Death in Tuscany (18 page)

He had ignored the marshal, walked up to the two men and, recognising one of them as the Mafia boss, addressed him directly.

'You have to come with me. I have a warrant here for your arrest.'

'I knew this was coming,' the man had replied confidently, 'but I can't go with you. The reason I came here with my lawyer was to present a medical certificate.'

'I find you here, instead of at home in your bed,' Ferrara had retorted, in a similarly confident and determined tone. 'If you're fit enough to come here, you're fit enough to come with me.'

'I've just had an operation. I'm full of stitches. There's no way I'm getting in a car. If anything happens to me the responsibility will be yours.' The Mafioso's gaze had turned threatening.

'I'm perfectly happy to take that responsibility. Now come with me.'

At that point the marshal, who was still on his feet behind the desk and had remained silent until now, had objected. 'Really, I—'

But Ferrara had not let him finish his sentence. 'We're wasting time here.' He had turned to the officer who had come with him. 'Sergeant, the handcuffs.' The sergeant had gone up to the Mafioso, taken him by the arm and led him away.

The Carabinieri had kicked up a major fuss over this incident. A Mafia boss had been arrested right inside their building - not by them, but by the police. The head of the Reggio Calabria
Squadra Mobile
had had the unenviable task of smoothing things over. He had persuaded Ferrara to agree to the marshal countersigning the report.

'Only because you ask me and you're my boss,' Ferrara had said. 'If it was up to me, I wouldn't let him sign. But I just follow orders.'

'Could you tell us what kind of man your friend is?'

The captain's voice seemed to reach him from a long way away, jolting him out of the memories which had suddenly crowded into his mind.

'Tell me something, Captain,' he replied, incredulous. 'Is this an interrogation?'

He had conducted many interrogations, but had never been interrogated himself. Was this, too, part of the nightmare?

'This is strictly off the record, Chief Superintendent. For the moment all we need is a little background information. And you did come here of your own free will. Unless . . .'

'Unless what?' Ferrara asked, seeing that the captain was taking his time finishing the sentence.

'Unless the deputy prosecutor who's coordinating the investigation subsequently decides it's necessary to take a formal statement from you. But if that's the case, we'll inform you in due course.'

We'll inform you in due course!
Not 'We'll let you know' or something similar. The words could not have been more official, and Ferrara felt as though he had been punched in the stomach.

He knew the law. He knew that if the deputy prosecutor decided to request a formal statement, he would receive a written summons to appear, and he would have at least three days to comply, as laid down in the rules of criminal procedure.

'I have no problem making a statement, Captain. I came here voluntarily to talk to you about Massimo Verga in the hope that it would help the investigation, perhaps speed things up. I didn't want you to waste valuable time on false leads. And I remind you that, as a detective and as head of the Florence
Squadra Mobile,
which, as I'm sure you know, has jurisdiction here for some crimes—'

'Of course we know, Chief Superintendent,' Captain Fulvi cut in, clearly galled by Ferrara's implicit criticism of the slowness of the investigation. 'But in this case the investigation is totally within the jurisdiction of the Carabinieri, as authorised by Deputy Prosecutor Lupo of the Prosecutor's Department in Lucca. We're grateful to you, thank you, but we don't need help from Florence. We can call on our special operations divisions for reinforcements, if necessary'

Ferrara recognised the name of the deputy prosecutor as someone he knew, and that reassured him a little, but he preferred not to show it. He adopted a more docile tone, realising that the important thing was to try and get out of here as soon as possible, away from a' situation which was becoming increasingly absurd.

'Captain, tell me what you want to know,' he said with feigned resignation. 'I'm at your disposal.'

All right, Chief Superintendent. I'll repeat the question: what kind of man is your friend Massimo Verga?'

Meanwhile, the marshal had taken a few sheets of white paper and a pen from a drawer, ready to take down Ferrara's answers. Even if this wasn't a real interrogation, the statement would end up as an entry in police records, signed by the two Carabinieri, and would be passed on to the deputy prosecutor in charge of the investigation.

