Tell Tale: Short Stories

“And what makes you so sure they didn’t?”

“I interviewed all eleven of them separately, and they couldn’t even agree on which part of the cliff they pushed him over, or how they got him back to his house and tucked him up in bed. And in any case, I can tell you they’re just not murderers.”

“How can you be so sure, Antonio?”

“They haven’t won a match in the past fifteen years. In any case, that wasn’t how Lombardi was killed.”

“He’s clearly not going to be missed by anyone,” said the chief, “because I’ve just received a report from my Head of Organized Crime, and it seems the Camorra expelled him because they thought he was too violent. So if you’re no nearer to solving the crime by the end of next month, I want you back in Naples where real murderers are still roaming the streets.”

* * *

Everyone took the day off, Antonio included, to celebrate the installation of the new mayor. Lorenzo Pellegrino was elected unopposed, which didn’t come as a surprise to anyone, and the council of six remained in place. Dancing and drinking in the town square went on until the early hours, right outside Antonio’s bedroom window, and that wasn’t the only reason he couldn’t get to sleep.

The next morning he called his mother to tell her he’d met the woman he wanted to marry, and she would be captivated, and not just by her beauty.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” said his mother. “Why don’t you bring her to Naples for the weekend?”

“Why don’t you and Papa come to Cortoglia.”

* * *

During the next month, the number of citizens who confessed to killing Lombardi rose from thirty-three to forty-one, and when the chief called again from Naples, Antonio had to admit that the locals had defeated him, and he accepted that perhaps the time had come to close the case and head back to the real world.

Indeed, Antonio might have done so if the new mayor hadn’t phoned and asked to see him on a private matter. As the young detective walked across the square to the town hall, he assumed that the number of murderers in the town was about to rise from forty-one to forty-two, as Pellegrino was now the only person on the council who hadn’t confessed to murdering Lombardi. But when the town clerk met him at the top, no longer on crutches, and accompanied him to the council chamber, he found the mayor and all six councilors sitting in their places, clearly waiting for him.

Antonio sat down at the other end of the table and as every member of the council had already admitted to killing Lombardi, together or separately, he wasn’t sure why he’d been summoned.

“Signor Rossetti,” began the mayor. “We’ve just held a meeting of the consiglio comunale, and have unanimously agreed t

o offer you the post of police chief.” But you only have one policeman, Antonio wanted to remind him. “We’ve checked how much the Naples chief of police is paid, and we’ve agreed to equal it, and we also feel, with so many murderers on the loose, you will need a deputy.”

“That’s very generous, but—”

“We also accept that the time has come to build a new police station, that’s worthy of the town.”

“I agree that’s none too soon, but—”

“And I’m quite happy for you to go on living in the mayor’s house,” said Pellegrino, “because I certainly don’t need two homes.”

The third, “But…” wasn’t quite as insistent.

“And,” continued the mayor, “although we didn’t put it to a vote, if you felt able to marry a local girl, I think that would go down well.”

* * *

Several guests arrived from Naples on the morning of the wedding, but Antonio assured the mayor they would all be going home the next day.

The whole town turned out to witness the vows of eternal love sworn by Antonio Rossetti and Francesca Farinelli, including several who hadn’t been invited. When il Signor and la Signora Rossetti left the wedding celebrations to set off for Venice, Antonio suspected the festivities would still be going on when they returned in a fortnight’s time.

The newlyweds spent their honeymoon eating too much spaghetti alle vongole, and drinking too much wine, while still finding a way of not putting on too much weight.

On the last day of the honeymoon, they both confessed they were looking forward to getting back to Cortoglia. After a memorable meal at Harry’s Bar, they took a gondola back to the Cipriani, to spend their last night together in Venice.

Antonio sat up in bed and watched his wife undress, and when she slipped under the covers to join him, he took her in his arms.

“Thank you for the most wonderful fortnight,” said Francesca, “but most of all for not once mentioning Lombardi.”

Antonio smiled. “You’re about the only person I haven’t asked who you think killed him.”