The Memory Key (13 page)

‘You asked for the bill, but he’s been putting the receipts under the drinks as he brings them out. Maybe that was it, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve gone through half a bottle of gin in about half an hour and it’s not midday yet. What’s going on, Filippo? I don’t remember you drinking like this.’

‘It’s the loss of my wife.’

‘I’m sorry, but that was two years ago, and drinking won’t help.’

‘That’s not what I meant. Now she’s finally gone, I can drink as much as I like,’ said Principe with a forced laugh that turned into a cough and then an attack of spluttering. The waiter came over and, without saying anything, placed a glass of water beside him. Principe downed it, and thanked the waiter.

Three minutes later, Principe stood up and said, ‘I need an old-man piss’, just too loud, drawing looks from the tables around. He swayed slightly as he made his way into the bar.

He was a long time coming back. The sun had already left the piazza, and Blume was beginning to feel cold and impatient. When Principe finally emerged, he announced that he had paid the bill. He threw a thin arm around Blume’s shoulder and with his free hand, rolled his fist playfully against Blume’s chest before releasing him. ‘Loosen up, Alec. Have a drink now and again. Smile a bit more, learn to like people and appreciate all this,’ he swept out an arm and turned in a full circle, staggering from left to right foot as he completed his twirl.

‘Is this because you’re upset about Sofia?’

‘Is what about her?’ said Principe, his words coming out with a flanging effect caused by the mucus in his throat.

‘Your drinking, messing about like this.’

‘Told you, my wife . . .’ He grabbed at Blume’s arm

‘I’m not listening to this,’ said Blume, pulling away so suddenly that Principe stumbled and might have fallen had he not caught him. ‘Damn it, Filippo.’

Principe straightened his trilby. ‘I think I may stop the drinking. It’s not as much fun as I expected it to be. It just makes me so very tired.’

‘And maybe less effective as a magistrate,’ suggested Blume.

‘That would be bad. I have to solve this case. It is my last one you know.’

‘You’re retiring?’ Principe certainly looked like he was at retirement age, but Blume knew he had just turned 63. ‘Is it ill health?’

‘More than that, Alec,’ said Principe. ‘I’m dying.’

Blume stood back and looked at Principe from head to toe, and saw it was true.

‘Dead man walking,’ said Principe, then put a histrionic finger to his lips, drawing the attention of the tables around them. ‘Shh. Don’t mention it to anyone.’

‘I won’t. Sit down before you fall down.’

Principe sat down heavily. Allowing his head to loll backwards before he manoeuvred himself into a more assertive posture, he continued, ‘I don’t know why I told you. I haven’t even told my daughter. And you made me sit down but stayed standing, which is just psychological bullying. I like you, Alec, but I would not choose you for a confessor.’

‘You just did.’

Principe stared at him, eyes glassy from drink, then stood up again, rocking back and forth on his feet. ‘Have you ever thought of becoming a grief counsellor, Alec?’ He swayed dangerously, and Blume caught hold of him again.

‘Come on, I’ll get you home.’

‘We can walk from here, it’s quicker,’ said Principe.

‘I know. We’ll walk. It’ll do you good.’

‘I’m afraid I might crash into all the people walking in the opposite direction.’

‘I’ll guide you.’

Chapter 14

Blume knocked again on the double doors, but they were designed to be pushed through, not knocked on, and the sound he made was no more than an ineffectual rap. He raised his voice again and called out, ‘Professor Ideo!’

A voice, raised but sounding distant, shouted something back that Blume failed to understand.

A woman in a white coat clacked quickly across the corridor behind him.

‘Excuse me?’ She ignored him. ‘Excuse me!’

Reluctantly she turned round, pushing ringlets away from her forehead to clear her field of vision. She was young, but her face was severe and filled with snappish authority. She seemed very unimpressed by what she saw and allowed her hair to fall forward again. It was the white lab coat, Blume decided. Put an ordinary person in a white coat, or a police uniform, come to that, and watch them grow in contempt for the uninitiated.

He pointed to the double doors which had a circular wire-mesh window through which he could see another identical set of double doors three metres further on.

‘I’m looking for Professor Ideo. Can you go in there and fetch him for me?’ asked Blume.

‘I hardly think so,’ said the woman.

‘Well, do you think
I
can?’

‘Do as you wish.’

Blume turned back to the door, hesitant. A large yellow triangle announced ‘
biohazard
!’ and below that, in bright red letters, was written: ‘Strictly no admittance for unauthorized personnel’. Below that was written: ‘Suits
must
be worn at all times’; and finally: ‘Keep this door closed’.

He turned round to ask for more advice, but the woman was gone.

Gingerly, he pushed his way through, and took a few steps to find himself standing before another set of identical doors with exactly the same message. It was like being in one of those dreams that pretended to be about frustrated progress, but kept you thinking about death for the rest of the day.

He knocked again. Nothing.

He thumped with his fist and called out. ‘Professor Ideo!’

One door opened with a small gust of air that carried with it the tang of antiseptic, followed by a more complex funk of something familiar yet alien that nagged at his memory. A small head with wispy hair poked out and looked around. The wide mouth, which sat like a gash below a small nose Blume immediately suspected of plastic surgery, emitted a laugh that sounded more like a bark.

‘Don’t just stand there knocking, come in.’

The reptile cage at the zoo. That was it.

Seeing Blume hesitate, the man, who was sporting an ill-advised stretch-fit black shirt that strained against its buttons, came out of the room and stood with Blume in the no-man’s-land between the sets of double doors. He waved a short dismissive arm at the wall, flashing a glimpse of a fat Rolex and releasing a smell of onion peel. ‘Oh, never mind those signs. They’re just for civilians.’

‘I am a civilian,’ said Blume, taking a step back from the door, wondering what sort of deadly bacterial strains had just covered him.

