snouts in the trough. You’re always digging your heels in at the police station, and what have you got to show for it?”
“I’ve got an ulcer. But at least I’m at peace with my conscience. Do you think it’s enjoyable eating shit and then having to say how lovely it was? I choose the lesser evil.”
Angela snorted and, pretending not to have heard, carried on. “As regards the hole in the company’s accounts, Monica puts the whole blame on the Rodolfis, and specifically on his former friend, Paride. He says he made a lot of mistakes. He was guilty of selling at too narrow margins, with the result that he ended up with a gaping chasm in the balance sheets. So as not to go bankrupt, he asked him to cover the debts with fictitious operations, or with false, offshore financial instruments in phantom companies.”
The commissario grunted something to imply he could not take any more. He felt depressed, weighed down by a deep sadness. He thought back to his carefree childhood on the streets of the village, and reflected that there had been more happiness when everyone was poor. He found himself, by some obscure mechanism, recalling philosophical precepts he had learned at school, and particularly a definition of happiness as the cessation of suffering. That said it all; people are happy when they no longer suffer.
He heard Angela calling out to him repeatedly. “Did you roll off the path?”
“No, I was just thinking of suffering and happiness.”
“You’re a great one for contradictions. Maybe that’s why you’re such a bitter-sweet man.”
After he switched off his phone, he decided that basically she was right. He was quite downcast, but at the same time he was relishing the straw-coloured, autumn sunshine. Before plunging into the shadow of the woods, he waited till the light took on a copper hue as the sun set behind Bragalata.
8
There was about half an hour of daylight left when Soneri took the road to Villa del Greppo for the second time. Dolly trotted faithfully behind him, evidently having no idea that she was facing another separation. Only when they were at the gates did she betray any sign of recognising the place, and began to sniff about and growl. The commissario pressed the bell and this time heard a hollow ring inside. After a minute, the Philippino arrived and looked unwelcomingly at him.
“The Signora not here. Out. Car.”
“I’ve brought the dog back. She ran away the last time.”
“Always run. Not want here.”
“She’s young. She needs exercise, so if you keep her in a pound…”
“Used to Signor Palmiro. His dog dead, so took this one.”
“Wasn’t it Paride’s?”
“Yes, but he not go shoot. This dog good, very good.”
“Did Palmiro always take his rifle with him in the evening?”
The Philippino blushed, and Soneri realised he had touched a nerve. The servant waved his hands about him as though he were losing his balance and was struggling, with his limited vocabulary, to find the right words.
“I can ask the gamekeeper,” Soneri said.
“He said it only pleasure left,” the Philippino said, relieved at being allowed to give an indirect reply.
“I agree,” Soneri said, looking at Dolly. “Take her to her kennel.”
The servant called to Dolly, who kept her eyes on Soneri and did not move. Feeling painfully churlish, he had to turn away from those imploring eyes which seemed to be requesting an explanation. The Philippino took Dolly by the collar and dragged her in. When he heard the lock click shut, he turned towards the village. From where he was standing, it looked like a brazier flickering in the dark.
“Just down from the villa?” Maini said.
Soneri nodded.
“I saw you coming back without the dog.”
“I had to give her back, but the visit was worthwhile.”
Maini looked at him blankly, but did not seek further elucidation. “Paride’s wife wasn’t there.”
“So the Philippino told me, but maybe it was only a way of getting rid of me,” Soneri said.
“No, she’s in Parma. Her son’s had a car accident.”
“Did he hurt himself playing with his toy?”
“It seems he was drunk and drugged up to the eyeballs, but he didn’t do himself much damage.”
“Drunk? There’s a surprise. Not the best of times for the Rodolfis.”
“Not just for them. Have you heard what’s happened in the village?”
“What now?”
“Somebody took a knife to Biavardi. His daughter was Paride’s secretary.”
“Who was it?”
“Nobody knows. They attacked him at home, but possibly they were after the girl.”
“Have the carabinieri been told?”
Maini’s gesture implied that the matter was of no interest to him. “It took them two hours to get there because they’re all searching for the Woodsman. Nobody wants to talk, and they don’t exactly trust the carabinieri.”
“Until a couple of days ago, Crisafulli was playing cards in the village bars.”
“The general view is that the Woodsman was quite right. Paride was never popular and he cheated everybody.”
“But it was Palmiro who collected the cash.”
“They believe Paride deceived him as well, and that by hanging himself the old man confirmed it. He was ashamed and that was his only way out.”
“It was obvious to him that they were all backing the Woodsman.”
“He’s only doing what they’d all have liked to do, if they had the courage.”
Several people were leaving the Rivara, but in the gathering dusk in the piazza the commissario could not make out who they were. The sun was going down, giving way to the freezing air which crumpled the few leaves left on the branches. All along the Montelupo valley, the mist was growing thicker, making the night darker. At that moment, some lights appeared on the path above Boldara, half way up the mountainside. About a dozen torches were swaying rhythmically as the men marched back. The carabinieri, clearly having mistimed nightfall, were returning to the village.
