‘Certainly did, Inspector.’
‘Good. What time does this Mecca close?’
‘At five o’clock, right, Giulio?’
‘Yes, five.’
‘Were you alone?’
‘We were with our wives, Inspector. But at the Mecca we ran into a friend, who was also with his wife. They’re from Milan.’
‘Yes, yes, from Milan.’
‘And you all stayed there together until five o’clock in the morning?’
‘No, Inspector, the Milanese couple left much earlier, round midnight, I think … They have a small child … Right, Giulio?’
‘Yes, a little boy.’
Bordelli was beginning to think that at any moment the Morozzi brothers would take each other by the hand.
‘And neither of you has any children?’ he asked.
‘Not yet … Why?’
‘Just curious.’
Bordelli waited for Piras to finish clacking, then continued.
‘What’s the name of your Milanese friends?’
Anselmo took a deep breath.
‘Salvetti. He owns a zip factory. In the summer they stay at the villa next to ours, at Cinquale.’
Bordelli started to massage his chin, looking pensive, like someone trying to grasp a hidden truth. The Morozzi brothers looked at him with suspicion.
‘When did you last see your aunt?’
‘A couple of weeks ago, before leaving for the coast,’ said Anselmo.
And his brother: ‘Yes, yes, a couple of weeks ago, a fortnight, more or less …’
The inspector was beginning to feel a powerful antipathy towards the two brothers. But he couldn’t let this influence him. He was well aware that murderers are very often quite likeable.
‘What sort of relations did you have with your aunt? I want you, Giulio, to answer me first.’
Giulio gave a start, as if he had just sat on a pin.
‘What sort of relations? Well, I’d say … rather good relations. Eh, Anselmo?’
‘Oh, yes … I’d say so myself, good relations … Quite good.’
Bordelli paused for a moment for Piras’s sake, taking advantage of the lull to finish his beer, which had already gone warm.
‘And what can you tell me about the inheritance?’
‘In what sense, may I ask?’
‘It’s a whole lot of money. The villa alone must be worth many millions, no?’
There was a momentary flash of joy in Anselmo’s eyes, but he quickly suppressed it. Tilting his head sideways, he threw up his hands.
‘Well, what can we do about that?’ he said in the tone of someone who has just punctured a tyre.
‘It’s certainly not our fault,’ Giulio confirmed.
Bordelli felt almost fascinated by these two imbeciles.
‘What sort of work do you do?’ he asked.
‘We deal in property. Why?’ Anselmo asked, alarmed.
‘Why are you getting upset? I only need it for the report.’
‘I’m certainly not upset. Do I seem upset to you? Why should I get upset?’
‘What kind of car do you drive?’ asked Bordelli, ignoring Anselmo’s questions.
‘What’s the car got to do with this?’
‘Just to make conversation.’
Giulio gulped, sounding like the bathroom sink.
‘A Fiat 600 Multipla,’ said Anselmo.
‘Me too,’ said Giulio.
‘But when we go to the coast we take only one car.’
Biting an unlit cigarette, Bordelli got ready to ask the final questions.
‘And what can you tell me about your Uncle Dante?’
Both brothers smiled idiotically.