Nicola Rocca - Death Brings Gold

They shook hands.

“Giovanni Belmondo,” he replied.

Walker didn’t waste any time.

“You told detective Bassani that you came to pick the victim up to give him a lift to work, right?”

Belmondo nodded, allowing himself some time before speaking. Then his voice came out trembling and feeble.

“Yes, that’s right. We’re… eh… We were colleagues. Great colleagues.”

Walker signalled for Bassani to take notes, before carrying on with his questions.

“And where was it that you worked?”

“Mazzucotelli Chemical,” answered Giovanni. “It’s here, less than ten kilometres away. In the area…”

“Yes,” the Chief Inspector interrupted. “I know where it is. And please tell me, Mr …”

“Belmondo” prompted Giovanni.

“Yes, Belmondo. Do you know if your colleague had any problems with anyone?”

Silence.

Giovanni stared at the Chief Inspector without answering, he wasn’t sure what to tell him and what to conceal. As everyone should know, one never interferes between a husband and wife… “Mister Belmondo,” Walker prompted him, “did you hear my question?”

Giovanni tried to get his thoughts straight.

“Raffaele and I were very close. We were more than just colleagues. We often went out together for a beer, for a drink or to watch football games. And we also told each other secrets …” Belmondo looked like he was searching the bottom of the ocean for a missing word “personal ones, I guess you’d say.”

The Chief Inspector nodded, wondering if Belmondo was really answering his question or going off on a tangent.

Giovanni continued with his statement.

“Some months ago he confessed that he suspected his wife was having an affair…”

Walker gave Bassani a knowing glance.

“… but he wasn’t sure. He told me that he was devising a plan so that he could follow her every move.”

Giovanni stopped and Walker fired another question at him.

“And did you have the feeling that Mrs. Ghezzi was unfaithful to her husband?”

The question seemed to hit like a punch.

Giovanni looked at Raffaele Ghezzi’s body. Then, he tried to offer an answer that would please Walker and at the same time keep him out of this mess. Even though he was already feeling like he was up to his neck in it.

“I believe there was some truth to it. You know, Chief Inspector, suspicions in these situations are nearly always well founded. Nevertheless, I am sure that Martina could have never…”

He left the sentence unfinished, certain the Chief Inspector would have interpreted it as intended.

Bassani stared at the witness as if he had just talked a load of bollocks.

“And who would Martina be?” he asked, although he knew the answer.

“Raffaele’s wife, Chief Inspector. Apart from the affair Raffaele was telling me about – and I don’t know if it’s true – she wasn’t a bad person.”

“What? You didn’t trust your friend?” Walker asked, frowning.

The witness looked at his colleague’s lifeless shell. He felt cornered. He had taken the time he’d needed to give an answer that would not drag him into this and instead had involved himself deeper. He may as well tell them whatever was on his mind and, if he was lucky, with all his irrational talk, he might say something that would convince the investigators to let him go.

After all, even though he had nothing to do with his friend’s death, when there’s a dead body involved and you’re the one who found it, being questioned by the police puts so much pressure on you that it makes you lose control.

Belmondo forced himself to stay calm.

“It’s not a question of trust, Chief Inspector,” he replied. “Maybe there was some truth in it. The point is that… even if Martina was unfaithful to him, I’m almost sure that she never would have gone this far… I mean… you know. I think it must be something else.”

“Something else, eh…” repeated the Chief Inspector, letting the words hang and slowly dissipate in a room that now carried the air of betrayal, as well as of death. “And do you know where this Martina is now?”

“She’s not here,” said Giovanni. And immediately felt stupid.

“I can see that too, Belmondo,” the Chief Inspector interrupted sarcastically. “So, where is she?”

Giovanni spilt the rest.

“Raffaele told me that some time ago his wife moved in with her mother. You know, their relationship wasn’t great, so I think that they decided to take a break. With him staying here and her staying there.”

“And do you have this woman’s phone number?”

“No, I don’t have it.”

“And do you know where her mother lives?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know that either.”

“But you know the wife’s maiden name, right?”

The man nodded.

“The surname is Pilenga. Martina Pilenga.”

“Martina Pilenga” repeated Walker. Then, to Bassani. “Track this woman down. I want to talk to her as soon as possible.”

“OK, Chief,” the other man replied.

Then Walker turned back to Belmondo.

“Take this,” he said, handing him a business card. “If something else comes to mind – anything that might be useful to us, or that you think could be – don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“I will,” said the man, feeling the tightness in his stomach had gone.

“You can go now,” continued Walker, “but don’t disappear. I might still need you. And remember to come by Headquarters for a formal witness declaration,”

“I live just a few kilometres from here, Chief Inspector, and I have no intention of disappearing” the other said, with a forced smile.

“Better for everyone. Now try to recover, pull yourself together. You look distraught, Belmondo.”

Belmondo said thanks and bid farewell, before turning his back and leaving the flat.

“Chief Inspector Walker?” a voice asked.

David turned.

“Yes?”

“We’re done. We need your authorisation to remove the body.”

“These decisions can only be made by the Public Prosecutor.” He glanced at his watch. “ Fini will be here shortly.”

When Antonio Fini entered the flat, he greeted everyone with a general nod of his head. Then he moved closer to Carrobbio, who was at a short distance from the body.

“Have you taken all the photos we need?” he asked, walking around the body.

“All of them,” the other hurried to reply. “The body, from different angles. From far and near. The room and most of all …”

He stopped talking: the coup de theatre that, he was sure, would have guaranteed him Fini’s complete attention.

“Most of all?” Fini urged him.

Carobbio moved closer.

“Most of all we have recovered three sets of fingerprints. One set certainly belongs to the victim. After all, this is his house. But the other two could tell us something more about his death.”

Fini noticed that the Forensic Inspector had grimaced when he’d mentioned the victim’s fingerprints, but consigned this detail to the compartment in his mind labelled “Bullshit”.

“So, you will let me have a detailed account after receiving the results from the fingerprints.”

“Of course,” Carrobbio answered, although the Public Prosecutor’s question did not require an answer.