Marco Vichi - Inspector Bordelli 04 - Death in Florence (35 page)

‘Yes …’ said the youth, intimidated by Bordelli’s calm, decisive tone. It was clear he couldn’t wait to get out of the room.

‘All right. Now that we’re friends, will you answer my questions?’

‘Yes.’

‘At the first whiff of bullshit from you, I’ll call my colleagues and have them turn you inside out like a sock, and I assure you it won’t be pleasant.’

‘Ask me whatever you want,’ said the boy, giving up the fight.

‘Let’s start again. At ten o’clock you got into the Jaguar and went to Via Bolognese …’

‘I don’t know whether it was Via Bolognese or the moon we went to …’

‘Are you trying to pull my leg?’

‘The moment I got in the car, the guy had me put on a blindfold.’

‘Really …’

‘For me it was sort of fun.’

‘Do you know the names of these gentlemen?’

‘No, they use nicknames.’

‘What kind of nicknames?’

‘Piglet, Sheepie, Giraffe … obscene stuff like that. I never even saw their faces, they were wearing carnival masks.’

‘What about the man in the Jaguar? Didn’t you see him when you got into the car?’

‘He was wearing dark glasses with a scarf pulled up to his eyes and his collar turned up.’

‘Why did they disguise themselves?’

‘That happens to me a lot, when I go with rich men. Many of them are married with children, maybe they’re important people … At any rate, they’re keen not to be recognised.’

‘Had you ever been to that villa before?’

‘Yes, once.’

‘When?’

‘Last spring, I think.’

‘So you were still a minor …’

‘I’ve been making my own decisions for a while now,’ the boy said with a hint of mischievousness.

‘To continue. Were the same people present at the spring party? I advise you not to lie, since, as you’ve seen, I already know a lot.’

‘I’ve got no reason to lie, because I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘Just answer my question, please.’

‘There were the same four as tonight and a few others.’

‘Was there a sprightly old man of about seventy with a crew cut?’

‘Yes.’

‘Describe the other four for me.’

‘One is fat and hairy, a brute who loses his head when he gets aroused. The guy who picked me up is about the same size as you and has a slight limp. Then there’s a tall bloke, very smart, with an icy voice, a real sadist. Then there’s the young guy, who’s very attractive, thin as a rail, and always seems sad. He lives all by himself in that big villa … Brrr, I wouldn’t live there even after I died …’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s like a museum. I’d rather live in a cemetery.’

‘Did they pay you well for the evening?’

‘I’ve got no complaints.’

‘Did you have … group sex?’ asked Bordelli, mildly embarrassed.

‘Do I really have to give you the details?’ the youth asked, half smiling.

‘Just give me a rough description of the troop formations,’ Bordelli said metaphorically.

‘Well … me and the cute guy play the girls, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘Tell me a little more.’

‘So you’re a voyeur …’ the boy said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

‘Just go on, please.’

‘Me and the cute guy dress up as little children, in shorts and knee-high socks …’

‘And then what?’ the inspector insisted, a shiver running up his spine.

The youth, for his part, appeared calmer than ever. He was finally convinced that nobody had anything against him, and now he seemed almost to be enjoying recounting his exploits. He moved in his chair like a snake, accompanying his words with sinuous gestures.

‘We could hide anywhere in the villa we wanted. There are dozens of rooms, not counting the attic and cellars. A little while later the others came looking for us, growling like the giants in fairy tales, going
Ugh ugh
and stuff like that. And then when they found us … well, they got all excited and started yelling
Viva il Duce!
’ Rosario concluded with a complacent smile, looking at Bordelli with a docile expression.

‘Is that how it went at the party in the spring, too?’

‘No, we played a different game that time.’

‘What was it?’

‘Me and the cute guy were little children who needed to be punished, but the ending was the same.’

‘Did the old guy get in on it too?’

‘Yes, he took part in his own way … he stood aside, watching, and did it alone … if you know what I mean.’

‘Nice little party,’ the inspector blurted out in disgust.

‘What harm is there in it? To each his own.’

‘That’s for sure.’

‘If you haven’t experienced something directly you can’t know if you like it or not,’ said the boy.

