Death and the Olive Grove (30 page)

‘Today.I want you to be served properly, as you deserve,' he said.

‘I could have caught him a lot sooner, Totò… Two little girls would still be alive. I was a complete bollock-brain,' said Bordelli, noticing two greasy fingerprints on the belly of the glass.

‘What do you mean?' asked Totò, raising his eyebrows.

‘I mean that the killer made a fool of me … He had a lighting system in his house that turned the lights on and off when he wasn't at home.'

‘No!'

‘The newspapers don't know this yet.'

‘Totò never talks,' said the cook, proud to be let in on the secret.

‘I let myself be fooled like a shitbrain …' Bordelli persisted.

‘And why did he kill them, Inspector?'

‘That's what I want to know! But I couldn't get him to tell me anything.'

‘Who the hell knows what someone like that's got in his head …'

‘Well, it seems nobody will ever know, Totò, and that's exactly what I'm having such a hard time swallowing.'

‘The important thing is that you caught him, Inspector, the rest is just bollocks,' said the cook, shrugging. He went back to the cooker to do his job. He was particularly full of energy that day, perhaps because of the spring. He was handling the fish and steaks almost violently.

After the
ribollita
came the rabbit stew. Bordelli was nervous. He ate frantically and knocked back the wine as if it were water, watching the columns of smoke rising over the pots and pans on the stove. Totò cut a steak practically two inches thick, availing himself of the cleaver to cut through the bone, and threw it on to the red-hot grill. Then he returned to Bordelli and poured himself a glass of wine.

‘You know what, Inspector? If I was a cop, I'd probably shoot certain people right between the eyes without a second thought.'

‘It's a good thing you're a cook, Totò.'

‘Have I ever told you about that guy back home who killed two twin girls in ‘55?'

‘I think so …' said Bordelli, hoping he would drop it.

‘He'd just escaped from the insane asylum and ran across the little girls playing in the woods … One was ten years old, the other was twelve …'

‘Rather odd for twins, no?' said Bordelli. The cook froze for a moment, then waved his hand in the air.

‘Never mind, Inspector … That madman raped them both, then chopped them into little pieces with an axe and dumped them in a river. He was found a few hours later, sitting in a field, drunk on grappa, his clothes soaked with blood. When they put the handcuffs on him he started crying like a baby … He said they should lock him up and throw away the key, and if they cut his head off, that would be even better. “If I get out again, I'll do it again, I can't help myself,” he kept blubbering. So they locked him back up in the loony bin, and a few days later they found him dead with his head split open. He'd killed himself bashing his head against the wall … Bah! There's just one thing I wonder about all this: why the hell does the good Lord bother to create such people …?'

‘A long time ago, some saint said that God always has his reasons, even if we can't understand them,' said Bordelli.

‘So why doesn't He come and explain them to us?… Excuse me just a second, Inspector …' The steak was asking to be turned over. Totò stuck a fork in it and flipped it. Then he grabbed a handful of juniper berries and threw them on the hot coals. There was a crackling sound, and for a few seconds the steak was enveloped in dense smoke.

‘Would you like a piece of this, Inspector?' Totò shouted, picking up the smoking steak.

‘Another time, thanks.'

‘A bit of pecorino?'

‘I'm happy just as I am.'

Totò shrugged his shoulders, put the steak on a serving platter and summoned the waiter by slapping his hand against the wall. Immediately a hand poked through the serving hatch and carried away the three-pound slab of meat.

‘How many people is that for?' Bordelli asked.

‘Two,' said the cook.

‘I would have thought at least four.'

‘A little grappa, Inspector?'

‘Just a drop.'

Totò filled the glass to the brim, as always, then raced to drain two pots of pasta. When he returned, he shot Bordelli a cocky, southern glance.

‘To change the subject, Inspector … From what I'm told, that Bottarini didn't do such a bad job in the kitchen,' he said, trying to summon a magnanimous expression.

‘I told you he knew what he was doing,' Bordelli ribbed him.

