“Forgive us. When our governess was giving lessons on good manners, my brother was always sick in bed. Tell me, can I help you with something?”
Maione opened his mouth to speak, but Ricciardi laid a hand on his arm.
“We’re. . friends of Signor Romor, Attilio Romor. Could you tell us where we can find him?”
Peppino laughed heartily.
“Ah, that’s a new one on me! Romor has friends who don’t wear skirts! In that case, he must owe you money. Prego, you’ll find him in the dressing room at the end of the hall. The one farthest from my brother.”
Shaking his head, he headed off toward the stage door.
Ricciardi and Maione walked in the opposite direction.
Romor had just finished getting into costume.
He was a tall young man, the kind who is aware of his appeal to women. Two girls loaded down with costumes elbowed each other and whispered among themselves as they walked past his dressing room door.
The man appeared not to notice, or perhaps he was just used to it. He courteously ushered them in.
He didn’t seem particularly surprised to learn who they were; his open, sincere gaze didn’t betray concern of any kind. Maione did the questioning.
“Signor Romor, we’re aware of your. . close friendship with a married lady. We’re investigating a misfortune that occurred a few days ago, and we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Romor smiled, revealing a perfect set of teeth. He looked them in the eye and seemed to be completely at ease.
“Yes, the signora is a friend of mine, Commissario. A very dear friend. We were even thinking of going away to set up house together. I heard about the. . misfortune; I know all about the poor fortune-teller because Emma mentioned her frequently. I’ve never seen her, but I know that Emma was very attached to her. I’m at your complete disposal.”
Maione and Ricciardi exchanged a quick glance.
“Thinking of going away to set up house together? But the signora told us that she had decided not to leave her husband.”
The actor smiled politely.
“Brigadier, my Emma is a very sentimental person and, as such, she’s subject to other people’s influence. On the verge of such a momentous decision, it’s only natural that she should feel some degree of uncertainty. Her husband came to see me, a few nights ago. He waited for me outside the stage door and he offered me money in exchange for breaking it off with Emma. Of course, I refused. I’m not the sort of man who can be bought. I care nothing about the money; I have my profession. Then he threatened me: he told me that he would ruin me, that all he had to do was drop a word or two with the director of the troupe. But, and if you’ve seen the show you already know this, there’s nothing he could do to make the director hate me more than he does already. I already know that when my contract expires I’ll have to look for another company. Luckily, however, this is a good time for the theater and there’s plenty of work. I’ll find something.”
“And how did you respond to Serra’s threats?”
Romor threw his head back and laughed with gusto.
“That’s how: I laughed in his face. There’s no way to persuade me. I assure you that she can’t stay away from me. I’ll let you in on a secret: we’re expecting a baby. And a baby, Commissario, is an important, irrevocable step. Having a child brings a couple together forever, and that’s the way it’s going to be between Emma and me.”
“Would you be willing to repeat what you just said in the presence of the Serras?”
The Serras. An institutionalized couple: a family. Ricciardi appreciated the way that Maione was maneuvering to provoke a reaction from Romor; if the man felt he was being cut out, that he had no chance of winning back his relationship, then he would show concern and be less than forthcoming. Instead he smiled, without looking away from the commissario’s gaze, even as he responded to Maione’s question.
“Brigadier, that’s something that I already intended to do. I know my Emma, marvelous, sensitive woman that she is. I’m sure that once she sees me, she’ll get over any doubts and choose love over the arid social conventions that are presently holding her prisoner. I feel sure I’ll be able to give you proof of this in short order. We had decided to leave together after the last performance in Naples, which is going to be tomorrow night. I haven’t yet lost all hope that, now that she’s had time to think it over, Emma will show up as we had agreed, that she’ll come for me here at the theater.”
Ricciardi looked the actor in the eye, and Romor looked back, unwavering.
“Tell me one last thing, Romor: who do you think murdered Calise?”
A sad expression appeared on the man’s face.
“Who can say, Commissario? I didn’t know her. But I’d have to guess that a woman who makes a living by deceiving people and, according to what I read, loan-sharking as well, should expect to wind up that way. I remember that Emma was a slave to her obsession with the old woman; she couldn’t breathe unless Calise told her how with one of her proverbs. But I will say that when Emma’s husband came to threaten me, he really did seem willing to stop at nothing. If I had to say a name. .”
As they headed back to police headquarters, Maione thought out loud.
“That guy strikes me as a genuine idiot. He likes women, he knows that they like him, and he thinks that’s how it will be for the rest of his life. If you ask me, he would have been better off taking the professor’s money, because he won’t be getting anything else out of his relationship with Emma.”
Ricciardi was wrapped up in his thoughts.
“Don’t forget about the baby, though. The professor would be happy to acknowledge the child as his own-that is, if he even knows his wife is pregnant. But would she be willing? She seems deeply involved. In any case, none of this concerns us. What I’d like to know is who had a motive to kill Calise. And we’re running out of time. But I just had an idea.”
“What is it, Commissa’?”
“The idea that tomorrow evening Signora Serra will be unable to resist the temptation to go to the theater, to enjoy the play she loves so well, for one last time. Why don’t you take a walk over to see your friend the doorman in the afternoon and find out if anyone’s planning to take a car or a driver to go to the theater.”
Maione seemed perplexed.
“The Serras? Aren’t we supposed to check in first with that idiot Garzo?”
Ricciardi smiled.
“No. He told me that I’m in charge of the case and I can do what I want. Anyway, it’s the last day. You watch, if we don’t come up with anything, they’ll put the blame on poor Iodice and good night, nurse. Let’s see if we can flush the professor out into the open.”
Attilio, now alone, smiled into his dressing room mirror. Things were moving in the right direction; he would make Emma face her responsibilities.
He felt certain that, with her back to the wall and no proprieties left to safeguard, she would opt for love. On the other hand, why would the husband have done so much to convince him to leave her? Because the husband knew that Emma loved him. He’d never misread a woman, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t wrong now, either.
He hoped that his mamma would come to the theater too, the following night. To enjoy his last performance. His triumphant last performance.
You walk home, kept company by your work, thoughts of the current investigation, thoughts studded with faces, sensations, tones of voice. You walk, cobblestones underfoot, and you smell the fresh air wafting down from the distant woods. And you think about the words you’ve heard, words you now need to put in order.
You walk among the few living human beings who are heading home, skirting close to the walls, and the occasional dead soul watching you go by, oozing grief from its wounds. You walk and you don’t look; you pass through the world like a stranger. You climb the stairs, you open the door, you hear the tired breathing of your elderly Tata sleeping serenely. You undress, you and the night become a single thing. You tell yourself, no, not tonight, you won’t go to the window. You’ll stretch out and slip into sleep, or rather sleep will come envelop you, dragging you off for a few hours to a land of illusory peace.