Maurizio de Giovanni - Everyone in Their Place

“I heard about the Camparino murder. It’s a very grave matter, all our fates depend on this investigation. How are we doing?”

Ricciardi was baffled. He couldn’t figure out what made this murder different from any other.

“She was killed in her home, probably with a gunshot between the eyes. I’m waiting for the autopsy results. Dr. Modo was in charge of that. If necessary, I’ll go to the morgue later myself.”

Garzo was wringing his hands.

“Did you talk to. . did you question anyone at the Camparino residence?”

Ricciardi had no intention of giving his superior officer any more rope than necessary.

“For now, I’ve only talked to the help. That’s three people. Later, we’ll talk to the other residents of the palazzo, the family. And after that, suppliers and neighbors. According to procedure, in other words.”

Garzo grabbed Ricciardi’s arm.

“Right, exactly. Procedure. We’re not going to follow procedure this time, Ricciardi. No, we’ve got to move carefully, very, very carefully.”

Ricciardi managed to extract his hand from Garzo’s grip with some difficulty, and he looked his superior officer right in his reddened eye.

“Dottore, forgive me but I don’t understand; what do you mean, we’re not going to follow procedure? Is there something I ought to know?”

Garzo leapt to his feet and starting pacing nervously around the room.

“Something you don’t know? No. Actually, yes, probably there is. I always forget that you live a somewhat, shall we say, cloistered life, that you don’t socialize. Well, then: Adriana Musso di Camparino is, or I should say, was, a very, very prominent woman in social terms. She led a life that was. . how to put this. . well, quite public. Such a lovely, wealthy woman attracted, necessarily-let me be clear, necessarily-gossip and chatter. And we must not listen to idle gossip, must we, Ricciardi? We are the police, and we must stick to the facts.”

Ricciardi waited; it was obvious that Garzo wanted to say something, but that he lacked the courage.

“Well then, Dottore, wouldn’t it be best if the person conducting the investigation were to be aware of this. . chatter in advance, and if possible from an objective source? Instead of going around gathering gossip, in other words.”

Garzo stopped his nervous pacing.

“Yes. Of course it would. Now then, Ricciardi, first of all you should be aware that as you proceed in this investigation you’ll necessarily come into contact with. . very particular sectors of society. Unusual ones, we might say. Where you won’t be able to ask questions as easily as you might if you were interviewing, say, a trolley car conductor or a street sweeper. Prominent, powerful people.”

Ricciardi leapt suddenly to his feet.

“Dottore, perhaps the best thing would be for you to assign this case to someone else. Cimmino, for example. I’d be happy to give him a report on the current state of progress, and if it comes to that, we haven’t really learned very much yet.”

Garzo seemed disoriented.

“What are you saying, Ricciardi? I wouldn’t dream for a second of assigning this investigation to anyone else. You’re the best investigator we have, and you and I both know that perfectly well.”

“Thanks very much, Dottore. But it’s also true that I’m not very diplomatic, unfortunately. And that I have another shortcoming: I’m not very obsequious. I wouldn’t want to disobey instructions, unintentionally, you understand.”

Garzo took a step toward Ricciardi.

“It’s out of the question, Ricciardi. It’s vital that we find the guilty party as quickly as possible. Quickly, you understand? The fact is that a noblewoman, such a prominent personality, cannot simply be murdered in her home. Not in a safe city, a city like ours and all the other cities in Fascist Italy. The guilty party, surely a madman, a maniac, must be brought to justice.”

“Well then, Dottore, what’s the problem? We’ll just proceed with our investigation, as usual, and as usual, we’ll do our best.”

Garzo ran his hand through his hair.

“The duchess. . now then, Ricciardi: the duchess of Musso di Camparino was having an affair. She’d been seeing a man for years. The matter was public knowledge, everyone knew about it.”

Ricciardi remained on his feet, emphasizing the point that he still wasn’t sure that he’d been assigned to the investigation.

“If it was public knowledge, shouldn’t I know about it too?”

“The problem is just who the man was. It’s Mario Capece, the chief news editor of the Roma . The newspaper, in case you’ve missed the point, that never misses an opportunity to nail us to the cross, even after the instructions to the press issued in 1928 by the Ministry of the Interior. Now do you get it?”

Ricciardi understood. In fact, this put Garzo into a situation that was anything but comfortable. Either he investigated until he tracked down the guilty party, which inevitably meant treading on the toes of the most hostile press, or else he held back, running the risk of making a public admission of incompetence by failing to catch the culprit in such a sensational murder case. Garzo, and to some extent this did him honor, had chosen to track down the murderer. Or at least make the attempt.

“The relationship between the two of them wasn’t the sunniest. The duchess was, let’s say, a little. . unstable. She liked parties, she liked to dance, she liked compliments. She liked to be courted. Fifty years ago Capece, and when he was well, the duke himself, would have been fighting duels every day at sunrise. These days, however, the only form of recourse was arguments and bitter, interminable public fighting.”

“And if I may ask, how do you know this?”

Garzo didn’t seem offended by the rude question.

“Everyone who happens to go to the theater knows it. The last fight took place on Saturday night, in fact, at the Salone Margherita.”

“The last fight?”

Garzo seemed uncomfortable. On the one hand, he wanted to minimize, while on the other hand he didn’t want to leave out any details that might prove to be important.

“I believe it was a matter of jealousy. Capece was accusing the duchess of. . of looking at a young man, who was accompanying the Signora De Matteis, a lady who. . well, that doesn’t matter, let’s not pursue that. In other words, they started dredging up old events, situations from out of the past. Then he slapped her. We all sat there openmouthed. Immediately after that, he grabbed her hand and yanked off the ring, shouting into her face. .”

Ricciardi had leaned forward, interrupting Garzo with one hand.

“What’s that, what’s that? He took one of her rings? And what did he yell at her?”

Garzo was disoriented.

“I can’t remember what he yelled at her. I think it was an insult, you know the word that people say to women when they’re accusing them of being unfaithful. And he told her that she deserved neither his love nor the ring.”

“And can you remember what hand he took the ring from? This is important.”

Garzo mimed Capece’s gesture, trying to reconstruct the duchess’s position.

“From the left hand, I think. That’s right, the left hand. Why, is it significant?”

Ricciardi had half-closed his eyes. He was reviewing the image of the dead woman, standing there, her hands at her sides.

“The ring, the ring, you’ve taken the ring, the ring is missing.”

“It might be, yes. It might be significant. Then what happened?”

“Then he stormed out, without a word to anyone. He even shoved my wife aside, complete boor that he is, and the poor thing was almost knocked to the floor. The duchess, on the other hand, went into the bathroom to redo her makeup and shortly thereafter she was back in her box, laughing and bantering with a couple of gentleman who had hastened to take Capece’s place. That’s just the way she was.”