Totò tried to force a smile, but managed only to make an ugly face.

‘Apparently Cesare wants to hire him for Saturdays and Sundays on a steady basis,' he said, feigning indifference.

‘Great. That way the two of you can trade secrets.'

‘Yes, yes … Very nice … But tell me something, what's this about the pork chops with milk and fennel?'

‘There's tomato, too.'

‘Tomato, too … Mmmm, my goodness!' said Totò, clearly pulling the inspector's leg.

‘You really ought to try it, Totò.'

‘Of course, Inspector! Milk and tomato sauce … it must be a masterpiece!' said the cook, coming towards the inspector with a malignant smile.

‘Just taste it, Totò, then we can talk about it.'

‘Some muck I won't even smell …'

‘Listen, Botta even knows a lot of international recipes,' said Bordelli, who was amusing himself trying to provoke him. Totò opened his eyes wide.

‘So what? A whole lot of people like to pretend they're American, too … They even made a song about it!
¹⁹
But it certainly doesn't mean the Americans are better than we are …'

‘What's the matter with you, Totò? Jealous?'

The cook poked himself in the chest.

‘Me, jealous? Are you joking, Inspector? Why should I be jealous? Of what, anyway? Of a chop with tomato sauce and four bits of foreign slop on it?'

Bordelli finished his grappa and got up. He'd eaten and drunk like a pig, and his head was spinning.

‘Don't get upset, Totò, you're still the best,' he said, seeing that his friend had taken childish offence.

‘Now you're exaggerating,' said Totò, barely unable to restrain a grin of satisfaction.

‘
Ciao, bello
, thanks for lunch.'

‘It was my pleasure, Inspector. And be sure to come back tomorrow: I'm gonna make squid
in zimino
.'
²⁰

He sat up and stuffed a pillow behind his back. Then he lit a cigarette. The cool night air blew in through the open window. It must have been about 4 a.m. There was deep silence. Milena lay beside him, naked under the sheets, eyes still beaming with pleasure. She kept one hand on his belly and played around with all the hair.

‘You braved the deluge just to see me …' she said, smiling faintly. Her hand climbed Bordelli's chest and lightly grazed a nipple.

‘Oh, go on …' he said, seeming annoyed.

‘What's wrong, Mr Inspector?' asked Milena, removing her hand.

‘Nothing.'

‘You seem strange.'

‘I've got a bee in my bonnet.'

‘Why won't you relax?'

‘Because I've got a bee in my bonnet …'

‘Give me a kiss,' said Milena, trying to pull him down, but he didn't move.

‘Tell me what's wrong,' she said, shaking him gently. Bordelli had a tired face and deep wrinkles under his eyes.

‘Why did he kill them?' he murmured, staring into space.

‘Not that again … Isn't it enough that you caught him?' she said, poking his belly button.

‘I want to understand,' said Bordelli, blowing smoke upwards. He could feel Milena's breast against his thigh, but not even her smooth, soft skin was able to distract him from his obsession. Milena tried to pull him towards her again, but he was as stiff as a broom. He couldn't stop thinking about Rivalta and the four little girls. He seemed trapped in a world all his own. At a certain point Milena lost patience, got out of bed and folded her arms across her breasts. She was naked but moved as if she wasn't.

‘Look, Inspector … the killer is locked up in jail and will never kill again. What do you care about the rest?' she asked with great irritation.

‘What's the matter with you, Milena?'

‘I don't understand you,' she said, throwing her hands up. She seemed quite angry.

‘Calm down,' said Bordelli, his eyes wandering down to Milena's naked breasts, which were as beautiful as those on a Greek statue.

‘I just wonder why you're so fixated on this!' she said, more and more upset.

‘And I wonder why you're getting so upset about it.'

‘You're morbid.'

‘I can't help it.'

‘I really don't understand you,' she said, turning towards the window. She had a beautiful bottom, and two long legs that sprang up from the ground like gushing fountains. Bordelli fell silent for a moment, to admire all that beauty. Then he crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and pulled out another.

