The Memory Key (5 page)

‘A what Denner?’

‘
E che cazzo!
’ shouted the questore in broad Roman. ‘Do you deny you went to an Irish pub with your friend the magistrate?’

‘Oh, the
Druid’s Den
,’ said Blume. ‘Awful dump. I hope you don’t go there. A very low place.’

‘Drinking and chatting, sharing information. Principe is an old fool, Blume. You and he were made for one another.
Dio li fa, e poi li accoppia
. In any event, I’ve been given assurances by the chief prosecutor that Principe will not be involving you or any of us in his damned case. He’s made such a mess of it we’re best out of it. He’s completely mishandled the politics and now journalists are getting interested. I don’t want to open
La Repubblica
and read that a senior police officer is now involved in the investigation into the attempted murder of that neo-Fascist woman.’

‘You read
La Repubblica
?’

‘I have others read it, and then bring me the interesting bits. I don’t want to find you in any of them, if you value your job.’

‘We hardly spoke about Stefania Manfellotto. We talked about the student who was killed, and not even much about her.’

‘Do you think I’m stupid?’

Blume stayed silent, but noticed that he was nodding his head in unconscious assent.

‘Obviously they are connected,’ continued De Rossi. ‘That girl must have seen something she shouldn’t have. Not only was she killed by the same person, he even used the same weapon. That’s the preliminary finding anyhow.’

‘This is news to me,’ said Blume, annoyed. Principe should have got that information to him first thing.

‘Hah, well, it ought to be, but I don’t trust you, Blume. I think you already knew that.’

‘That you don’t trust me or that the weapon used was the same? I knew nothing about the weapon, I assure you. I have not heard from Principe since. I told him I would not become involved without an official sanction, and he did not call me back. So I know of no new developments. You are better informed than me, Questore. You may choose not to believe me, but I turned Principe down. I said it would have to be an official appointment or nothing. Now you have called me in and explained very clearly that that is not going to happen.’

‘Hah, well.’ De Rossi seemed disappointed that the fight was coming to an end. ‘I am glad we see eye-to-eye on this at last, Blume. I am sure you have plenty of work to do. Go now, and don’t bother me again.’

Blume left the room, and walked absently down the corridor, half greeting one or two familiar faces as he went. Outside, the world was blustery, wet, and misbehaving. Leaves were held in a magical vortex over the roof of his car, and as he opened the door, plastic bags leapt off the ground and clung to it. One wrapped its way around his ankle, then whipped away, leaving a dirty stain on his trouser cuff.

He climbed into his car. The wind caused the dashboard vents to make a lonely and far-away howling noise that seemed better suited to a remoter and colder place than Via Torino in Rome.

Chapter 6

‘An old weapon,’ said Principe. ‘The famous Carcano 91, maybe, a Mannlicher-Carcano-Parravicino. In any case, it was loaded with a 7.62×51mm NATO cartridge, and the shot came from around 60 metres away, from the building in front.’

‘That’s the National Research Council, right?’

‘Yes. Easy to get into. Occasional security.’

‘A Carcano 91, really?’ Blume squeezed the phone against his head with his shoulder and mimicked holding a rifle. ‘The weapon Lee Harvey Oswald used,’ he said.

‘The weapon every Italian soldier used for decades. The round was a 7.35 for Manfellotto, and a 6.5 for Sofia. The 6.5 bullet is back-heavy and unstable in flight. When it hits, it devastates like a dumdum.’

‘Different bullets, but the same weapon was used in both incidents?’ said Blume.

‘Absolutely. The weapon fingerprint on the bullet is the same. In the first case, the distance was probably 400 metres, and the shot came from the side. That the shot was not fatal is nothing short of miraculous.’

‘So a real marksman?’

‘The techs were non-committal on this. If you have a good sights and a laser, then it’s not all that hard, and both are easy to come by. Just ask a Russian in Ladispoli and he’ll sell you both at a decent price. Then you’d need a bit of practice, or just be able to handle a rifle, calibrate the sights to the laser. Also, a professional would have a more modern weapon. This is the sort of ancient army surplus you would expect an outmoded Fascist gang to have stashed away somewhere.’

