‘I can’t do that.’ You would have thought I had asked her to show me her thighs.
‘It’s very simple,’ I repeated. ‘I’ll give you my number.’ I
started giving her the numbers and she didn’t interrupt. ‘You got that? And you call me. Just one name. It’s for Massimo’s benefit. Take my word.’
‘I don’t know what your word’s worth. I don’t know you.’
‘I know a really good way to get to know someone,’ I said.
‘I’m sure you do.’
‘Call me.’ I hung up before she could protest.
I had wandered back into the house and into the kitchen as we had been speaking. It was a large room with a central island of speckled granite. Above it hung huge pans and ladles. In one recess to the right was a large cooker where a pan was bubbling away.
Teresa Tonin came in from a far corner just as I was about to go out. She had an apron on which was smeared with flour. She suddenly saw me and jumped slightly with the surprise.
‘You,’ she said.
‘You heard your husband’s been arrested?’
‘Of course I have. I’ve had men crawling all over my house for the last hour.’ She looked at me bitterly, her lips pursed in anger. ‘It’s not enough that he publicly humiliated me by having that boy. To think that he could have done something even worse, so much worse. Not just give life to him, but…’
‘But what?’
She didn’t say anything.
‘What did Umberto Salati want with you two days ago?’ I asked.
She sighed heavily and then seemed to snap out of her reverie. ‘Sorry?’
‘Was Umberto Salati after money? The first words you said to me were over the intercom. “You’re not getting anything from us,” you said, or something similar.’
She stared at me. ‘He was after money, sure.’
‘Why?’
‘He was threatening to tell the authorities about Massimo.’
‘What about Massimo?’
‘About Massimo’s affair with that Salati woman.’
‘Why would you pay him not to talk?’
‘I wouldn’t. That’s what you heard me say, wasn’t it? Everyone seems to know about it now anyway. I’ve no idea why that Umberto Salati thought he could get money from us. The innocent can’t be blackmailed, isn’t that right?’
‘So why did Umberto think he could get money out of you? Because Riccardo had in the past?’
She had been about to turn her back and slice an onion, but she turned to face me.
‘Was Riccardo blackmailing your husband back in ’95?’
She held my stare and the earth seemed to stop turning for an instant. She didn’t say anything.
‘Tell me again,’ I said slowly, ‘what Umberto Salati wanted on Wednesday when he came round here.’
She looked at me with fiery, impatient eyes. ‘He said Massimo was a disgrace. Said he had humiliated his mother. He said he knew everything, said he would hand it all over to the authorities.’
‘What did he mean by that?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t understand it.’
It clearly meant something to her. ‘What did you think he meant?’
‘I assumed… I don’t know. He said Massimo would pay for it. Said he could pay now or later, but he would pay.’
‘Did he mention figures?’
‘All he said is that he wanted the proof his brother was dead.’
‘And he thought he could find it here?’ She looked at me with anger, so I asked her another. ‘So who did you phone?’
She froze. ‘I phoned…’
‘And then Salati was murdered?’
She stared at me with fury now. ‘What exactly are you accusing me of?’
‘Who did you phone?’ I pressed.
She started walking towards me with a finger taking aim at my face. ‘Get off my property. Get out of here.’
‘Want me to call the police?’ I said, and turned away.
‘Castagnetti?’
‘Serena?’
‘The name’s Giulio Tanzi.’
‘Thank you. Put me through.’
The phone rang once and he picked it up.
‘You the counsel for Tonin?’
‘I don’t talk to the press,’ he said straight off.
‘I’m not the press. Not police either. My name’s Castagnetti.’
‘And?’
‘I’m a private.’ The lawyer hesitated so I tried to say it quick, before he could interrupt. ‘Your colleague Massimo Tonin has been arrested and the charge is pretty serious. Wouldn’t look good for your firm to have a murderer in the ranks. Clients could kind of back off if they heard that. But I’ve got some great news for you. This charge won’t stand up any more than a new-born baby.’
‘How so?’
I brought him up to speed on the case. Told him what he already knew, like old Tonin was a gent, and some stuff he didn’t, like the Gazzetta payment in Riccardo’s name which was paid for with Tonin’s card.
‘What do you want?’ he asked when I had finished.
‘I want to interview him.’
‘What’s your interest?’
‘Professional satisfaction. Proving someone wrong. The usual reasons.’
‘If you do interview him, I will expect to be present.’
‘Fine. I’m sure your presence would help.’ I caressed the man’s vanity. ‘The whole city will be knocking on your door by tonight, pleading for an interview. You’re in the spotlight like you’ve never been before. You’re defending the most famous accused in Emilia-Romagna and you’re about to clear his name.’
‘Let me talk to my client and I’ll call you back.’
He phoned as I was driving to my office. Tonin had agreed to see me immediately.
I walked over there and went down into the pit where he was being held with seven other men. He looked like a caged animal, pacing his confined space with frustration. He was still dressed in suit and tie.
The guards let him out and escorted us into an interview room.
‘What does he want?’ Tonin said to his lawyer as he looked at me.
‘He wants to ask you some questions. He wants to help you.’
He stared at me. ‘How are you going to help?’
‘By proving you had nothing to do with Umberto’s murder.’
He shook his head. He was contradicting me, as if he wanted to be charged in person, like he actually wanted to be accused of it.
‘Why did you place a mourning notice in La Gazzetta under the name of a missing man?’
He stared at me but didn’t deny it. It almost seemed to surprise him.
‘Why’, I fixed him, ‘would you do a thing like that?’
He sighed. ‘I don’t know. Why would someone do that?’
‘It’s a very unusual thing to do if you haven’t got a motive.’
‘Maybe I felt sorry for her.’
‘For Silvia Salati?’
‘Sure. I thought the idea of her dying not knowing about our son was too much. I wanted to think that somewhere out there he actually was mourning her.’
‘Who says he isn’t?’
He looked angrily at me. ‘What do you really want?’
‘Try the truth. Why did you pay to publish a mourning notice under the name of a missing person?’
‘I told you. I liked the idea of a son mourning his mother.’
‘That sounds phoney to me.’
‘That’s how it was. It was harmless.’
‘Harmless acts have a habit of turning nasty.’
We looked at each other like cats about to fight. But I had lost the element of surprise. Old Tonin had improvised his story and was sticking to it. He had paid, he said, for a mourning notice out of compassion. It was bull, but I had nothing to disprove it. I decided to change tack.
‘Where was your wife on Wednesday night?’
‘At home,’ he said, ‘you saw her yourself.’
‘I saw her at seven-thirty,’ I corrected. ‘Umberto Salati died a couple of hours later. More than enough time for her to get into town. You’ve got separate bedrooms,’ I said quickly. ‘She could quite easily get up and go out without you noticing it.’
‘Sure. Where’s she going to go? She doesn’t drive.’