“He didn’t wait for me the last time,” the commissario said.
“He’s got his own times. He’s up before dawn, and these days he doesn’t even sleep much.”
Soneri nodded to let it be known he had understood, and watched the man move off slowly, disappearing into the night. The commissario took Dolly to the Scoiattolo and then, feeling the first pangs of hunger, turned back to where he had been. When he arrived at the Olmo, Crisafulli hurried out.
Soneri stopped to light a cigar before the maresciallo started talking. He invited him to walk with him along the street, since he preferred not to speak within earshot of the group of village elders. They walked some way without addressing each other. Crisafulli turned up the collar of his uniform and kept his hands in his pockets, but he seemed to be turning blue with the cold. He pulled up short, almost barring the commissario’s path. “Commissario, I have to tell you all the rifles are in the right place.” There was a shiver in his voice as he spoke.
“So you’ve been up at the villa?”
“I went there immediately after our conversation.”
“Was the daughter-in-law there?”
“Yes, and the Philippino.”
“And they let you see the weapons?”
“Yes, all three of them, as per the licence. Two double-barrelled guns and one sporting rifle for deer- hunting.”
“Where were they?”
“In a locked cabinet.”
The commissario inhaled his cigar as he reflected on this information. “You also went to the house in the woods, Paride’s house?”
“Of course,” the maresciallo said, slightly piqued. “But the two weapons for which a licence had been issued were there, and they didn’t look to have been used recently.”
The commissario stood in silence. The matter now seemed more complex than he had expected, but he was still of the view that the rifle explained everything. “Are we talking about recent models, or ones a couple of years old?”
Crisafulli was hopping from foot to foot in the cold. “The licences were issued some years ago.”
“The forensic squad have examined the rifle we found?”
“They’re still working on it, but they’ll get back to me tomorrow.”
“If I were you, I’d send someone along to do a check on the gun shops around here,” Soneri said, choosing his words with care. “It’s just possible somebody’s made some purchases in the not too distant past.”
Crisafulli looked at him quizzically, but his expression turned more defiant. “Commissario, do you really think that each and every one of us in the carabinieri is a complete idiot? I’ve already given orders to the men to carry out investigations. And I’ve started to put the screw on that Romanian we’ve got under arrest because of those fifty grams of some substance found in his house by our colleagues from the Santo Stefano division.”
“And has he been any use to you?” Soneri said mildly, ignoring the maresciallo’s petulance.
“If you ask me, he knows more than he’s letting on, but I want to talk to him when I’ve got more information, that is, as soon as the forensic people pass on to me what they’ve found. These foreigners try to make a fool of you, unless you’ve got them with their backs to the wall,” Crisafulli said, in a crescendo of anger.
The commissario looked him straight in the face, then waved the hand holding the cigar. “I was not doubting your ability. It’s just that two heads are better than one, and I was only thinking aloud.”
The maresciallo gave him a pat on the elbow as he turned to go. “Tomorrow, I’ll share everything with you,” he promised, moving off with those distinctive little steps of his, and letting it be understood he could no longer put up with the cold.
Before he reached the piazza, Dolly appeared at his side, leaping happily up at him. He wondered how she had managed to jump over the wall at the Scoiattolo and, especially, to leave a dish of offal. He stroked her to calm her down, while she gazed at him as though her entire world was contained within the confines of his duffel coat. He took out his mobile and phoned Angela. “I have to communicate to you that we have a new member of the family.”
“It’s usually women who make that kind of announcement,” she said. “Or have you found a babe in the woods?”
“No, I’ve decided to keep Dolly.”
“Really. It took me longer to convince you to keep me.”
“So, you agree?”
“I’ve always believed that a dog is the ideal companion for introverted, taciturn types like you. Faithful and reliable, something that can make itself understood with signs, who has no need of words, and who’ll never interrupt your train of thought.”
Soneri felt, not for the first time, that yet again Angela had got it exactly right. His mind filled with memories of those silent afternoons in the woods gathering chestnuts, firewood or mushrooms with his father, and of the perfect understanding achieved between them with glances or gestures. This was now an obsession with him.
“Dolly has solved the case,” he said.
“She’s certainly got a better nose than you.”
“Well, it was a question of a nose.”
“What did she sniff out?”
“A rifle which had ended up in the mud, and if it hadn’t been for the freezing weather, not even Dolly would’ve found it.”
“Are you talking about the weapon that killed Paride?”
“I think so, but the carabinieri are still investigating.”
He was still speaking when he saw a carabiniere uniform march across the piazza in his direction. As it came closer, he recognised Bovolenta. He quickly said goodbye to Angela and put the mobile back in his pocket. When they came face to face, he saw how exhausted and dejected the captain looked. The cold made the wrinkles under his nose seem even deeper, and his eyes were bloodshot. Soneri held out his hand to shake Bovolenta’s, but the captain awkwardly stretched out his left hand.
“What’s happened to you?” the commissario said, only then noting a plaster cast protruding from the right sleeve.
“Nothing, just a bit of a shrapnel which got me side on.”
“I told you. It was never going to be easy trying to bring Gualerzi in.”
“He’s nearly killed another four men. He’s mad.”
“Any more wounded?”
“Five. He’s firing dum-dum bullets which become grenades the moment they hit a rock.”
“There’s no point in going after him any more. He’s not got long to go. You should never have…”
Bovolenta glowered at him, struggling not to lose his temper. He calmed himself down and spoke in a deliberately measured tone. “Crisafulli spoke to me about the rifle. Was it you who found it?”
“Why do you ask me that question?”
“I know the maresciallo. He couldn’t walk for more than twenty minutes at a stretch.”
“There are other people who could do the walking.”
“No-one in this village would lift a finger in this business. You’ve seen them, haven’t you? They don’t speak to each other, they look daggers at one another, they burn down barns, they set fire to cars and houses, they stab each other in the back.”
“That rifle will tell you many things, above all that the Woodsman has nothing to do with it.”
The captain looked down, considering this remark. “It has already started telling its tale. The registration number has been partially scored out.”
“Has it been used to shoot recently?”
“It seems so, but we need to do further tests. The weapon is not in the best condition because of the mud.”
“How long will it be before you get the full results?”
“Tomorrow.” The captain’s reply was hissed out, with an edge of impatience, but from the dark expression on his face, Soneri deduced that this was due to a stab of pain in his arm. “What I really wanted to ask you to do was to mediate with the Woodsman.”
