“I’m going to leave, Signor De Rosa, before you get yourself into even more trouble.”
The truffle master looked disappointed.
Antonio closed his notepad, stood up, and walked out of the room without another word. He tried not to laugh as he passed a pen full of the most contented pigs he’d ever seen, almost as if they knew they would never be slaughtered.
Antonio was on his way back to the police station, when he spotted a pharmacy on the other side of the square, and remembered he needed a bar of soap and some toothpaste. A little bell above the door rang as he stepped inside. He stood by the counter for a few moments, before a young woman came through from the dispensary, and said, “Good morning, Signor Rossetti, how can I help you?”
When you’re the only person in town that nobody knows, everyone knows you.
The hardest criminals from the back streets of Naples couldn’t silence Antonio Rossetti, but a chemist from Cortoglia managed it with one sentence. She waited patiently for him to respond.
“I wanted a … bar of soap,” he eventually managed.
“You’ll find there’s quite a good selection behind you on the third shelf down.”
Antonio selected a bar, but ignored the toothpaste, because he wanted an excuse to return as soon as possible. He placed the soap on the counter and tried not to stare at her.
“Do the police expect to get everything free in Naples?” she asked, suppressing a smile.
“I’m so sorry,” said Antonio, quickly taking some coins out of his pocket and dropping them on the counter.
“Do come back if there’s anything else you need,” she said, passing him a small bag.
He almost ran out of the shop and quickly returned to the police station. He sat in his office and began to write up a report on his abortive meeting with De Rosa, but found it hard to concentrate. Once he’d done so, he returned to his list of names and crossed out Truffles.
Antonio decided he would next have to pay a visit to Paolo Caraffini, the owner of the olive oil company, but this time he wouldn’t call to warn him. He left the police station just after lunch, and set out for the factory on the outskirts of town, pleased he would have to pass the pharmacy on the way. He slowed down as he approached the shop and glanced through the window. She was standing by the counter talking to an elderly woman, and looked up as he passed by. She smiled, which caused him to q
uicken his pace and hurry away.
When Antonio arrived at the Caraffini Olive Oil factory, he asked the receptionist if he could see il Signor Caraffini.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” he said, and produced a warrant card.
“Yes, I know who you are,” said the receptionist. She picked up the phone and said, “It’s that policeman to see you.”
Antonio smiled, as a door on the other side of the corridor opened, and an elderly gentleman appeared. “Do come in, Signor Rossetti,” he said graciously.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make an appointment, sir,” Antonio said as he followed il Signor Caraffini into his office.
“That is quite understandable,” said Caraffini, “after all, you were hoping to take me by surprise, whereas I am not at all surprised.”
“Why not?” asked Antonio as he sat down opposite him.
“Everyone knows you are investigating the murder of Lombardi, and I expected to be among the first people you would want to interview.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never hidden the fact I hated the man, and therefore assumed that the reason you didn’t want to warn me is because you’re about to arrest me.”
Antonio put down his pen. “And why would I want to do that, Signor Caraffini?”
“Because it’s common knowledge I killed the mayor, and I’ve been finding the strain of having to live with the crime almost unbearable.”
“Why did you kill him?”
“He was ruining my business. Another year of that damned man and there would have been nothing to leave to my children. I’m only thankful that my son is ready to take over now that I’ll have to be locked up.” Caraffini stood up and stretched his arms across the desk as if expecting to be handcuffed.