“I thought you were not convinced by the Alleva angle,” said Paoloni.
“I’m not. But I can’t rule it out just to spite Gallone, D’Amico, and whoever’s pushing the agenda.”
“They don’t buy it any more than us-at least, your ex-partner D’Amico doesn’t. He’s just following orders, and the order is to close down the case as quick as possible with the minimum of fuss.”
“The widow won’t want that. She’ll want whoever killed her husband,” said Blume.
“Maybe,” said Paoloni. “Then again, maybe not.”
“Why would she not?”
“She’s a politician.”
“That’s pretty cynical,” said Blume.
“Politicians are all the same,” said Paoloni. Suddenly he lowered his voice and put his hand on Blume’s shoulder. “Has Alleva got something on you? Something that might make you want to defend him?”
“No,” said Blume, moving out of Paoloni’s reach. “He does not. What about you? Does he have anything on you?”
He expected Paoloni to react with anger to the counterattack, but Paoloni simply said, “He might. Maybe on others, too.”
“Something big?”
“I wouldn’t go to jail for it, but it wouldn’t help my career any. Tell you something, though: what Alleva’s got on me is nothing compared to Innocenzi’s leverage over half the department and just about all the local politicians. He’s got some pretty convincing political mentors in Parliament, too. So no matter what, this investigation is going to flow right around Innocenzi, like he was a hidden rock. If we lower our sights and move against Alleva, then Alleva is going to get his revenge on people like me.”
“You and others.”
“A few others. I’m not going to advance the case against him, because I don’t think there is one. But I think you’ll help me.”
“What makes you think that?”
Paoloni pulled out a soft pack of MS, extracted a crumpled cigarette and lit it. Smoking was banned in the offices, but no one had ever reported anyone for breaking the rule. “Two reasons,” he said. “First, you’re my superior officer and it’s up to you to look after my interests, just like I look after yours.”
“I hope the second reason is more convincing than the first,” said Blume. “And put out the cigarette.”
Paoloni dropped the cigarette, still lit, on the floor. Its smoke streamed upward toward Blume’s nostrils. He went over and trod on it.
“Second,” said Paoloni, “you don’t believe Alleva had anything to do with it either, so it’s not as if I’m asking you to look the other way.”
“No,” said Blume. “But neither are we going to pretend Alleva isn’t there. He’s going to get detained and questioned. I want to talk to the widow, but, basically, Alleva is our next move.”
14
SATURDAY, AUGUST 28, 5 P.M.
"You were absolutely right from the start,” said D’Amico. He had folded his arms on the roof of a gray sedan outside the station.
“We can’t even build a time frame without the help of the widow, politician or no politician. The Holy Ghost appears to have got her to give up her fingerprints and a DNA sample, but we need her testimony. She could even be a suspect.”
“I see you’ve decided you’re coming with me to the widow’s.”
“I brought a car. We may as well go now. We can talk on the way.”
“It’s not the widow I want to talk about,” said Blume. “I’ll drive.”
“That’s not possible, Alec. This is a Ministry car. Insurance thing. Sorry.”
“Fine. While you drive, you can tell me about that pathetic attempt at evidence planting.”
D’Amico opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. “What are you talking about?” he asked as Blume climbed in beside him.
“You’re not going to start the game again. I’m talking about you slipping into Clemente’s office and placing files from his home there, just to make sure I saw the name Alleva.”
D’Amico waited till Blume had closed the car door, then said: “You’re right, naturally. But there is no need to shout about it in a public piazza.”
“How wrong of me,” said Blume.
D’Amico calmly reangled the rear-view mirror by a degree or two as he pulled out of the crowded piazza. “It was the obvious connection. The victim campaigned against dog fights, the man who organized the shows has the victim killed. Sorry if I was heavy-handed. They are nervous at the Ministry, in case someone starts thinking this was a political assassination or something.”
“That’s unlikely.”
“I know,” said D’Amico. “But they want the case closed as fast as possible. I thought I could speed things up. That’s all.”
“That is evidence-planting, Nando.”
“You taught me.”
Blume slapped the dashboard with his hand, making D’Amico jump slightly. “I never planted evidence. I never taught you to plant evidence.”
D’Amico changed gear, accelerated on the straight stretch along the Circus Maximus. “I remember, four years ago, that case we worked together, the one with the girl battered to death by her student boyfriend because she tried to break up with him. Do you remember?”
“Sara,” said Blume. “I remember her. I can recall every particular.”
“So can I,” said D’Amico. “Just to make sure he stayed where he belongs, we tried to pin a rape conviction on him, too, even though it was probably consensual sex first, before he killed her. Do you remember that, too?”
“I remember,” said Blume.
“And do you remember how there was a copybook with lecture notes belonging to him lying on the bed, next to her body,” continued D’Amico, “and you told me to remove it, and I didn’t understand, because I thought you wanted to help the murderer by removing a piece of evidence that helped put him at the scene?”
“I remember all this,” said Blume.
“Then you explained to me that the copybook was there because they had been in bed studying together, and that not only undermined our rape charge but humanized him.”
“Yes, it would have,” said Blume. “And since we’re taking a stroll down memory lane, you’ll also remember the bastard confessed, and he wasn’t even particularly sorry. He had a problem believing anyone had a right to dump him.”
“He confessed afterwards,” said D’Amico. “But we removed the notebook first.”
“Which is why it worked. And we were working together, police against killer. Your attempt was police, or Ministry, or what ever you are now, against police. And you are introducing evidence. What you did with Alleva’s notes was-it was totally unconvincing, and wrong. There is a big difference. The spoilt brat who battered Sara to death was guilty.”
“Well, suppose Alleva was guilty? He still might be.”
“If he is, your actions won’t help gain a conviction, but they could jeopardize one. There is no comparison between the cases. Don’t insult my intelligence or Sara’s memory. We haven’t even brought Alleva in for questioning.”
“Which is what you need to do. Take the initiative. Go to Principe, get him to issue an arrest warrant. Principe is going to issue one anyhow, he has to. Stop being so bloody-minded.”
“Do you know more about Alleva than I do?” asked Blume. “Has the Ministry been conducting parallel inquiries?”
“Nothing like that.”
“So why the insistence?”
“I’m not sure why,” said D’Amico. “It’s coming down on me from above. I get the idea it might be the widow who wants it like that. It makes sense, if you think about it. Her husband murdered on a point of ethical principle, trying to save dogs.”
“You lot are so cynical about politicians,” said Blume. “If it’s the widow, then what could be better than going to see her now?”
“I’d prefer to have Alleva in custody before seeing her. That would cover us if she kicks up a public row.”
“As you say, that’s up to the investigating magistrate, not us.”
The temperature had climbed to over thirty degrees Celsius. The humidity was stifling, but D’Amico preferred to keep the windows down and the AC off. He drove with his arm hooked out the window, one hand on the steering wheel. His only concession to the heat had been to remove his jacket, which he smoothed, folded, and laid on the backseat, having first brushed the seat clean. As they started off, he glanced back at his jacket, almost as if he wanted to tell it to fasten up. As always, D’Amico was carrying his Beretta, snugly attached to his side in a minimalist leather holster.