Death Brings Gold. Nicola Rocca
this amusing exchange of witty remarks, the waitress arrived with their breakfast.
Carobbio waited until the girl was gone.
âLetâs get down to it, Inspector. To serious matters,â he said gravely.
âIâm all ears,â answered Walker, knowing that the Chief of Forensic hadnât invited him to breakfast just to discuss chocolate brioches.
Carobbio took all the time he needed to explain the situation.
âWe have examined the fingerprints discovered at Ghezziâs.â He chewed a piece of brioche with pleasure and swallowed it. âAs I have probably already mentioned, three sets of fingerprints were found in the flat. One belongs to Ghezzi, the owner of the flat; the other to his wife, Mrs Martina Pilenga, and thus far everything seems normal.â
Carobbio allowed himself another sip of cappuccino.
âThe problem is the third set,â he continued calmly. âIt belongs to a minor craftsman from that area.â
âAnd who is he?â asked Walker, curious.
âHeâs someone called ⦠ah, Iâve got his name on the tip of my tongue. Damned old age! Anyway, heâs known for being someone who is quick to use his hands.â
âWhat do you mean?â asked David, interrupting him.
Carrobbio continued, as if nothing had happened.
âIt means that when thereâs a fight, he is not the type to back down. He has a record because he has been charged several times for minor scuffles.â
âWell, fist fighting is not exactly like killing a man,â said Walker ironically.
âThatâs true, Inspector. But if I were you, Iâd start to get more information on this character. And Iâd put him under surveillance.â
âIâll work something out when Iâm back at Police Headquarters.â
âWise decision,â Carobbio congratulated him. Then, he became serious again, coming to his real purpose for organising their meeting. He slipped a yellow envelope out of his briefcase. He opened it and selected some photos featuring a manâs face. âI wanted to show you these.â
âIs he the third fingerprints man?â guessed Walker.
âThatâs right,â confirmed Carobbio. âDo you know him?â
Walker took all the time he needed to observe the images.
âNever seen him before,â he acknowledged.
Carobbio slipped another sheet out of the envelope.
âAnd here you can find all his personal details. With my bad memory, I have to write everything down.â
Walker took it and started reading. Reading the manâs name and surname was enough to make his heart speed up.
Suddenly he lifted his eyes.
âFuck!â he said. âI donât know him, but I know who he is.â
When he arrived at Police Headquarters, Walker summoned Bassani to his office.
âDetective, we have a lead,â he informed him.
âGood.â
Then, before showing him the photographs, he rattled off the little speech he had prepared while he was in the car .
âYesterday, when Mrs Pilenga mentioned the name of her lover, you said you had heard that name before. Is that right?â
âYes, but I donât remember where. My memory has never been my strongest point, Chief.â
Hereâs another one with a short memory, Walker thought.
âLet me try to jog your memoryâ he said , as he laid out on his desk the photos Carobbio had left for him. âItâs Mrs Pilengaâs lover.â
Bassani tried to find a more comfortable position in his chair. He had barely looked at the photos when he blurted out:â Damn!Thatâs where I heard that name before. Some years ago, when I was still in uniform, some other officers and I jumped in to stop a fight between locals and immigrants. He was one of the most difficult to handle.â
The detective paused briefly.
âHe is one guy who really knows how to use theseâ he stated, holding up his hands.
Walker smiled, satisfied.
âInspector Carobbio told me the same thing.â
He paused, just enough time to light another cigarette followed by two good drags.
âMaybe heâs the man weâre looking for,â he said, pointing at the face staring at him from the photographs.
CHAPTER 16
The sound of footsteps forced Romeo to look up. A last-minute client had just arrived.
He asked himself why some people just canât come and buy their fucking newspaper half an hour earlier, instead of showing up two minutes before closing time, when he had already filled in the goods return form. He couldnât wait to go home. The day had been deadly boring.
âThe Evening Courier, please.â
The newsagent leaned forward to get the newspaper from the already wrapped parcel of return goods and handed it to the client.
âOne fifty.â How many times had he already said those words?
The last-minute client rummaged in his pocket and retrieved the coins.
âThank you,â said Romeo, âand good night.â
âGoodbye,â the man answered.
The newsagent stood staring at the client walking towards the exit. Suddenly, the man stopped.
What the hell is wrong with him now? Romeo asked himself.
Then he realised that something on the big notice board had caught the manâs attention.
Romeo kept watching him, while the man was looking at the collage of old photos.
âDo you like it?â asked Romeo, with a hint of irony.
âIt looks like thereâs a century of life here,â said the client, with an amused smile.
âNot a century. But half a century, yes.â
âAre you a photography enthusiast? I am too.â
âNo, my passion is not photography. Itâs only that I like seeing myself with the people who have come into my life and, in one way or another, have left a mark. Positive or negative. For example, in the first photo on the left I am with my wife on our wedding day. Negative mark: she left with somebody else before our fifth anniversary.â
âIâm sorry.â
âAh, you donât have to feel sorry. Life would have been hard with her. Maybe it was better like this. Actually, it was definitely better like this.â
Romeo noticed the embarrassed look on his clientâs face. He tried to bring back the conversation towards a less personal level. In the end he would have liked to continue that conversation. It had been a long time since someone had looked at his photo collection.
âSo do you like my idea? I mean, the photo collage.â
âItâs truly brilliant!â the