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Authors: Roberto Costantini
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evening before had compromised anything Forensics might find in the room.
Capuzzo looked at me in alarm. He knew what I thought about detectives who smoked a pipe: low-grade imitators of Maigret. But I didn’t say anything. My absence from the office could cause me some difficulties, but fortunately I had Angelo and the faithful Capuzzo to cover for me.
“Serious? Why is that, Teodori?”
“Because this isn’t just any old residential complex.”
He was irritated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that investigative efforts should vary according to what was being investigated. He had the yellowish eyes of someone who suffered from liver problems and had blotchy skin that also suggested heart troubles. He made me feel sick, him and what he represented.
“Because of Cardinal Alessandrini?” I asked ingenuously.
Teodori swept his heavy, sweaty hand over Elisa’s desk, disturbing several papers.
“Not just that. Someone far more important than the cardinal lives in the other building: Count Tommaso dei Banchi di Aglieno, senator and president of the Italian neo-monarchist party.”
“I saw him yesterday afternoon. Then I saw him again when he was leaving at about a quarter past six,” I offered innocently.
“I know, and do you know where he was going? To a meeting with the Minister of the Interior,” Teodori said. He shook his head with concern. He was conveying what kind of person would have a meeting with a powerful Christian Democrat minister on a Sunday afternoon. The kind of person the count was.
“But he was with his wife,” I said.
“He must have dropped her off somewhere on his way to see the Minister. Don’t you get what we’re dealing with here?”
I had understood, but Teodori felt obliged to inform me in detail. This was a great family with castles, estates, and its roots in medieval Italian history. The count’s father’s brother had fought on Franco’s side with the Fascists and after the war had run off to Africa, where he’d accumulated great wealth and property. Count Tommaso’s father had fought with the 10th MTB squadron and, when the association between the House of Savoy and Mussolini was broken off, had remained on the King’s side. After the war he presided over the pro-monarchy committee that lost the referendum in 1946 and following this dishonor had shot himself in the head. Count Tommaso was fourteen years old and had assumed the burden of bringing the monarchy back to Italy.
Elisa Sordi, on the other hand, was a beautiful young woman from a working-class neighborhood who stumbled into a luxurious residential complex where she was surrounded by powerful men.
“Capuzzo, naturally you checked if there were—”
“Everything, Captain Balistreri, everything. Despite the crazy celebrations, no deaths reported. Just some injuries from fireworks and a few kids who fell off car roofs—nothing serious.”
“All we can do is wait,” said Teodori.
“Well, apart from alerting our colleagues on the borders and Interpol,” I added sarcastically.
Teodori turned his yellow eyes on me. He wondered if I was more ignorant or arrogant.
“Naturally,” he said. “But let’s hope this beautiful young lady is recovering somewhere from a long night of celebrating.”
Clerics and aristocrats. Mussolini had always distrusted both their tribes. He’d flattered them to keep them happy in order to hide the basic distrust he felt. And I felt the same way too. But I wouldn’t have allowed myself to be fucked over as he had.
We agreed to touch base with Teodori the next morning. Then I tried to find Angelo, but he’d already left. I called Paola’s apartment. Cristiana replied.
“They’re not here. Paola had tickets for Aida at the Caracalla Baths. Can you come and pick me up, Michele?”
I made an excuse. I’d gotten all I’d wanted from her, and I didn’t want to risk her leaving her fiancé. I wanted to spend the evening drinking and trying to score in
Capuzzo looked at me in alarm. He knew what I thought about detectives who smoked a pipe: low-grade imitators of Maigret. But I didn’t say anything. My absence from the office could cause me some difficulties, but fortunately I had Angelo and the faithful Capuzzo to cover for me.
“Serious? Why is that, Teodori?”
“Because this isn’t just any old residential complex.”
He was irritated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that investigative efforts should vary according to what was being investigated. He had the yellowish eyes of someone who suffered from liver problems and had blotchy skin that also suggested heart troubles. He made me feel sick, him and what he represented.
“Because of Cardinal Alessandrini?” I asked ingenuously.
Teodori swept his heavy, sweaty hand over Elisa’s desk, disturbing several papers.
“Not just that. Someone far more important than the cardinal lives in the other building: Count Tommaso dei Banchi di Aglieno, senator and president of the Italian neo-monarchist party.”
“I saw him yesterday afternoon. Then I saw him again when he was leaving at about a quarter past six,” I offered innocently.
“I know, and do you know where he was going? To a meeting with the Minister of the Interior,” Teodori said. He shook his head with concern. He was conveying what kind of person would have a meeting with a powerful Christian Democrat minister on a Sunday afternoon. The kind of person the count was.
“But he was with his wife,” I said.
“He must have dropped her off somewhere on his way to see the Minister. Don’t you get what we’re dealing with here?”
I had understood, but Teodori felt obliged to inform me in detail. This was a great family with castles, estates, and its roots in medieval Italian history. The count’s father’s brother had fought on Franco’s side with the Fascists and after the war had run off to Africa, where he’d accumulated great wealth and property. Count Tommaso’s father had fought with the 10th MTB squadron and, when the association between the House of Savoy and Mussolini was broken off, had remained on the King’s side. After the war he presided over the pro-monarchy committee that lost the referendum in 1946 and following this dishonor had shot himself in the head. Count Tommaso was fourteen years old and had assumed the burden of bringing the monarchy back to Italy.
Elisa Sordi, on the other hand, was a beautiful young woman from a working-class neighborhood who stumbled into a luxurious residential complex where she was surrounded by powerful men.
“Capuzzo, naturally you checked if there were—”
“Everything, Captain Balistreri, everything. Despite the crazy celebrations, no deaths reported. Just some injuries from fireworks and a few kids who fell off car roofs—nothing serious.”
“All we can do is wait,” said Teodori.
“Well, apart from alerting our colleagues on the borders and Interpol,” I added sarcastically.
Teodori turned his yellow eyes on me. He wondered if I was more ignorant or arrogant.
“Naturally,” he said. “But let’s hope this beautiful young lady is recovering somewhere from a long night of celebrating.”
Clerics and aristocrats. Mussolini had always distrusted both their tribes. He’d flattered them to keep them happy in order to hide the basic distrust he felt. And I felt the same way too. But I wouldn’t have allowed myself to be fucked over as he had.
We agreed to touch base with Teodori the next morning. Then I tried to find Angelo, but he’d already left. I called Paola’s apartment. Cristiana replied.
“They’re not here. Paola had tickets for Aida at the Caracalla Baths. Can you come and pick me up, Michele?”
I made an excuse. I’d gotten all I’d wanted from her, and I didn’t want to risk her leaving her fiancé. I wanted to spend the evening drinking and trying to score in
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