Джеффри Арчер - The Short, the Long and the Tall [С иллюстрациями]

‘I’m sorry I didn’t call and make an appointment, Signor Pellegrino, but—’ Antonio said as he followed him into the shop.

‘You were hoping to take me by surprise,’ said Pellegrino, ‘but I have to tell you, Lieutenant, I am not at all surprised.’

‘You were expecting me?’ said Antonio as he stood beside the counter and took out his notepad and pen.

‘Yes, everyone knows you’ve been sent from Naples to investigate the death of Lombardi, and I assumed I would be among the first people you would want to question.’

‘But why you in particular, signor?’

‘It’s no secret that I detested the man. So if you were going to arrest me, the last thing you’d do is to call up and make an appointment, because that would give me enough time to escape.’

Antonio put down his pen. ‘But why would you want to escape, Signor Pellegrino?’

‘Because everyone knows I killed Lombardi, and I realized that it wouldn’t take too long for a smart young detective like you to work out who the murderer was.’

‘But why would you want to kill the mayor?’ asked Antonio.

‘He was ruining my business with his protection racket and added taxes. And if that wasn’t enough, he was demanding kickbacks from my buyers, some of whom began to avoid the journey to Cortoglia as they feared they might be next. Another year and I would have had nothing to leave the children. I’m only thankful that my son Roberto is ready to take over the business while I’m locked up in prison.’ Pellegrino stood up and stretched his arms across the counter as if expecting to be handcuffed.

‘Before I arrest you, Signor Pellegrino,’ said the policeman, ‘I will need to know how you killed the mayor.’

Pellegrino didn’t hesitate. ‘I strangled the damn man,’ he said.

‘With what?’

This time he did hesitate. ‘Does it matter?’

‘No, not really—’ said Antonio.

‘Good, then let’s get on with it,’ Pellegrino said, once again stretching his arms across the counter.

‘Just one minor problem,’ Antonio continued. ‘I’m afraid Lombardi wasn’t strangled by you, or anyone else for that matter.’

‘But as he was cremated, how can you be so sure?’

‘Because, unlike you, I’ve studied the police report, and can assure you, Signor Pellegrino, that wasn’t the way that Lombardi died.’

‘What a pity. But as I would have liked to have strangled the man, can’t you just charge me with attempted murder, and that will solve all our problems?’

‘Except for the problem that the culprit will still be on the loose,’ said Antonio. ‘So if you’d be kind enough to advise your friends that I intend to catch the real murderer and put him behind bars, I’d be very grateful,’ he added, as he slammed his notebook closed.

As Antonio turned to leave, he spotted a photograph behind the counter. Pellegrino smiled. ‘My daughter’s wedding,’ he announced with pride. ‘She married the son of my dear friend, Signor De Rosa. Oil and water may not mix, Lieutenant, but olive oil and truffles certainly do.’ He laughed at a joke Antonio presumed he’d made many times before.

‘And the chief bridesmaid?’ said Antonio, pointing to a young woman who was standing behind the bride.

‘Francesca Farinelli, the mayor’s daughter. Lorenzo and I had assumed she would marry my second son, Bruno, but it was not to be.’

‘Why not?’ said Antonio. ‘Wasn’t there enough olive oil left over?’

‘More than enough. But modern Italian women seem to have minds of their own. I blame her father. He should never have let her go to university. It’s not natural.’

Antonio would have laughed, but he suspected the old man meant it.

‘I wonder if I might ask you for a small favour,’ Pellegrino said, holding up a large bottle of olive oil.

‘If it’s in my power, signor, I’d be only too happy to do so.’

‘I just wondered if you could let me know how the mayor was killed.’

The policeman ignored the offering and quickly left the shop.

Rossetti was on his way back to the police station to write up another abortive report but hesitated when he reached the pharmacy. He entered and found Francesca standing behind the counter, chatting to a customer.

‘That should ease the pain, signora, but make sure that you only take one pill a day before going to bed. And if it doesn’t get any better, come back and see me,’ she said. Francesca turned to face Rossetti. ‘Is it my turn to be arrested, Lieutenant?’

‘No, something far simpler than that. I’ve run out of toothpaste.’

‘You know, we do have customers who buy soap, toothpaste and razor blades all at the same time, or is this nothing more than subtle police tactics to wear the suspect down and make her admit she killed the mayor?’

Antonio laughed.

‘However,’ Francesca continued, ‘if your plan was simply to ask me out for a drink after I get off work this evening, I might just say yes.’

‘Was it that obvious?’ Antonio asked.

‘Why don’t we meet at Lucio’s around six?’

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ said Antonio as he turned to leave.

‘Don’t forget your toothpaste, Lieutenant.’

When Antonio turned up at the police station, there was a large, burly man wearing a long white coat and a blue-and-white striped apron waiting for him outside the front door.

‘Good morning, Inspector. My name is Umberto Cattaneo.’

‘Lieutenant, Signor Cattaneo,’ corrected Antonio.

‘I feel confident, Lieutenant, that promotion will not be far away when you hear what I have to tell you.’

‘Please don’t tell me you killed the mayor?’

‘Certainly not,’ said the butcher as he lowered his voice. ‘However, I can tell you who did kill Lombardi.’

At last, an informer, thought Antonio. He unlocked the door to the station and led Cattaneo through to his little office.

‘But before I let you know who the murderer is,’ continued Cattaneo as he sat down, ‘I need to be sure that it won’t be traced back to me.’

‘You have my word on that,’ said Antonio, opening his notepad. ‘That’s assuming we won’t need you to act as a witness when the case comes to trial.’

‘You won’t need a witness,’ said Cattaneo, ‘because I can tell you where the gun is buried.’

Antonio snapped his notepad shut, and let out a deep sigh.

‘But I haven’t even told you who the murderer is,’ Cattaneo protested.

‘You needn’t bother, Signor Cattaneo, because Lombardi wasn’t shot.’

‘But Gian Lucio told me he’d shot him. He even showed me the weapon,’ insisted Cattaneo.

‘Before I lock you both up for a couple of days, if for no other reason than to stop any more of you wasting my time, may I ask why you are so willing to get your friend arrested for a crime I can assure you he didn’t commit?’

‘Gian Lucio Altana is my oldest and dearest friend,’ protested the butcher.

‘Then why accuse him of murder?’

‘Because I lost the toss,’ said Cattaneo.

‘You lost the toss?’

‘Yes, we agreed that whoever won would give himself up and admit that he’d killed the mayor.’

‘Then why hasn’t he given himself up?’ said Antonio, unable to hide his frustration.

‘Signor De Rosa advised us against that. Said there had been far too many confessions already, and he felt Gian Lucio would have a better chance of being arrested if you thought I was an informer.’