Ideo frowned, then had a bright idea that split his round face into a smile. ‘I know, let’s go to my office! I’ll get my lab coat first!’

He pushed the inner doors open, giving Blume a brief glimpse of dozens of cages, and seconds later re-emerged with his lab coat which he started putting on, even though he was now leaving the lab, and all the signs were he was too warm already.

‘Lab mice, rats, and, above all, shrews. I am very interested in shrews. Care to look?’

‘Another time?’ suggested Blume.

They walked back into the main corridor.

‘And you are?’

‘Commissioner Blume.’

Ideo stuck out his hand but as Blume reached for it, he pulled it away and burst out laughing.

‘Sorry! I really need to wash that hand before giving it to you.’ He walked over to a stainless steel sink set into an alcove and rubbed an alcoholic gel all over his hands. He dried off with a paper towel, concentrating most of the wiping effort on his watch. He crumpled and threw the paper towel towards an overflowing bin, and missed by a mile.

‘So, you want the tour? My office is down there . . . Oh, here!’ He stuck out his hand to be shaken. He allowed Blume to touch the top half of his fingers, which were still damp, then slipped them out of his grasp. ‘Is this about me not getting round to making my statement?’

Blume put his hands behind his back and rubbed his fingers clean against his trousers. ‘No, what statement?’

‘The magistrate invited me, or should I say, instructed me, to go to make a statement to the Carabinieri. About Sofia, of course,’ he added.

‘It’s about her, yes,’ said Blume. ‘But this isn’t about the statement.’

‘I haven’t had the time, you know?’

‘I understand. Have you been interviewed at all?’

‘By phone, yes. Magistrate Principe. A very courteous gentleman.’

‘No one came to see you?’

‘Not until now.’ Ideo made a comb of his fingers and pushed some hair from behind his ears upwards and over the bald middle part of his head and patted it down gently.

A door to the left was flung open, and the movement of air undid his hair dressing in a single blow.

‘Oh, sorry, Professor!’ A youngish man backed into the room when he saw Ideo and Blume standing there. Inside were two women and two men, all of them between 30 and 40, peering at a large empty cage. Ideo put his hands on his hips and seemed to be counting.

‘Where’s Chatterjee?’

‘Lunch,’ said one of the lab assistants.

‘What?’ Ideo consulted his watch. ‘OK. That’s reasonable. Any luck?’

There was a collective shaking of heads. Ideo turned on his heel and waddled down the corridor, calling over his shoulder to Blume, ‘That is where Sofia worked when she was not with me in the labs.’ He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. ‘She had twice the personality of any of them.’

They entered his office. ‘Damn!’

‘What?’

‘No chairs. They took my chair again. I understand they need a chair and the state gives us no money, but it shows a lack of respect, don’t you think? Just because I am in the lab all day. There’s no chair for you, either. We’ll have to stand.’

It was more a storeroom than an office. Blume found the spot where he was least likely to knock over lab equipment, books, or papers, and stood there. Where the piles of equipment and paper moved higher was the desk. On the wall was a calendar from 1982 and a poster showing Darwin’s face circled and crossed in red, like a no-entry sign.

‘That’s just a bit of fun,’ said Ideo. ‘I am not anti-Darwin. I just think I have moved beyond him. Just like you can believe both in string theory and in Newtonian physics. Do you smoke?’

He pulled out a pack of Camels and shook it at Blume. ‘Totally forbidden in a public building. Institute of Health, no less. But no one ever uses this room.’ He pulled out a chrome lighter and lit up. ‘Ah. That’s good. I love a good smoke. They are not as bad for you as they say, you know.’

‘No?’

‘Not if you prime your mind first. Power of thought. You can put a little distance between yourself and the holon if you try.’ He blew smoke at Blume. ‘Do you know what a holon is?’

‘No. I don’t need to know that now.’

Ideo inserted the cigarette into the corner of his mouth, and made an unsuccessful attempt to insert his hands into the tight front pockets of his black jeans. They were small hands, but the jeans were tight, and he did not seem to be able to squeeze his thumbs in. He aimed a kick at a ball of grey dust with his short legs, and Blume saw the triple stripe design of Adidas runners.

‘We are all going to miss her. She was a wonderful girl. She had a way with animals that was . . . exceptional.’ His eyes took on a shrewd look as he squinted against the rising smoke. ‘I don’t know much about investigations, but is it normal to be questioned by one force and then another?’

‘It happens,’ said Blume.

Ideo pulled the cigarette out, touched it with his tongue, flicked ash at the wall, then put it back on the opposite side of his mouth. ‘Don’t you usually interview in twos, or is that just the films?’

‘Films,’ said Blume.

‘The Carabinieri must watch more films than the police, then. There were two of them.’

‘I thought you said they didn’t interview you.’

‘They didn’t. They came here – two of them – to tell us the terrible news, asked a few questions of several people, told me the magistrate would be in touch, and went on their way.’

‘Do I call you doctor or professor or just … ?’

‘. . . Either is fine,’ said Ideo.

Blume had mentally filed away Ideo’s first name, which was Matteo. Matteo Ideo – why do parents do that to their kids? ‘And what do you do here,
dottore
?’

‘Do you know what an ethologist is?’

‘I know what an etiologist is,’ said Blume. ‘Is it similar?’

Ideo waved his hands as if trying to stop Blume from uttering some terrible obscenity.

‘No! That’s like me saying I know what a travel agent is and asking if it is similar to a policeman!’

‘Is it? I wouldn’t be all that upset.’

‘Or a travelling salesman.’

‘Just tell me what you do.’

‘My official title is Professor of Behavioural Neuroscience. I study animal behaviour.’

‘That’s what an etiologist does?’ He couldn’t help himself.