Death in Sardinia (48 page)

‘Very well, Inspector,’ said De Marchi.

Bordelli hung up and, as Mugnai still hadn’t returned, he went out to look for him and ran into him in the hallway. He paid him what he owed and thanked him for the cigarettes. Climbing the stairs, he opened the packet and lit one. By the time he returned to his office he’d already smoked half of it. He had to calm down. De Marchi would have the results of the hair test soon enough. There was no point in letting his thoughts run away with him. Everything would go as it must. He sat down and tried not to think about the case. He cast a glance out the window. The sky was black, and the light looked like sunset. He remembered he had to go to Santo Spirito to look into that rubbish the commissioner was so worried about. What a pain in the arse. It was the last thing he felt like doing.

Half an hour later, a telex just received from Cagliari was brought in.

Based on research conducted at the Records Office of the municipality of Armungia concerning the names in question: Pietro Pintus, born Armungia (Cagliari province) on 12 July 1882 and Maria Giuseppina Gajas born Armungia (Cagliari province) on 6 November 1887; we inform that at present neither of the names in question appears in the abovementioned Municipal Archive. We further also point out that: 1) the Records Archives of the above-mentioned municipality are incomplete prior to 1947; 2) the parochial registers have deteriorated due to poor conservation; 3) no persons in town recall anyone bearing the name in question. It must however be added that such a result in this specific case is of no certain value, given the sometimes extreme reserve typical of the people of this region. End message.

It was as though the engineer had left only a trail of scorched earth behind him. The whole thing was beginning to appear rather strange indeed. Bordelli rang Piras, but he wasn’t at home. His mother said Nino had left the house before eleven, having gone on a drive to Oristano in Ettore’s new Fiat 500, and wasn’t back yet … She then added that Nino hadn’t eaten a thing at breakfast, aside from two amaretti and a coffee, and that much earlier that morning he had walked nearly all the way to Milis, which was too bad because he was so thin and the doctor said he should eat more … To say nothing of the fact that he’d made some mysterious phone calls in the past few days …

‘Do you know Nino’s girlfriend, Captain?’ she asked out of the blue.

‘I didn’t know he had one,’ Bordelli lied, quick to catch on.

‘Well, he does,’ said Maria.

‘He hasn’t told me anything about it.’

‘Her name’s Francesca, but that was all I was able to find out.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t be of any help,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry … What’s the weather like over there?’ he asked, to change the subject.

‘It’s sunny, but there’s frost at night,’ said Maria.

‘Here it’s about to rain.’

‘Oooh, excuse me, Captain … I have to check the chicken,’ said Maria.

‘Is one of your chickens not feeling well?’

‘I mean the one in the pot. I’m making broth.’

‘Goodbye, Signora Maria, please give my best to Gavino.’

‘Goodbye. I’ll tell Nino you called, as soon as he gets home.’ They hung up. Bordelli lit another cigarette, took one puff, and set it down in the ashtray. In the lamplight the rising smoke looked oily and very white. He wondered how Piras had got his mother to believe that Sonia’s name was Francesca. He felt hungry and went out on foot, headed for Totò’s kitchen. As he walked he started imagining the telex he wanted to send to every single police department in Italy, requesting an urgent, thorough search for
Agostino Pintus, born at Custoza di Sommacampagna (Verona province), 16 July 1912, son of Pietro Pintus, born at Armungia, etc., etc …

It wasn’t yet one o’clock and Piras was already in Oristano. He was still half an hour early for his appointment with Pintus. He parked at the start of Via Ricovero and went into a bar to drink a
chinotto
.
⁴¹
He felt a little nervous. To avoid letting the time go to waste, he went for a walk in the neighbourhood. The centre of town was busy with traffic, mostly Fiats and motor scooters. Walking past the Portixedda tower, he reached the bottom of Via La Marmora and started wandering the streets in front of the Duomo. Schools were closed, and there were a great many people walking about, especially mothers with small children, and thus it was better for him, with his crutches, to cede the pavement to them and walk in the street. Shop windows were decked out with festoons and coloured lights, and the pastry shops were already full of Epiphany stockings and sweet coal.

He glanced at his watch and walked slowly back towards the car. At twenty past one he got back inside, drove the entire length of Via Ricovero and turned down Via Marconi. He pulled up in front of the engineer’s small villa. The dogs were already tied up and started to bark. The Alfa Romeo and Fiat 1100 were parked on the lawn, and the Rumi was there as well. He rang the doorbell. Pintus appeared in the doorway and slowly came forward to open the gate. They walked together into the house and sat down on the facing sofas, one in front of the other. Outside, the dogs kept on barking. Everything seemed the same as the previous time.