'To me, and to the many people who know him, he's a highly regarded person, and a very hard worker. For some years he's been the owner of a thriving bookshop in the historical centre of Florence, which numbers some of the most distinguished people in the city among its customers. Massimo Verga himself is a highly cultured man. He's never been in trouble with the law, apart from one juvenile episode of no importance, as I'm sure the marshal will already have ascertained. If he hasn't done so, I can provide all the paperwork.'

'Do you think he may have had any questionable associates?' the captain asked, ignoring this barb.

Did Fulvi include him in that description? Ferrara wondered, with bitter amusement.

'I don't know of any questionable associates. If I'd suspected he had any, I wouldn't have kept him as a friend, as I'm sure you can imagine.'

The captain nodded, and Ferrara had the feeling he had realised what an inappropriate question that was to ask a policeman, let alone the head of the
Squadra Mobile.

Renato Fulvi was silent, as if pondering his next question. Then he exchanged a quick glance with Marshal Belsito, and it was the marshal who asked the next question.

'Chief Superintendent, do you think your friend and Signora Simonetta Palladiani were romantically involved?'

Now we're getting to it,
Ferrara thought.

'No,' he said, 'but it wouldn't surprise me if they were lovers, as you told me on the phone.'

The glance of disapproval the captain gave the marshal did not escape him. They were equal now, as far as giving away information went.

'You see,' he continued, 'Massimo Verga has never married, and has had lots of affairs. He has a weakness for women, as do many Italian men, but I don't think that counts as a crime and none of his girlfriends have been . . . questionable.'

'But adultery can get people into trouble,' the captain said. 'Signora Palladiani was a married woman.'

'Not really, according to today's edition of
Il Tirreno.
She and her husband were separated, I think it said.'

The captain looked at him with what at last seemed to be sympathy.

'Don't you think you're clutching at straws, Chief Superintendent?' the marshal said. 'They had never divorced. We're not exactly sure what kind of relationship they had. We'll find out, but for the moment what we know is that the three of them were there that night in Signora Palladiani's villa in the Via Roma—' (two-one to the marshal, Ferrara thought: another piece of information he hadn't known before) '—the husband, the wife and the wife's lover. Now one of them is dead, and the other two are missing.'

In his place, Ferrara thought, he might have come to the same inescapable conclusion.

'It isn't possible, Marshal. Massimo Verga isn't a criminal and would never ever
..."

What?'

'Massimo Verga wouldn't hurt the proverbial fly . . . believe me.'

'Do you have any idea where he might have gone?' the captain asked, seemingly determined to continue with what was turning out to be a genuine interrogation. 'Do you know of any contacts he has, either in Tuscany or elsewhere, who might be sheltering him?'

'I have no idea . . . Massimo is not the kind of person to have secrets. The fact that he's missing worries me a lot. If you can't find him, it must mean something serious has happened to him. Do you understand, Captain? Something that's stopping him from getting in touch with anyone
..."

There was such distress in his voice that the captain paused for a long time before continuing.

'Last night, a patrol went to his apartment in Florence, but there was no one there.'

'He lives alone, Captain

'Does he have any relatives in Florence?'

'No. His only relatives are in Catania, which is where he was born.'

'We've already contacted our Sicilian colleagues,' the captain said.

'Let me ask you something. Do you really think Ugo Palladiani was murdered?'

There was another, longer pause. 'We're certain of it.'

Ferrara felt his strength fail him. 'Why?'

Fulvi thought about it, then replied, articulating his words clearly, 'Chief Superintendent, I don't think you've quite understood. We're the ones asking the questions!'

This was the last straw. All the frustration Ferrara had been feeling during this ridiculous conversation boiled over. 'No, Captain, you're the one who hasn't quite understood,' he began, his voice gradually becoming louder as he went on, although he had no idea where this outburst would lead. 'First of all, you seem to have forgotten that I'm not some street vendor you can push around, not some pickpocket on the beach, not some rowdy drunk. I'm the head of the Florence
Squadra Mobile
and I won't tolerate an officer of the law getting a kick out of throwing his weight around. There's a man out there who may be in grave danger. If he isn't already dead, seeing how much time you've wasted so far!'

The captain had turned purple. 'I won't stand for this, Chief Superintendent!' he retorted.

'This conversation is over. Don't think I'll hesitate to complain to the Director of Public Prosecutions, if necessary.'

'That'll make two of us, then.'