Death Brings Gold. Nicola Rocca

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code is CSS9047.”

      â€œI’m following you,” said Walker, “That’s where I want to go. Let’s suppose that we have the same silk necktie with the herringbone motif, but it’s red instead of white. Would its code be the same, since it’s the same model, or would it be different, considering that it’s a different colour?”

      The manager didn’t hesitate.

      â€œIf it’s only the colour that changes, then it will change only the last digit of the code. For example… if the white one ends with the number 7, the red one will end with… number 8.”

      â€œThat’s what I thought,” said Walker. “Would you be able to track back to anyone who bought, in one of your branches, two, three, four or an infinite number of gold coloured neckties?”

      The manager thought about it.

      â€œWell, if the customer has made the payment electronically, then yes, otherwise, if he paid cash, we can’t track him.”

      â€œWell, it seems obvious,” Walker replied. “But it’s worth trying. I want all the data of all the people who purchased one or more gold neckties. The model is the one in the photo.”

      While the Inspector had been talking, Del Chiaro had widened his eyes.

      â€œWhat’s the matter?” Walker asked him. “Something wrong?”

      â€œNo,” the manager replied, “it’s only that it’s a big job and we are in our sales period. I’ll try to do what I can, Inspector. I’ll contact my colleagues in the other Italian branches. I’ll let you know as soon as possible.”

      â€œVery good,” said Walker, satisfied.

      â€œBut…” Del Chiaro began, then stopping immediately.

      â€œBut?” Walker pressed him.

      â€œNo, nothing.”

      â€œPlease, tell me. Anything that comes to your mind might be important, even if it doesn’t seem like it to you.”

      Those words were all that were needed to convince the manager.

      â€œI was wondering… it could also be that the culprit, in an attempt to mislead the investigation, also purchased neckties in other models or colours, or even other articles, such as shirts, cufflinks and various accessories.”

      The Inspector took a few seconds to think about it.

      â€œIt could be,” he agreed. “But I repeat my request.”

      â€œMy colleagues and I will do our best to help you, Inspector,” the manager reassured him.

      â€œI’ve no doubt,” replied Walker. “Another thing,” he hurried to add. “Try to find out if any of the shop assistants remember having sold one or more gold neckties to someone who, for one reason or another, they might remember. Always with the maximum discretion. I don’t want this information spreading like wildfire.”

      â€œWill do, Inspector.”

      â€œGood” said Walker, smiling at him.

      Then, he pulled out his wallet, opened it and took out a business card.

      â€œThese are my numbers. Police Headquarters and the mobile.”

      Del Chiaro took the business card from him.

      â€œAs soon as I find anything out, I will certainly contact you, Inspector.”

      â€œI’m counting on it, Mr Del Chiaro.”

      CHAPTER 14

      That morning the sky was grey and so was the city. A competition with no winners.

      Walker was standing in front of the big window that from his office looked out onto an anonymous street. Bassani just stood there ,leaning against a wall.

      The only audible noise within those four walls was caused by the little stick stirring his coffee. Regular, rhythmic, it was accompanying the Inspector’s thoughts. It was almost a ritual: stirring his coffee, sucking the stick, drinking the scalding mixture all in one breath. And, finally, nibbling the plastic stick. It helped him to relieve the tension. Now that was indeed a good trick to postpone for as long as possible the lighting of a cigarette.

      He had almost blended completely with the grey backdrop when a knock- knock, followed by Zambetti’s voice, announced the arrival of Mrs Pilenga.

      â€œGood morning,” said the woman faintly.

      â€œGood morning, Mrs Pilenga,” answered the Inspector, without turning to face her. “Thank you for coming back.”

      Martina stood there in silence, also because she had nothing to say. If it was for her, she wouldn’t have come back, but the Inspector had summoned her. And here she was.

      â€œPlease, make yourself comfortable,” Walker invited her. Then, he turned, offered her a warm welcoming smile and sat in his armchair, inviting Bassani to sit down as well. “So…”

      He drummed his fingers on the desk, while waiting for Zambetti to reach his position at the computer. He decided the time had come to be direct.

      â€œDid your husband have any enemies?” Maybe a bit too direct.

      The widow opened her eyes wide. “No,” she answered almost under her breath. “Not that I know of. You have already asked me that.”

      â€œBut between you two… between you and your husband, I mean, there was bad blood between you. Isn’t that true?”

      â€œAnd why should this be relevant?” asked the woman, irritated. “I already told you last time… it was the same bad blood that there might be between any couple after thirty years of marriage.”

      Walker took a deep breath. He couldn’t stand when people screwed with him. He folded his arms and leaned against the back of his armchair.

      â€œMrs Pilenga, I’ve got a wife too,” he lied, earning a look of surprise from Zambetti. Bassani simply sniggered. “I know what it means to have been married for many years. And I also know what the ups and downs between a husband and wife are. A marital infidelity is not part of these ups and downs. I guarantee it.”

      â€œAnd what are you trying to say with that?” she asked, giving him a sharp look.

      â€œMrs Pilenga, maybe what you don’t understand is that we are here to help you. But you need to help us. And you can do so only by cooperating.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “We are the police, not a bunch of idiots. Even though there are jokes around about us that make us look like it. We’ve been told that you’ve had an affair. And the truth about this could give us a new lead regarding the death of your husband. Therefore, we expect from you nothing less than maximum cooperation.”

      He stopped, allowing the woman to get the message. When he was sure she had, he went further, continuing “Mrs Pilenga, adultery is not a crime in Italy. Perjury is.”

      â€œAre you saying that I am a loose woman, Inspector?” pressed the woman, challenging him.

      â€œNo, Mrs Pilenga,” said Walker, shaking his head. “I’m trying to understand who, and for what reason, someone took your husband’s life.”

      â€œAnd the fact that I had an affair with another man could help you catch my husband’s killer?”

      Her tone of voice was suspicious, but her wall of distrust was crumbling down. The tears that appeared in her

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