‘Ignore the question of Sofia for a moment. Have you completely discounted the idea of a revenge attack on Manfellotto by one of the family members of her victims from the train station bombing?’

‘Yes. Apart from anything else, it’s a question of age. The angriest are those who lost children, but they are also the oldest, and much time has passed.’

Blume could not fault the logic. Even if someone who had lost a family member more than 30 or so years ago had suddenly snapped at seeing Manfellotto walking around a university campus and consorting with a Fascist fellow traveller, that same person was not the sort to go out and murder an innocent girl who might have seen something.

‘By the way, what is it with the Russians up there? Why did they all decide to live by the sea near Ladispoli?’ asked Blume.

‘Caterina worked in immigration affairs,’ said Principe, a trace of irritation in his tone. ‘Ask her. Were you even listening to me?’

‘Yes. So the unstable bullet took the back of the girl’s head off, pretty much like what happened to Kennedy. Yet the same weapon was used for a cleaner shot that passed through the temporal lobe of Manfellotto, carving a neat and short canal through part of her brain and leaving the rest intact. God’s never been much good at choosing who to save.’

‘You have a funny idea of what “save” means. The bullet performed a lobotomy on Manfellotto. She can’t remember anything, suffers from incontinence, loss of hearing, and incapacity to taste food, or remember what or if she has eaten,’ said Principe.

‘Not remembering what she has done, if that’s actually the case, is another sign of God’s special mercy for the worst type of human. As for the lobotomy and the incontinence, I never said He lacked a sense of humour.’

‘Neither of them was lucky. If you do get shot in the head, pray it’s point-blank up through the chin with a Magnum 44.’

‘Lord, hear our prayer,’ said Blume.

‘Want to see for yourself what I mean?’ said Principe. ‘I’m going to the hospital to have a chat with Manfellotto in an hour. University Polyclinic, Ward 7, second floor, bed 33. Come along if you’re interested.’

Blume put his phone down thoughtfully and left his office for the open-space area where Chief Inspector Caterina Mattiola, Chief Inspector Rosario Panebianco, and the new arrival in the office, transferred from Corviale, were crowded around the computer monitor on Panebianco’s desk. They appeared to be watching something on YouTube.

‘Busy, then, are we?’ said Blume.

Caterina motioned him over and slipped her hand around his waist.

‘Have you seen this?’ asked Panebianco. ‘Do you think they trained the dog to do that? I mean how would you even think of training a dog?. . . wait, here’s the best bit.’

Blume patiently watched a dog on waterskis. When the video was over, Panebianco leaned back in his chair and looked at Blume. ‘I suppose you want to know if we’ve made any progress with the road rage case.’

‘That would be nice.’

‘You can ask Caterina. She’s been hard on it.’

‘I am asking you.’

Panebianco tapped his teeth with his pen, as if considering whether to answer or not, then relented, ‘Well, it turns out the guy who got run over was not only a regular user of hash, coke, and alcohol, but he also used to sell them. All three. He had a pub, which was closed down five years ago when it turned out he was dealing from it. He blamed his staff, claimed he had nothing to do with it, and got a suspended sentence. He was also brought in twice on assault charges and was an active member of CasaPound, the Nazi group.’

‘Illiterate nazis who claim inspiration from an American poet,’ said Blume. ‘Only in Italy.’

‘They also like Tolkien, Irish hunger strikers, and World of Warcraft,’ said Panebianco. ‘And beating up schoolchildren, stabbing visiting fans from England, and starting riots in the stadium.’

‘They tend to be Lazio supporters, don’t they?’ said Blume. ‘That must increase their sense of alienation and loss.’

‘I think you’ll find they are mostly supporters of AS Roma, Commissioner. I would also point out that Lazio is second from the top of the league whereas Roma . . .’

‘Fifteenth, yes, but the season’s only begun. We always get off to a slow start.’

Caterina intervened. ‘Let’s not talk football, guys, OK? We’re going off topic.’

