‘Hello, my dear inspector. Do you miss your Rosina?’
‘Hi, Rosa. You don’t know how lucky you are to be at the beach.’
‘Oh, darling, you should see how tanned I am! Whereas Valeria is peeling like a broiled pepper. She hasn’t got skin like mine, you know, she’s as white as a ghost … Oh, it’s just wonderful to lie on the beach! And in the evenings we make the rounds of the nightclubs and dance all night.’
Bordelli pushed away the reports and leaned back in his chair. A phone call from Rosa was exactly what he needed. To forget everything for a few minutes and let frivolity carry him away. He listened with delight to her shrill voice in the receiver. Rosa was an adorable woman, an angel capable of opening her door to him at two in the morning and making him something to eat. Bordelli lit his first cigarette of the day and smoked it in silence, as Rosa told him a thousand things: about the people under the neighbouring umbrella on the beach, the seafood dishes the cook from Salerno had taught her, the guests at the Piccolo Eden pensione, the ankle sprain she’d got walking in the sand …
Little by little, however, the thought of the murder worked its way back into his thoughts, and Bordelli chased it away again. He absolutely needed to give his brain a rest. Rosa went on and on about her seaside adventures, giving more detail than a police report.
‘… and about half past three that afternoon, we hired three bicycles … you should see how pretty the bicycles they make are these days … mine was white and pink. Know why I chose that one?’
‘Because it was pink.’
She gave a chuckle that sounded like a sob.
‘Good monkey! And so we went cycling along the promenade by the sea. I was wearing my hat because the sun was so strong … you know, that straw hat I like so much.’
‘Right.’
‘… and you can imagine how hungry we were after that. We went and ate at a little place by the beach: steamed mussels for starters, spaghetti alle vongole, and then fritto misto. There was a great big cat that kept prowling round my feet, a beautiful grey cat with two big yellow eyes … Not tabby grey, but mousy grey. I bet he never goes hungry, living in a restaurant like that. When I asked the waiter what breed he was, he said that kind are called Chartreux. You should see what a pretty face! When I come home I want to get a cat like that. And what a great big head! It filled my whole hand. I gave him two fried shrimp and the scamp devoured them, shells and all, then hopped up on my lap and started purring so loud everyone could hear him! You should see his fur, so, so soft … I loved just kissing his head, because he smelled like the sea … You know, like the song by that guy, what’s his name?… sapore di sale, sapore di mare … C’mon, help me out, what’s his name …?’
Bordelli turned as stiff as dried cod.
‘What an imbecile!’ he said.
‘Come on, he’s no imbecile, you’re probably confusing him with someone else … I mean the one with the glasses … come on, he’s famous, sapore di saleeee …’
‘Sorry, Rosa, but I have to go.’
‘Why, what’s wrong?’
‘I have to hang up, Rosa.’
‘Yes, I heard you … How are my flowers?’
‘Never been better. I’m sorry, Rosa, I really have to go. Ciao.’ He hung up and sat motionless, thinking, staring through the wall. Without realising it, he lit another cigarette and set it down in the ashtray, and like an automaton lit another one immediately.
‘What an imbecile,’ he repeated. He picked up the phone and called his own flat.
‘Ennio, it’s me. Is Dante still there?’
‘Yes, Inspector. We were just about to leave.’
‘Put him on for me, would you?’
‘Straight away … by the way, Inspector, thanks for the little gift. You needn’t have.’
‘Forget about it, Ennio, and let me talk to Dante.’
‘Straight away … Dante, the inspector wants you.’
Dante’s booming voice exploded into the receiver.
‘Hello, Inspector! We’ve cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom. I’ve got an idea for a new device for washing pots and pans. As soon as it’s ready I’ll give it to you.’
‘Sorry to bother you, Dante, but I’d like you to repeat to me everything that was written in your sister’s will, including the private things, if you don’t mind.’
‘Over the telephone?’
‘Over the telephone.’
‘All right.’
Dante told Botta that this was going to take a while and then began to recite from memory Rebecca’s last will and testament. At a certain point the inspector cut him off.
‘That’s good enough, Dante, thanks. I’ll be in touch and soon … And thanks for washing up.’
‘Aren’t you going to tell us what we’re waiting for?’ asked Diotivede, removing his glasses and pacing back and forth in Signora Pedretti’s room, hands joined behind his back. He was impatient to know why Bordelli had organised this sudden visit to the villa at 8.30 in the evening. The sun was slowly setting, colouring the sky orange. The heat was far more bearable than in the city. Piras sat in the chair in front of the secretaire, thinking, not asking any questions. The inspector glanced at his watch every minute, smoking by the window so as not to bother Piras. He had forgotten to get an ashtray and was putting out his cigarettes on the floor, under the radiator. He swore to himself that, starting tomorrow, no more than six or seven, eight at the most. As he still hadn’t answered Diotivede’s question, the doctor persisted.
‘We’ve already been here half an hour. Care to tell us what we’re waiting for?’
‘No, Doctor, I can’t, not yet.’
‘Hmph!’ said the doctor, and he resumed pacing about the room.
‘I’m not trying to be mysterious,’ said Bordelli.
‘You’re not?’
‘I simply want to be sure I haven’t made a mistake. Did you bring the microscope?’
‘You asked me to, so I brought it.’
‘Good.’
Bordelli kept glancing at the open door. A few minutes later he said:
‘All right, it’s almost time. If my hunch is correct, the killer will soon come in through that door.’
Piras shot to his feet.
‘Shall we turn out the lights, Inspector?’ he said in a whisper.
‘No, there’s no need,’ said Bordelli.
Diotivede put his glasses back on and, after a moment of perplexity, he smiled.