‘You’re right … Maybe you should try living a less depressing life, you might like it.’

‘My life isn’t the least bit depressing.’

‘Are you so sure?’

‘What about you? How can you stay cooped up in this squalid, dusty office? I’d kill myself.’

‘To each his own,’ said Bordelli. The lad shrugged and leaned his head to one side.

‘Can I go now?’

‘One more thing. Did you hear any of those nice gentlemen make any mention of children?’

‘In what sense?’

‘Did any of them boast about
having fun
with a little boy?’

‘After the riding party the fat one said they used to fuck little Negroes in Eritrea, and then he kissed his fingers in delight.’

‘The true soul of Fascism …’ Bordelli whispered.

‘I don’t give a damn about those things.’

‘And what about the cocaine, who obtains it?’

‘The sad young man, I think.’

‘Very well. That’s all I have to ask you. I’ll have someone take you wherever you wish to go,’ said Bordelli, standing up. The boy also rose to his feet, and arranged his scarf.

‘Inspector …’

‘Yes, what is it?’

Deep down he rather liked the poor kid.

‘I wanted … yes, it’s true … I think you’re a good person.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’

‘You pretend to be mean, but under your shell …’

‘Never mind, Rovario.’

‘I mean it.’

‘I’ll have someone take you home.’

‘You’re too kind,’ said the boy.

Bordelli circled round behind the desk and put a call through the internal line.

‘Find Piras for me and send him up to my office,’ he said, then hung up.

‘I like that Piras, a lot …’

‘Stay away from that villa, Rovario. I’m telling you as a friend.’

‘You don’t have to tell me.’

‘I’m going to keep an eye on you, and if I see you talking to those people you’re going to be in big trouble.’

‘I swear to God that if the Jaguar comes back I won’t even let them see me,’ said the boy, crossing his fingers over his mouth and kissing them.

At last Piras arrived.

‘Have someone take him wherever he wants to go and then come back here,’ Bordelli said to him, pulling out another cigarette.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Goodbye, Rovario, I wish you my very best.’

Bordelli held out his hand, and the youth shook it ever so lightly.

‘Bye bye, Inspector,’ he said, giving a little bow and then going out with Piras. Bordelli lit the cigarette and dropped into his chair. It was almost three …

If Rosario was telling the truth, he couldn’t identify the villa on Via Bolognese even if he wanted to. As long as they didn’t come back for him at the Cascine, there was no way for him to alert the four friends. But what if he was lying and knew how to get in touch with them? What if he filled them in on the situation? There was no choice, Bordelli had to take that chance. He couldn’t very well throw the kid in jail and leave him there. Deep down, though, he wasn’t worried. Something told him that Rovario was telling the truth. The monsters would never find out …

But he was reasoning as if he now knew for certain that they were the killers … He had to go about this much more slowly and take care not to let himself fall prey to suggestion … But it was hopeless. He was unable to rid himself of the terrible sensation that he had the maniacs who had raped and killed Giacomo Pellissari in the palm of his hand. He blew the smoke up to the ceiling, trying to put his thoughts in order and work out what his next move should be.

Piras came back a few minutes later with a typewritten page that he laid down on the desk. It was the information gathered from the number plate of the Peugeot. The car was registered in the name of Gualtiero Sercambi, born in Parma, 16 February 1922, residing at 12 bis Viale Michelangelo since ’49. No record.

‘Does that name mean anything to you?’ Bordelli asked.

‘No …’

‘Let’s drop Gattacci’s house from our surveillance. He hasn’t reappeared, at any rate … and let’s keep an eye on this Sercambi.’

‘What’d the kid tell you?’ asked Piras, squinting with disgust at the smoke floating in the air.

‘I’ll sum it up briefly …’

And he quickly recounted the things he’d learned from Rovario, admitting at the end that he felt he was on the right track.

‘But even if they are the killers, how are we going to prove it?’ asked Piras, uncharacteristically pessimistic. Bordelli remained thoughtfully silent for a moment, then stood up with bones cracking.

‘We’ll have to sleep on it, Piras. We’ll talk again in the morning.’