‘So, what is it, Piras? I haven’t got much time,’ said Pintus.

‘I’ll get straight to the point …’

‘Please.’

‘The heirs have accepted your offer.’

‘Good,’ said Pintus, looking serious.

‘Aren’t you going to offer me a drink in celebration?’ Piras asked, smiling. Pintus didn’t move for a few seconds, then smiled in response.

‘All right,’ he said. He got up and went to get some wine and two glasses. He passed one to Piras and then sat back down.

‘Where and when can we meet for the contract of agreement?’ Pintus asked, practical as usual.

‘Well, we have to wait for the rights of succession to be formalised,’ said Piras.

‘A signed, notarised statement is also fine with me. I can make the fifty per cent down payment straight away. The deed must be drawn up within six months, and succession procedures never last more than four,’ said Pintus, apparently quite sure of himself.

‘You know something? I bet you’re more or less my father’s age,’ Piras said in a friendly tone.

‘I was born in 1912.’

‘My father’s from ’13. He was in the navy, but after 8 September he came ashore to join the San Marco regiment.’

‘Pavolini was very proud of them,’ Pintus said gravely.

‘Probably not of my father. He was in Badoglio’s San Marco,’ said Piras, taking a sip of wine.

‘There was some confusion at that time, as I’m sure your father would concur,’ said Pintus.

‘My father says that, all of a sudden, everything became clear to him, and the only Italy he wanted was an Italy without Fascists and Nazis … Or, as he puts it, “without those shiteating Nazis and pants-shitting Fascists”,’ Piras said with a chuckle. He wanted to provoke the man into reacting.

‘You’re still just a kid. You can’t possibly understand these things,’ said Pintus, cold but calm.

‘Sometimes you can get a better picture of things from a distance.’

‘I really don’t know what you’re getting at,’ said Pintus, raising his eyebrows as if it didn’t really matter to him. He suddenly seemed in less of a hurry.

‘Oh, I’m not getting at anything …’ said Piras, pretending to be amused.

‘I just find it rather fascinating to have a real, flesh-and-blood Fascist in front of me, for the first time.’

‘I think you’ve misunderstood me. I was never a Fascist,’ Pintus said with a cold smile.

‘Ah, I’m sorry, I beg your pardon,’ Piras said, raising his hands.

‘No problem.’

‘Anyway, I didn’t mean there was anything wrong with it. People do a lot of silly things when they’re young.’

‘I completely agree,’ said Pintus.

‘And what did you do during the war? Don’t tell me you were in the navy too?’

‘No, I was in Switzerland. I went over the border to avoid the war,’ Pintus said serenely.

‘Did you come back after the armistice?’

‘No.’

‘And what did you do in Switzerland?’ Piras asked.

‘Do you always ask so many questions?’

‘I’m sorry, I really do talk too much sometimes … But we’ve just made a wonderful deal! There’s no harm in having a polite little chat, is there?’

‘No harm at all,’ said Pintus.

‘I really am sorry, though, perhaps I was indiscreet and reawakened some painful memories for you.’

‘No, it’s nothing like that, don’t worry. I simply stayed in Switzerland until the war was over. I took no part in any of it,’ said Pintus, stretching his legs as if to relax. He crossed his ankles and then his arms. Piras distractedly looked down at the engineer’s heavy shoes … and felt a wave of heat envelop his head. He’d just seen something that might settle the whole affair, and he couldn’t quite believe it yet.

‘Let’s get back to business,’ he said, looking up at Pintus. He was making a great effort to remain calm, but it was hard to disguise the thrill of being dealt the equivalent of a royal flush. He had no idea whether or not his excitement was visible.

‘Let’s set a date to meet again soon,’ said Pintus, sitting up. Apparently he hadn’t noticed anything.

‘Shall we make it at Musillo’s law office?’ asked Piras, heart racing.

‘It’s all the same to me.’

‘When would be best for you?’

‘Any time at all is fine with me,’ Pintus replied in a serious tone.

‘Will you still be at home if I ring you in about two hours?’

‘I have to go out around half past four.’

‘Then I should manage all right. Thank you, sir. I’ll be going now,’ said Piras, standing up and grabbing his crutches. Pintus showed him out.

