This elicited a ripple of appreciative laughter.
'But mightn't she have done it?' asked Carlo Romizi earnestly. 'I mean I saw this thing on the television which seemed to be suggesting that…'
Zen gestured impatiently.
'Of course she might! She wouldn't have been much use to me otherwise, would she?'
'No, I mean really.'
Zen frowned. 'Oh, you mean really!'
He turned to the others. 'Quick, someone! Get on the phone to Palazzo Sisti. They'll have your mug all over the morning papers, Carlo. "Italian Believes Favelloni Innocent. After months of research, Palazzo Sisti announced last night that they had located someone who believes in the innocence of Renato Favelloni. 'It's true that he's an Umbrian,' admitted a spokesman for l'onorevole, 'but we feel this may be the beginning of a significant swing in public opinion'." '
Zen stood back, letting the waves of laughter wash over him. I could grow to like this, he thought, the good-humoured, easy-going chaffing, the mutual admiration of male society. Fatherless from early childhood, with no one to teach him the unwritten rules, he had always found it difficult to play the game with the necessary confidence and naturalness. But perhaps it wasn't too late even now.
'What I still don't understand is how you managed to tie it up so neatly at the end,' Travaglini commented.
'There was nothing to it really,' Zen replied modestly.
'There were various ways I could have worked it, but when Spadola showed up in the village it seemed a good idea to kill two jailbirds with one stone, so to speak. I couldn't predict exactly what would happen if I brought him and Elia together, but there seemed a good chance that one or both might not survive. Which suited me down to the ground, of course. The last thing I wanted was the magistrates getting a chance to interrogate her.'
'Have they found her body yet?' someone asked.
Zen shook his head.
'The cave system is very extensive and has never been mapped. As you can imagine, the locals don't have much time for speleology. They used the cave mouths for storage and shelter but no one apart from Elia had bothered to explore any further. The Carabinieri flew in a special team trained in pot-holing…'
'Complete with designer wet-suits by Armani,' De Angelis put in.
Everyone laughed. The glamorous image of their paramilitary rivals was always a sore point with the police.
'By Wednesday, two of the Carabinieri had managed to get lost themselves,' Zen resumed, 'and the others were busy looking for them. All they found of the woman were a few blood stains matching those at the villa, and a collection of odds and ends she'd apparently stolen, things of no value.'
Travaglini offered Zen a cigarette which he felt constrained to accept, even though it wasn't a brand he favoured. Such are the burdens of popularity, he reflected.
'What are you doing about a motive?'
'No problem. One of the villagers, a man called Turiddu, claimed that his family had owned the farm house which Burolo bought. At the time I thought he was bragging, but it turned out to be true. The Carabinieri also confirmed that Elia was Turiddu's sister, and that she'd been found locked in a cellar. The story is that when she was fifteen she fell in love with someone her father disapproved of. The man suggested that he get her pregnant to force her father to consent to their marriage. Simpleminded Elia agreed. Once he'd had her a few times, the young man changed his mind about marriage, of course.
Although she wasn't pregnant, Elia told her father what had happened, hoping he would force the man to keep his word. Unfortunately her lover got wind of this and ran off to a branch of the family in Turin.
'Since he was out of reach, Elia's father took revenge on his daughter instead, locking her up in the cellar and telling everyone that she had gone away to stay with relatives on the mainland. She spent the next thirteen years there, in total darkness and solitude, sleeping on the bare floor in her own filth. Twice a day her mother brought her some food, but she never spoke to her or touched her again. Turiddu told us that he was forbidden to mention her existence, even within the family. This naturally made him even more curious about this strange sister of his, who had committed this terrible nameless sin. He started sneaking down to the cellar when his parents were out, to gawp at her. And then one day, to his astonishment, he found she wasn't there.
'There was nowhere she could be hiding, and it was inconceivable that she had escaped through the bolted door leading up to the house. Eventually he realized that she must have managed to get through the hole leading to the underground stream. He put out his lantern and kept watch, and sure enough, a few hours later he heard her coming back. He struck a match and caught her wriggling in through the hole, which she had gradually worn away by continual rubbing until it was just wide enough for her to get through. His father's ban on acknowledging Elia's existence made it impossible for Turiddu to betray her secret even if he had wanted to. Anyway, it didn't seem important. As far as he was concerned, the caves where the stream flowed were just an extension of the cellar.
Elia's prison might be a little larger than her father supposed, but it was still a prison.
'All this came out when we interrogated Turiddu on Monday and Tuesday. At first he played the tough guy, but once I made it clear that his sister was dead, that she was going to take the rap for Favelloni, and that unless he co-operated he would get five to ten for aiding and abetting, he changed his mind. Underneath the bluster, he was a coward with a guilty conscieiice. There was a running feud between his family and a clan in the mountains.
The usual story, rustling and encroachment. Turiddu's father "accidentally" shot one of the mountain men while out hunting, and they got their own back by ambushing his van. Both parents were killed. It was Turiddu's responsibility to carry on the vendetta, but he shirked it.
That sense of shame fed his hatred for anyone connected with the mountains, like Padedda. Still, he gave us what we wanted. Once he got started he poured out details so fast that the sergeant taking notes could hardly keep up.
"Eh, excuse me, would you mind confessing a little more slowly?" he kept saying.'
Once again, laughter spread through the officials grouped around, hangivg on Zen's words.
'So the motive is revenge,' said De Angelis. 'As far as this woman was concerned, whoever lived upstairs in that house was the person responsible for punishing her.'
Zen shrugged.
'Something like that. It doesn't matter anyway. She was crazy, capable of anything. And we don't need a confession. The gun she dropped after shooting Spadola was the one used in the Burolo killings, and her fingerprints match the unidentified ones on the gun-rack at the villa.'
'But how do you explain the fact that Burolo's records had been tampered with?' Travaglini objected.
'Easy. They weren't. In our version, the chaos in the cellar was due to the fact that the new shelving Burolo had put up blocked the vent Elia used to get in and out of her old home. On the night of the murders she worked the fittings loose, then pushed the whole unit over, sending the tapes and floppy disks flying, which is what caused the crash audible on the video recording. By the way, lads, how do you think this is going to make our friends of the flickering flame look? The Carabinieri seized all that material right after the killings. If our murderer didn't erase the compromising data on those discs, who did?'
De Angelis shook his head in admiration. 'You're a genius, Aurelio! How the hell did you ever manage to balls up so badly in the Moro business?'