‘Fine,’ said Panebianco. ‘So the victim, Valerio, is on his motor scooter at a traffic light beside a silver-grey Citroen C4 Picasso driven by the accused, and, according to an eyewitness who came out of his furniture repair shop to watch the fun when he heard the shouting and horns blaring, was seen kicking at the door of the car, being in an excess of rage caused by a mixture of alcohol, cocaine, and the very disappointing performance of Roma against Siena, who are hardly giants of football, but that’s what comes of trying to play like Barcelona without any of your players actually being any good at passing.’

‘Seriously,’ said Caterina.

‘Yeah,’ said Blume. ‘Shut up, Rosario.’

‘The argument continued at the next set of traffic lights, just after the Casaletto tram terminus, and we have a witness there, too. This time, Valerio got off his motorcycle the better to kick the Citroen.’

‘Nobody saw the accused in the car?’ asked Blume.

Caterina gave him a funny look. ‘No, but we know who it was. The dents in the body work, the paint from the scooter, and of course, the blood.’

‘But no one saw what happened?’ he insisted.

‘We have reconstructed the scene, and the investigating magistrate has ordered the detention of the accused on the basis of our reconstruction,’ said Caterina. ‘The driver of the car, Adelgardo . . .’

‘Great name,’ said Blume. ‘He must be from Lombardy?’

‘No,’ said Caterina. ‘Adelgardo Lambertini. He was born in Bologna, but has been resident in Rome for 60 years. Adelgardo seems to have accelerated on the downhill stretch at the beginning of Via Silvestri and struck the scooter from behind. The victim was hurled into the opposite lane but there was no oncoming traffic. At this point Adelgardo, according to the forensic expert from the Municipal Police who examined the marks on the road, seems to have executed a handbrake turn of around 130 degrees.’

‘Not bad for a 72-year-old,’ said Blume.

‘He then realigned his vehicle, as witnessed by the barber in the shop who is the only one to have seen the whole thing from beginning to end. He accelerated back in the direction he had come, and drove over Valerio as he lay on the ground. The wheels crushed the victim’s windpipe. He then stopped and once again turned the car round.’

‘Another handbrake turn?’ asked Blume.

‘No, a slow and deliberate three-point turn, this time, clearly showing intentionality. He drove back over Valerio who was now thrashing about and trying to breathe. We should have dozens of witnesses for this, but none of the drivers on the road has responded to appeals to come forward, apart from one who arrived on the scene just after Adelgardo had passed over the body for a second time. Not that he deserves much praise, since he did not see fit to stop, but he did remember the first two and last two letters of the number plate, which may be because they are the same. EF and EF. When questioned, Adelgardo Lambertini denied having been in the car that day. He even denied owning a Citroen, even though it was registered in his name.’

‘That was a bad move,’ agreed Blume. ‘He should have said it was stolen.’

‘He parked it outside his daughter’s house on the other side of Rome and got a taxi back. A patrol spotted the car a few hours later and we managed to track down the taxi driver, who has a clear memory of his fare. He remembers picking up an old man and being afraid that he might end up with a corpse in the back of his car, so white and feeble did he seem.’

‘Also,’ said Panebianco, ‘the last number dialled on his mobile phone was 063570, which is the taxi company, and the call places him outside his daughter’s house.’

‘She removed the car, and the magistrate issued an arrest warrant against her for aiding and abetting,’ added Caterina.

‘An arrest warrant, no less,’ said Blume.

‘Arrest is obligatory on this charge,’ said Caterina. ‘The magistrate can’t order custody only. Article 378 of the criminal code. He ordered the arrest to put pressure on Adelgardo. But either Adelgardo doesn’t care about his daughter and grandchildren . . .’

‘Or the magistrate’s bullying tactics have angered him. We know he has a temper.’

‘The magistrate’s actions are perfectly legitimate,’ said Caterina.

Blume looked at Caterina. He had been living with her for nine months now, and as each day went by, he felt he knew her less and less. He looked over at the new sovrintendente from Corviale, who had remained silent throughout. ‘Am I the only one who thinks this Adelgardo is a fucking hero and we should be giving him a medal instead of arresting him and upsetting his grandchildren?’