‘Beautiful woman.’
‘Aside from that.’
‘It’s an Alfa Romeo Giulietta Sprint, Inspector. It can do a hundred and ten no sweat.’
Bordelli wanted to see the sea again. They sought out the least crowded beach and went and sat down on an overturned pattino. Neither of the two said a word about the Pedretti murder, as if wishing to ruminate for a while alone.
A sun-blackened lifeguard dozed on a deckchair under a vast umbrella, beside him a bottle of beer within arm’s reach, buried up to the neck in the sand, and, on the other side, a crumpled newspaper with a pack of cigarettes on top.
A pleasant breeze had risen, lightly ruffling their clothes. Bordelli chased the image of Elvira from his thoughts and studied Piras’s wooden face. The young man’s pitch-black eyes, with their veil of ancestral nostalgia, seemed able to look past the horizon.
‘What are you thinking about, Piras?’
‘I’m not thinking about anything.’
The inspector half-closed his eyes and looked at the sun setting slowly into the sea.
‘They say it’s impossible not to think about anything,’ he said. Piras did not reply. He picked up a handful of sand, letting it flow out of his closed fist. They both remained silent, each with his own thoughts, listening to the regular yet ever-changing sound of the surf. Bordelli again remembered Piras’s father … Sometimes they would sit on the ground, back to back, looking up at the black sky and its infinite points of light, not saying a word, while the others played cards or wrote letters that might never reach their destinations.
‘What do you say we leave, Piras?’
‘It’s your decision, Inspector.’
‘All right, then, let’s go. I need to have a little chat with Diotivede.’
‘You want me to drive?’
‘Sure, why not?’
Bordelli dozed the whole way back, hands between his legs, head swaying to and fro against the seat.
‘I’m going to close my eyes a little, but not sleep,’ he said.
‘Do whatever you like,’ said Piras.
‘I’m just a little tired.’
Bordelli closed his eyes and started to snore. Piras pulled into the courtyard at headquarters in Via Zara and turned off the engine. The inspector stirred, opened his eyes but then immediately closed them again to stop the burning. He pulled himself up with a grunt and shook his head, as if to throw off the cobwebs of sleep. Piras patiently waited for him to wake up fully.
‘You want me to take you home, Inspector?’
‘No, thanks. I can manage. First, however, I want to drop in on Diotivede for a minute. You want to come too?’
‘That’s fine with me.’
‘I’ll drive. It’ll help wake me up.’
‘As you wish.’
They both got out of the car to trade places. Bordelli staggered. A stabbing pain in the back made him groan. He yawned at the wheel all the way to the Forensic Medicine lab, running a red light and clipping a kerb, but Piras remained unflustered.
They entered Diotivede’s lab together, and Bordelli immediately sat down in the only available chair.
‘This is Piras, he’ll be joining us on Wednesday,’ he said.
Diotivede made a gesture of greeting to the lad and then looked Bordelli up and down, slipping white rubber gloves off of his small, slender hands.
‘Don’t you think you’d better go and get some sleep?’ he said.
‘I shall, a little later. Listen, Diotivede, don’t get offended if I ask you something I’ve already asked; it’s just to be thorough.’
‘Be my guest.’
‘Are you sure Signora Pedretti died round nine o’clock? Couldn’t it have been later? Or much earlier …?’ He ran a hand over his face, unable to say anything else.
The doctor shot a quick glance at Piras and took a step forward, stiff as a tree trunk.
‘No offence taken, but if I was unable to establish that sort of thing, I wouldn’t do the work I do.’
‘But errare humanum est, no?’
‘Science is not human. If you’d brought me a body that had been dead for a month or a year … then I might have trouble determining the hour and day of death. But in this case … there are very precise stages, and there’s the science to back it up. It’s as impossible to make a mistake as it is to make a hole in water.’
Bordelli looked convinced.
‘All right, then, I promise I won’t ask you again. I was only hoping to make some progress, and instead I’m back to square one. Oh well.’
Piras squirmed as if wanting to say something, but remained silent. Bordelli got up, one hand on his back, and waved goodbye to Diotivede with the other.
‘See you Wednesday,’ he said.
‘Bye,’ said Diotivede without looking at him.
Bordelli insisted on driving again, and Piras said not a word. The car windows were completely open but only hot air blew in. One way or another, they arrived at headquarters. Bordelli’s eyes were bloodshot and lifeless. Walking through the corridors like a drunk, gesturing hello to the various cops on duty and trailed by Piras, he went and sat down at his desk. He pressed his eyes with his fingers.
‘Listen, Piras. I’m too tired and really don’t feel like talking. But I wouldn’t mind hearing you say something. Were you able to make anything of all this?’
‘Are you sure you want to hear it now?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And you promise to go to bed afterwards?’
‘Promise.’
Piras asked whether it was all right if he paced about the room. Bordelli assented by drooping his eyelids and nodding ever so vaguely. He was trying, in the heat, to keep his exertions to a minimum. Piras came to a stop in the far corner. Bordelli followed him with his eyes, waiting for him to begin. To aid concentration, he was about to give in and light a cigarette, but the phone rang. It was Zia Camilla, asking after Rodrigo.