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eh?’
    ‘You’ve spoken to him too? Bulldozer’s the word. The man looks like he’s fought his way to the top.’
    ‘And you think he fought Tosti?’
    He bounced his head to the side. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me. He certainly sent some of his lackies to squeeze him. The widow told us about a man who was threatening him in the weeks before he was killed.’
    ‘Who was that?’
    ‘We never found out. Never traced him. Seems safe to assume he was a Masi missive.’
    ‘Sounds like you had quite a case against him.’
    ‘We did.’ He stared blankly at his desk. ‘We did. Trouble is, it was a case built on suspicions rather than facts.’
    ‘No evidence?’
    ‘Nothing. We knew he had been threatened a bit, but intimidation is a long way from murder. We never even found the murder weapon.’
    ‘Which was?’
    ‘Probably a hammer. He suffered some kind of blow to the temple. It was a very clean, circular blow. Surprisingly deep.’
    ‘And no eyewitnesses, I assume?’
    ‘None.’
    We stared at each other like we were both in a cul-de-sac.
    ‘Who lent him the money? Wasn’t it some bank?’
    ‘Yeah,’ he said rolling his eyes like it was a source of suspicion, ‘some bank. Tosti didn’t have any collateral. Didn’t have any earnings to speak of, and this bank lent him six figures to buy a big warehouse.’
    ‘Which bank?’
    ‘Investimenti Emiliani.’
    ‘Never heard of it.’
    ‘Me neither. We looked into it, but it was all straight. Nothing suspicious.’
    ‘Apart from the fact they lent a loser the money in the first place.’
    ‘Right.’
    We looked at each other briefly.
    ‘Who was behind it?’
    ‘Investimenti Emiliani?’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘A guy called,’ he put his chin on chest whilst trying to recall the name, ‘Cesare Carini.’
    ‘And who’s he?’
    ‘A banker. Investimenti Emiliani was his little sideline.’
    ‘Where does he live?’
    ‘Milan somewhere. Hang on.’ He rooted through a large box file on his desk and pulled out a beige file. ‘Via dei Mille, 107.’
    ‘And you spoke to him?’
    ‘Gave him a going over, sure. His explanation was that Tosti was some kind of informal società fiduciaria.’
    ‘What does that mean?’
    ‘That Carini wasn’t really lending Tosti money at all. In layman’s terms, Tosti was just administering the money on behalf of an unnamed third party.’
    I frowned and Speranza leant closer, as if that would make the explanation more straightforward. ‘People always use a fiduciaria to hide who the real beneficiary of a business is. It’s the way they guarantee anonymity.’
    ‘And you were satisfied with that explanation?’
    ‘It made sense from Carini’s point of view. He wasn’t lending hundreds of thousands to a man whose only collateral was a Fiat Duna. He was lending it to the anonymous third party that Tosti was representing.’
    ‘And I don’t suppose Carini told you who stood behind Tosti?’
    He shook his head.
    ‘Nothing to do with Masi?’
    ‘Not that we could work out.’ He looked at his watch and leant forward, putting his palms down on his desk like he was about to stand and see me out.
    ‘Just one last thing,’ I said, staying where I was. ‘The widow. Rosaria. Did she come under suspicion?’
    ‘Sure. She came into Tosti’s money when he died so she had a motive.’
    ‘Did she have an alibi as well?’
    ‘The night he was whacked she was in her flat.’
    ‘On her own?’
    ‘With her baby.’
    ‘Not much of a witness.’
    He shook his head. I stood up and we shook hands. He told me to get in touch if I needed anything.

I found Via Dei Mille
    I found Via Dei Mille and, at 107, a polished brass rectangle announcing the business called Investimenti Emiliani. I pressed the buzzer and a bored voice came on the line.
    ‘Sì.’
    ‘Cesare Carini?’
    ‘Sì.’
    ‘Mind if I come up?’
    ‘Who are you?’
    ‘I’m a private investigator.’
    ‘Investigating what?’ His voice sounded