After a moment of confusion, the woman gave a forced, lipstick-painted smile.
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No, thank you. We’ll be on our way in a minute.’ The owner raised a hand to say they should wait, then went and stuck her head inside the kitchen door.
‘Gisella, bring two vermouths, quick,’ she ordered.
‘Please don’t bother, we were on our way out,’ said Bordelli, irritated by her false smile.
‘Oh, no bother at all, just a little glass … So, has something happened?’
‘We just wanted to ask Signor Gigi a few questions, which we’ve already done.’
The woman seemed relieved. She folded her hands and let out a little giggle. Gisella arrived with glasses in hand, and the owner sternly ordered her back to the kitchen to fetch a tray.
‘These young girls are a disaster,’ she said.
‘There wasn’t any problem,’ said Piras, giving her a dirty look. Gisella returned, red in the face, eyes lowered under a thick black fringe. She held the tray out for the policemen. Bordelli would have liked to decline; at that moment his stomach really wasn’t ready for vermouth, but he felt sorry for the girl and so took the less full glass. Piras grabbed his and smiled broadly at Gisella, who practically ran away. Bordelli wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible and downed the glass in one gulp. A flash of heartburn immediately rose up his oesophagus and into his throat. The Sardinian emptied his glass and couldn’t restrain a grimace. The owner kept smiling, her face shiny with sweat.
‘Another little drop?’
‘We really must go, thank you.’
The inspector grabbed Piras by the elbow and led him towards the exit. Once outside, Bordelli put a hand on his stomach.
‘Pure poison.’
‘Do you mean the woman or the wine?’
‘Both, Piras, both.’
They parked the Beetle under a great palm along the seafront. Piras stayed in the car to eat a panino. Bordelli had already crossed the street and was knocking on a locked door under a green sign that said: La Mecca — Dancing. Nobody answered. The inspector turned to face Piras and threw his hands up, then crossed the avenue again and got back in the car. He bit into the panino he had left half eaten and said something with his mouth full, which Piras didn’t understand.
‘What did you say, Inspector?’
Bordelli swallowed.
‘I said it looks like we’re going to have to hang around here till this evening,’ he said. Piras looked back towards the Mecca.
‘Maybe not,’ he said, gesturing towards the nightclub door. A dishevelled blonde head had popped out of the now half-open door. The girl looked around, yawning, then came out into the sunlight and stretched. She looked very young, and pretty too. She was wearing a bathrobe too big for her. Bordelli quickly rewrapped his panino in its paper and raced back across the avenue. He reached the girl just before she could close the door behind her.
‘Excuse me, miss, I’m Inspector Bordelli, police. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.’ The girl looked at him askance, a soft wrinkle appearing on her broad, smooth brow. She still had one hand on the door, as if waiting to decide what to do. Bordelli looked down and saw her bare little feet, slender and tanned, the toenails painted bright red. He thought: she really is pretty.
‘Do you work here?’ he asked.
‘Why do you ask?’ She had a northern accent, proud, intelligent eyes, and a stubborn air that made her seem even prettier. She shifted one foot forward and curled the toes, leg slightly bent at the knee, which jutted forward out of the bathrobe. Bordelli smiled.
‘Want to tell me your name?’
‘Elvira.’
‘Do you work here?’
The girl shrugged.
‘I’m a waitress, but only in summer. The rest of the year I’m a student.’
‘Were you here last Thursday evening?’
‘I’m here every day. But why are you asking me all these questions?’
‘Do you happen to know two brothers by the name of Morozzi?’
Elvira shook her head, a blonde lock falling over her face.
‘I don’t know anyone,’ she said. Bordelli didn’t know what else to say, but was unable to leave. With every second that passed, Elvira looked more and more beautiful to him. She radiated something magical that fascinated him. It had been a very long time since he had last felt such things. Then he realised she could be his daughter and scratched his head in embarrassment. The girl rearranged her hair and burst out laughing.
‘What’s wrong, Mr Policeman? Have you lost your voice?’
‘No, it’s that …’
‘You can’t keep me all day at the door like this. If you want to know more, come inside. I need some coffee.’
‘Of course.’
Bordelli turned towards Piras and gestured for him to wait. He crossed the threshold and found himself in an entrance hall full of pitiless mirrors. Seeing himself next to the beautiful young girl, he felt even older than he already was. He followed Elvira into a very big, dark room illuminated only by a red light hanging from the ceiling. In the middle of the room was a circular dance floor surrounded by the dark shapes of empty sofas. The girl walked across the room, her bare feet making a slapping sound. She parted a heavy velvet curtain, holding it open for Bordelli to pass through, then headed down a narrow corridor that led to a small, disorderly room, half bedroom, half kitchen, with an unmade bed and a small gas cooker in the corner. The blue-tiled floor was covered with a light veil of sand. High up on the wall was a half-open window that gave on to the sea, beaming with sunlight. A chair was completely buried under a layer of clothes, and atop the pile was a pair of white knickers. Seeing them, the girl grabbed them and stuffed them into her pocket.
‘Please sit wherever you like,’ she said.
The only thing available was an old wooden chair. Bordelli flopped down into it and felt the legs sway. A shaft of light speckled with floating dust filtered down through a crack in the ceiling. Turning her back to the inspector, Elvira busied herself making the coffee.
‘Will you have some too?’ she asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’ Bordelli gazed admiringly at the girl’s legs and sinewy feet, not looking away until she turned round.
‘I’m all yours, Mr Policeman. What would you like to know?’
‘Just a bit of information,’ said Bordelli. Elvira put the coffee pot on the burner and went and sat down on the bed. She raised her knees to rest her arms on them, causing the bathrobe to slip down and uncover her legs.
‘What are you doing, looking up my dress?’ said the girl, without covering her legs.
‘No … forgive me. You’re very pretty, Elvira.’
‘Forget the compliments, Inspector. They make me sick. That’s all I’ve ever heard my whole life.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Bordelli, who in his mind was thinking: Old fool, get out of here as soon as you can!