Driving home, he kept on thinking about the little party in Via Bolognese. Were they really the killers? Were they the gang of monsters who’d killed the boy? Had the phone bill he’d found actually worked a miracle? Had that silly piece of paper actually turned out to be Ariadne’s thread that led out of the labyrinth? What the hell should he do now? Even if they really were the monsters, years of surveillance might not yield a thing. And they could keep on picking up boys at the Cascine and playing hide-and-seek … So what? They could do whatever they liked in their own homes. Maybe Giacomo Pellissari had only been an accidental victim, and with a murder on their hands the fun-loving friends would be very careful not to take any more risks. Surveillance wasn’t very useful, unless they happened to kidnap another little boy.

In spite of everything, Eleonora continued to hover above his thoughts. Who knew where she was at that moment? He had to find the time to go and look for her tomorrow. All of a sudden, he slapped his forehead … the gas heater, dammit! He’d forgotten about it again.

Crossing the Ponte alla Vittoria, he saw a few human shadows looking out over the parapets at the river. A couple of drops of rain had sufficed to reawaken fear, even though the Arno was so low you could barely see it. When he reached Viale Petrarca he parked the Fiat along the walls, as usual. He proceeded through the darkness, lighting his way with the torch, when to his great relief he saw that the scrapers had also passed through San Frediano. A few wrecked cars and several mountains of debris had been carried away.

He went through the front door and started up the stairs. Three-twenty. He was exhausted and desperately needed to rest his weary bones. He reached the third floor panting heavily. Entering the flat, he went straight to the bedroom and his heart skipped a beat. In his bed lay Eleonora, sleeping, her hair spread out over the pillow and her lips slightly parted. He felt so emotional he had to flee to the kitchen. He started smoking a cigarette, trying to calm down. He would never have had the courage to surprise her like that, for fear of appearing over-eager. Whereas she hadn’t given it a second thought, had come into the flat and got into bed. That was what modern girls were like.

Suddenly, what he hadn’t even dared to hope just a short while ago now seemed perfectly normal. She was sleeping in his bed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He crushed his cigarette in a small dish and went back to the bedroom. He set the torch down on the floor, so as not to make too much light. He undressed, turned off the torch, and in total darkness gently slipped under the covers, trying very hard not to brush against her. He didn’t want to wake her up. Suddenly she moved, faintly moaning, then stopped. She must have woken up. He thought he could feel her smiling, and a small hand reached out in the darkness and touched his stubbly face. He took her hand and kissed it.

‘What time did you get here?’

‘Shhh …’ she said, and pressed her body against his. They exchanged a long kiss, caressing each other all the while. Eleonora then jumped on top of him and they made love in an entirely different way from the first time. Afterwards they fell immediately asleep.

When Bordelli opened his eyes, the room was bright with daylight. He found Eleonora’s face half an inch away from his, more beautiful than ever. She was already awake and looking at him without saying anything. He opened his mouth to speak, but she put a hand over his lips.

‘Shhh …’ She pulled him on top of her and forced him to resume the discussion interrupted by sleep. For the whole time Bordelli managed not to think of the monsters of Via Bolognese, but the moment he collapsed on to the bed, there they were again in his mind. She turned her back to him and pressed up against him, hot and wet with sweat. A well-deserved rest after the battle. They were both a bit out of breath. Bordelli would have liked to speak, perhaps to tell her what he’d done the night before, but he didn’t dare breathe a word. They lay there in silence, pressed together like two spoons in a cutlery box. From the street came the sound of an approaching bulldozer, then some voices, but all the bustle outside only made the bed seem more intimate and secret. The bulldozer drove past, then another followed, stopping almost directly under the window, and began shovelling debris.

Eleonora bent her head back to graze his cheek with her lips, then got out of bed. It was the first time Bordelli had seen her standing completely naked, and he found her much more beautiful than he had imagined. Perhaps the right word was ‘gorgeous’.

The girl got dressed in a hurry, because of the cold, amusing herself by imitating a stripper’s movements. Bordelli cursed himself for not having bought a heater.

‘You are so beaut—’

‘Shhh,’ she said, finger over her lips. She left the room and went into the kitchen to get the coffee pot going.