Death in August

Outside the flat he trotted down the stairs, remembering that he’d just been given a raise.

Mugnai greeted him with a sallow smile.

‘Congratulations, Inspector Bordelli. But what should I call you now? Chief inspector, or simply inspector?’

Bordelli bit his lip.

‘Whatever you like, Mugnai. Whatever sounds better to you.’

‘In that case I prefer simply “inspector”. “Chief inspector” is too long.’

‘All right … Oh, listen, what about that nasty smell in my room?’

‘It was face powder, Inspector. It’s been taken care of,’ he said in the tone of one who knew about such things.

‘Thanks.’

Bordelli went into his office, sniffed the air and hurled a few insults at Mugnai. Not only was the smell of the face powder still there, but another smell had been added to it. He wondered what it might be, and then saw an empty aerosol bomb of Grey’s Wax in the wastebasket. Which only made things worse. He went to open the window, hoping for a purifying wind, but the air was immobile and hot as usual. He settled in and put all the reports and transcripts of the Pedretti-Strassen murder on his desk. Every so often he looked up from his papers to reflect, but then shook his head and went on. And every so often he thought of his cousin and his mysterious lover. In the end he picked up the phone and dialled Rodrigo’s number. After a few rings, someone picked up.

‘Hello?’ It was a woman’s voice, a beautiful voice.

‘Hello, I’m Rodrigo’s cousin …’

‘Then you must be the wicked policeman,’ she said, laughing.

‘Right.’

‘Rodrigo’s not here. Shall I tell him to call you back?’

‘No need. I just wanted to know how he was feeling.’

‘He’s feeling great.’

‘I’m sure he is.’

‘And I’m not doing too badly myself,’ she said, giggling.

‘I’m so glad.’

‘Me too.’

‘Well, goodbye.’

‘Bye-bye, policeman.’

‘Bye.’

Hanging up, Bordelli tried to imagine what she might look like. She must have long blonde hair, the eyes of a wounded deer, a fine, confident gait, the kind of woman who likes to talk to herself … Or else she was dark and slender, with beautiful legs and tapered hands, a joyous smile and very white teeth … Or …

The ring of the telephone caught him by surprise.

‘Yes?’

‘Hello, my dear inspector. Do you miss your Rosina?’

‘Hi, Rosa. You don’t know how lucky you are to be at the beach.’

‘Oh, darling, you should see how tanned I am! Whereas Valeria is peeling like a broiled pepper. She hasn’t got skin like mine, you know, she’s as white as a ghost … Oh, it’s just wonderful to lie on the beach! And in the evenings we make the rounds of the nightclubs and dance all night.’

Bordelli pushed away the reports and leaned back in his chair. A phone call from Rosa was exactly what he needed. To forget everything for a few minutes and let frivolity carry him away. He listened with delight to her shrill voice in the receiver. Rosa was an adorable woman, an angel capable of opening her door to him at two in the morning and making him something to eat. Bordelli lit his first cigarette of the day and smoked it in silence, as Rosa told him a thousand things: about the people under the neighbouring umbrella on the beach, the seafood dishes the cook from Salerno had taught her, the guests at the Piccolo Eden pensione, the ankle sprain she’d got walking in the sand …

Little by little, however, the thought of the murder worked its way back into his thoughts, and Bordelli chased it away again. He absolutely needed to give his brain a rest. Rosa went on and on about her seaside adventures, giving more detail than a police report.

‘… and about half past three that afternoon, we hired three bicycles … you should see how pretty the bicycles they make are these days … mine was white and pink. Know why I chose that one?’

‘Because it was pink.’

She gave a chuckle that sounded like a sob.

‘Good monkey! And so we went cycling along the promenade by the sea. I was wearing my hat because the sun was so strong … you know, that straw hat I like so much.’

‘Right.’

‘… and you can imagine how hungry we were after that. We went and ate at a little place by the beach: steamed mussels for starters, spaghetti alle vongole, and then fritto misto. There was a great big cat that kept prowling round my feet, a beautiful grey cat with two big yellow eyes … Not tabby grey, but mousy grey. I bet he never goes hungry, living in a restaurant like that. When I asked the waiter what breed he was, he said that kind are called Chartreux. You should see what a pretty face! When I come home I want to get a cat like that. And what a great big head! It filled my whole hand. I gave him two fried shrimp and the scamp devoured them, shells and all, then hopped up on my lap and started purring so loud everyone could hear him! You should see his fur, so, so soft … I loved just kissing his head, because he smelled like the sea … You know, like the song by that guy, what’s his name?… sapore di sale, sapore di mare … C’mon, help me out, what’s his name …?’

Bordelli turned as stiff as dried cod.

‘What an imbecile!’ he said.

‘Come on, he’s no imbecile, you’re probably confusing him with someone else … I mean the one with the glasses … come on, he’s famous, sapore di saleeee …’

‘Sorry, Rosa, but I have to go.’

‘Why, what’s wrong?’

‘I have to hang up, Rosa.’

‘Yes, I heard you … How are my flowers?’

‘Never been better. I’m sorry, Rosa, I really have to go. Ciao.’ He hung up and sat motionless, thinking, staring through the wall. Without realising it, he lit another cigarette and set it down in the ashtray, and like an automaton lit another one immediately.

‘What an imbecile,’ he repeated. He picked up the phone and called his own flat.

‘Ennio, it’s me. Is Dante still there?’

‘Yes, Inspector. We were just about to leave.’

‘Put him on for me, would you?’

‘Straight away … by the way, Inspector, thanks for the little gift. You needn’t have.’

‘Forget about it, Ennio, and let me talk to Dante.’

‘Straight away … Dante, the inspector wants you.’

Dante’s booming voice exploded into the receiver.

‘Hello, Inspector! We’ve cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom. I’ve got an idea for a new device for washing pots and pans. As soon as it’s ready I’ll give it to you.’

‘Sorry to bother you, Dante, but I’d like you to repeat to me everything that was written in your sister’s will, including the private things, if you don’t mind.’

‘Over the telephone?’

‘Over the telephone.’

‘All right.’

Dante told Botta that this was going to take a while and then began to recite from memory Rebecca’s last will and testament. At a certain point the inspector cut him off.

‘That’s good enough, Dante, thanks. I’ll be in touch and soon … And thanks for washing up.’

‘Aren’t you going to tell us what we’re waiting for?’ asked Diotivede, removing his glasses and pacing back