‘I'm sorry, Milena, you're right. I'm a bit obsessed about this. But that man is not your typical madman; he's in full possession of his faculties. He knows exactly what he's doing, he lives a normal life among his fellow men, he's rich, he's intelligent, he wants for nothing … So why the hell does he decide one day to start killing little girls? I want to know. Does that seem so strange to you?'

‘I'm going to take a shower,' she said, and she left the room without turning round. Bordelli thought again that he'd never seen a pair of legs like hers before. And he'd never met a woman like her, either, with eyes like hers or a head like hers. There was something special about Milena, she exuded life from every pore in her body, even when she was sad or cross.

Hearing the sound of the shower, he got up out of bed. He went into the bathroom naked and slipped into the shower alongside Milena. She started to rub the soap over his body and massage him.

‘Are you going to relax?' she asked.

‘I'm trying.'

‘Let me help you …' And Milena got down on her knees in front of him and started to make love to him with her mouth. He caressed her wet head as he watched her, but the same questions kept popping up in his head: Why did Rivalta kill those little girls? Why did he bite them like that? What mechanism had ceased to function in his brain?

In the end Milena gave up, stood back up and resumed washing herself.

‘Sorry,' said Bordelli.

‘Never mind,' she said, cross again. She got out of the shower and started drying herself in front of the mirror. Along with everything else, she had a beautiful pair of feet, long and slender.

‘We won't be able to see each other for a while,' she said, rubbing her head with the towel.

‘How long is “a while”?'

‘I don't know. I'll get in touch as soon as I can.'

‘Is it to do with Strüffen?'

‘Among other things.'

Bordelli put his head under the jet of warm water and closed his eyes.

‘Are you going to stay a while or are you leaving now?' he asked.

‘What would you prefer?'

‘Can we sleep together?'

‘I can't tonight,' she said, going out of the bathroom.

*  *  *

‘Inspector, there's a woman asking for you,' said Mugnai, sticking his head into Bordelli's office.

‘You mean
a lady
, Mugnai.'

‘Isn't it the same thing?'

‘Never mind … What's her name?'

‘Giovanna Benini.'

‘Bring her up,' said Bordelli, springing to his feet.

‘I'll be right back,' said Mugnai, seeing the inspector's impatience.

Giovanna Benini was the mother of the girl killed in the Sienese countryside. Bordelli had never seen her before, and had seen her name only in passing in the reports, after Rivalta had already been arrested.

A few minutes later Mugnai knocked and opened the door without waiting. The woman walked slowly into the room, dripping rainwater from her overcoat. She was quite carelessly dressed, with a kerchief knotted tightly under her chin, and her face was etched with fatigue. She must have been at least thirty.

‘Please sit down, Signora Benini,' said Bordelli, gesturing towards the chair.

‘I prefer to remain standing,' the woman said in a whisper.

‘I have no words to express …' Bordelli stammered, feeling inadequate. He had never been able to utter anything appropriate at moments like these.

‘I've come to ask a favour of you, Inspector.'

‘I'm happy to do whatever I can,' said Bordelli, pleased not to have to say any other rubbish. The woman was biting her lip, and her head was trembling slightly.

‘I want to see the face of the man who killed my daughter,' she said in a single breath, staring at him with two small, bloodshot eyes. Bordelli shook his head and put a hand on her shoulder.

‘Signora Benini … Why do you want to do a thing like that?' he said.

‘I want … him … to see what a state I'm in,' she said, her voice breaking.

Bordelli sighed. ‘I don't think it's a good idea.'

The woman started crying and covered her face with her hands.

‘I can't believe it … I can't …'

‘Do sit down, please … Would you like a glass of water?' asked the inspector, trying to lead her towards the chair. The woman embraced him, sobbing, her face pressed up against his shirt. She started whimpering something through her teeth, but it was incomprehensible. Bordelli didn't know what to say, and waited patiently for the woman to get it out of her system. Moments later, she raised her head, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

‘I'm sorry …' she said.

‘Don't you want to sit down?'