‘If I’m not here later, you can reach me tomorrow morning between seven and eight. After that I’ll be at the construction site,’ he said, accompanying him to the door.

Walking down the hallway, Piras felt quite tense … Perhaps Pintus really was the Fascist from Asti and had managed to deal Benigno the
coup de grâce
twenty years later … Maybe he realised he was under suspicion and was preparing at any moment to attack him and stab him to death … and then feed him to the dogs … But nothing happened. They went out of the house without a word. The dogs barked wildly as they crossed the garden, their chains clinking audibly as they pulled on them. Pintus waited for Piras to go out through the gate, then closed it behind him. As he walked towards the little Fiat, Piras turned round and saw Pintus releasing the dogs.

After having a bite to eat in Totò’s kitchen, the inspector went back to the office and dropped into his chair. He wanted to write out the telex message and then get a few minutes’ rest before going to Santo Spirito to look into the trouble there. What a bore. The first thing he had to do was drop in on Bolla, who always knew everything that was going on in that part of town.

He rang Mugnai and asked him please to go and fetch a coffee for him. He lit a cigarette, only his third of the day. He wanted to smoke it in peace, to enjoy it in full. That would help him to hold out longer before the next one. This was another theory he was trying to prove. He was about to start writing that blessed telex when the internal line rang. It was Rinaldi.

‘Piras rang you twice, Inspector,’ he said.

‘I’ll call him back at once.’

‘He said he’d call you back, sir, because he’s not at home.’

‘All right,’ said Bordelli, pleased to be able to postpone the bother of Santo Spirito for a precise reason. He continued smoking slowly. A few minutes later Mugnai knocked.

‘Your coffee, sir.’

‘Thank you … Did you get one for yourself as well?’

‘You didn’t tell me to, sir.’

‘I don’t need to tell you every time, Mugnai, it’s understood.’

‘Thank you, Inspector. I’ll go and get it straight away … Did you see the letter?’

‘What letter?’

‘I put it right there on your desk,’ said Mugnai, searching with his eyes.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Bordelli, moving some papers that had collected over the course of the day.

‘Of course I’m sure,’ said Mugnai. Bordelli keep searching, but found nothing. Then he heard a dull sound. Mugnai had slapped himself on the forehead and was now digging with his fingers into the pocket of his uniform.

‘I’m afraid I’m a blockhead, sir,’ he said.

‘You’ve still got it in your pocket …’

‘I really ought to see a doctor, sir. I was convinced I’d put it on your desk,’ said Mugnai, handing him the envelope.

‘There are worse things in life,’ Bordelli said, smiling.

‘I promise it won’t happen again, sir,’ said Mugnai, and after giving a military salute he went on his way. Bordelli put out the cigarette butt and distractedly opened the envelope. There was a postcard inside.
Panorama of Montevideo
. He felt a tingling in his arms and turned it over.

Happy Christmas. I think of you now and then. How about you? M.

Under these words was a lipstick imprint of a pair of lips. Bordelli closed his eyes and was back in Milena’s arms. He could almost smell her scent. He sniffed the card instinctively, thinking that she had put her fingers and mouth on it. But he smelled only cardboard. He looked for the return address on the envelope, but luckily there wasn’t one … Otherwise he would have been tempted to reply. Closing his eyes again, he tried to free himself from feelings he didn’t even want to name. But it was easier to do so with eyes open … Why had Milena sent him that postcard? Couldn’t she simply leave him in peace? She’d gone away. He’d tried to stop her, but she’d gone just the same. It was water under the bridge. Old news. Its only possible purpose was to make him bleed a little more. He had to erase the girl from his memory … He had no desire for an adventure like Diotivede’s with Maria Conchita.

He put the postcard in his bottom drawer and closed it. Then he changed his mind. There was no harm in the postcard; it only showed a view of Montevideo. He took it and slipped it inside the frame of a Dürer print he was very fond of, hanging under a photo of the president. He had to convince himself that Milena was just a pleasant memory … One that would fade like all the rest. That was the way things went. He’d even managed to forget Teresa, who’d probably been the most important of them all … A lot of time had gone by … Teresa, who’d left all of sudden, saying she didn’t want anything more to do with policemen … Teresa with her mischievous smile and black hair like Milena’s … Young, beautiful Milena, eyes full of fire … Milena who was now on another continent, never to return … Milena who … The telephone rang, startling him.