Handing her the vellum, he continued. “This identifies you as my special agent. You’ve earned it. If Abatti were to recant his confession, or if you find enough evidence implicating the brother, take the shoemaker in for questioning, and we’ll give the town something to talk about. In the meantime, let the people mourn their loss. Let me see…” He riffled through the papers on his desk. “The funeral is Tuesday the 19th.”
Straightening his sash, he turned from her and considered the scene out his window.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A film of water covered the skins of things down here, Serafina thought. It beaded on her upper lip and in her armpits as she followed a guard down the circular staircase of Oltramari’s jail. Moisture dampened the flame on her torch so that she could see no more than a few centimeters ahead. It was like being wrapped in a foul-smelling dream. She saw a dark form scurry past, perhaps Ugo’s shade, here to exact its revenge.
When Serafina entered the room, the guards said in unison, “Rise, please.” A shackled Abatti stood with difficulty, eyed Serafina, said nothing. She breathed in audibly. The pity she felt for him was unexpected and strong. His face was haggard. His shirt was torn, yet he looked like a man unafraid of death.
She handed her torch to a guard and sat down, motioning for Abatti to take his seat. Her eyes studied his face, looking for an involuntary grimace, a tremble in his hands, a sidelong glance. She found no signs of fear.
“You confessed to the murder of Ugo Pandolfina.”
“Proud of it. I’d murder Ugo a hundred times over, that bastard.”
“You had help.”
He shook his head.
“Was there another who wanted his death?”
“Hundreds. Thousands.”
“Name them.”
He didn’t answer. She waited.
“To my comrades who survived Milazzo, I’m a hero.”
She knew it was hopeless, yet something perverse made her persist. “What was his name, the one who poisoned Ugo’s wine?”
A long moment passed. They seemed like hours. The torch sputtered and the guards grew impatient, but she let silence bore into the layers of his courage before asking again, “Who poisoned him?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“While we drank that evening.”
“What evening?”
“Evening I killed him. Sunday.”
“Where?”
“Killed him in a grove in the foot of the Madonie Mountains.”
“You know what I mean. Where did you poison him?”
“Café down the street, Boffo’s.”
“Boffo’s is closed on Sundays.”
He said nothing.
“Who helped you, Abatti? Who gave you the Marsala Medal?”
“It’s mine!” He glared at her. “I earned it.”
“I didn’t find your name on the list of recipients.”
She saw beads of sweat run down his face and lose themselves in the folds of his neck. The guards moved from side to side.
“Where is your Marsala Medal now?”
“Guards have it.”
“And you think they’ll bury it with you? Don’t be naive.”
She watched a new shadow cross his face.
“I want his name, Ugo’s poisoner.”
“Abatti is his name, Ezzo Abatti.”
She waited a few moments in silence. Convinced, finally, that Abatti would never talk, she gathered up her reticule and said, “If you change your mind, have the guards send for me.”
Walking home, she was glad for the drying sun on her face and the smells of early spring.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Despite the commissioner’s advice, Serafina entered the wing of the Municipal Building reserved for police, detectives, and inspectors. Why did the commissioner consider Colonna a good detective? He had nothing but kind words for him. She felt her cheeks burn and her step quicken. Men stick together, she decided.
Was her judgment of Colonna too harsh? Did she want all the glory as Carlo had warned her last week? Should she confide in Colonna, ask for advice? She’d shivered at the thought, but she’d meet with him. She’d show her son. After all, she couldn’t continue acting alone and now she could use the fat inspector’s help.
He was seated behind his desk when she knocked on his door.
Colonna bit on a toothpick while he listened to Serafina’s arguments implicating the shoemaker’s direct involvement in his brother’s death.
“Do you mean Abatti’s not the killer? You found the murder weapon on his person. He confessed. Would you like to read it?”
“He lied about poisoning Ugo.”
“An insignificant detail. The commissioner is happy with your work-the murder of a military hero solved in a day or two. Townspeople will see the killer pay for Ugo’s murder.”
“We’ll hang the wrong man and there’s not much time. We’ve got to stop him.”
“Who?” Colonna looked amused with himself.
“The shoemaker, of course. He planned the murder, contracted Abatti to do the deed, and helped his hired man by adding a small amount of arsenic to Ugo’s wine.”
“How do you know? Were you there? Does the shoemaker know Abatti?”
For an instant, a half-formed image flickered in her mind before it died. She reminded Colonna of the evidence found in Ugo’s home-the wine glass and napkin with traces of arsenic that Abatti knew nothing about. She told him of the shoemaker’s suspicious behavior during her interview with him. “Told me he hadn’t seen his brother in six or seven years when in fact he met with him each month.”
Colonna leaned forward and she could smell stale garlic. “A bit of advice. You are a good investigator. In time, you may approach my expertise, but you need to learn when to quit.”
“And Ugo’s gold and silver?”
The inspector looked around to make sure the shadows had no ears. “I called him in. The shoemaker and I came to a little understanding. I helped him with the red tape. He took the pot of gold-most of it-and I found a dealer for the silver. Not strictly my duties, I admit. And, all right, meddling in your case a bit, I grant you, but…you need experience in these matters and I knew I could help, just like I did with Abatti’s confession.”
Serafina stared at him.
“My dear, you must learn the ropes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Friday, February 15, 1867
For the past two days, Serafina had been busy delivering babies and could ill afford time to uncover evidence of the shoemaker’s guilt in his brother’s murder.
But yesterday, on the pretext of delivering a fresh batch of medicinals, Serafina squeezed in another visit to Graziella. The shoemaker was not present.
The only member of the household to welcome her was Teo, who bowed when she entered. Serafina winked at him and he smiled.
But it was as if Graziella barely knew her.
“Sit, please, Donna Fina.” Teo wrapped a tongue around his lips.
Graziella sat rocking her infant, staring at something on a barren wall, not acknowledging Serafina.
“I can’t stay long.” Serafina held out a bottle. “I’ve brought you a refill of Mama’s potions.”
Graziella rocked her baby and spoke to Teo. “Put it in the cupboard.”
Serafina took her leave, thinking that the woman’s spirits seemed desolate, her house as cold and ungiving as it had been shortly after the birth of her baby. Strange, she should have snapped back into her old humor by now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR