When the doorbell rang that Saturday, he almost brought up his dinner from shock. Time to run. He crept to the door and peered through the peephole and saw a uniformed policeman leaning on the banisters.
He stayed still, staring out the peephole, unable to move in case Blume noticed a flicker in the light. Then the cops, who could just as easily have been killers sent by Innocenzi, took the elevator down. Pernazzo seized his one last chance, grabbed the backpack, and ran headlong down the stairs, only realizing he was wearing cotton-and-cord slippers when he slipped on the first landing. As he picked himself up, the slowly descending elevator drew level with him. He hoisted the bag onto his shoulders and took the stairs four at a time, gaining on, overtaking, and leaving the old elevator, Blume, and the policeman behind.
Pernazzo’s Opel Tigra was parked two streets away. He hoped the traffic would not be against him. He drove as fast as he could, releasing some of the tension. He considered going carefully, stopping when lights were amber, touching the brake pedal every few seconds like his mother used to do-she even signaled to go around double-parked cars-but there was no point. No policeman in Rome ever pulled anyone over for reckless driving. They considered it demeaning.
It took him thirty-five minutes to reach Di Tivoli’s house. He found a parking place less than five minutes away and walked as quickly as his slippers allowed.
It was now ten o’clock and quite dark. He had fifteen minutes before he needed to hypersleep. He took Alleva’s Davis P-32 out of the backpack, slipped it into the back pocket of his trousers.
The front door to Di Tivoli’s apartment block was closed. He pressed the intercom button below Di Tivoli’s. A woman answered.
“Who is it?”
“Signora, I have some materials here from RAI to deliver to Dottor Di Tivoli, but it seems that either he is out or the buzzer is not working. Thing is, I have to get other deliveries of urgent news tapes done and so I’d like to just drop them off outside his-”
The woman got bored with listening and buzzed open the door without a word.
Pernazzo called the elevator. With just three floors in the building, the stairs would have been quicker, but he preferred not to walk by the door of the woman on the second floor in case she was watching. The marble in the building gleamed under the lights. The elevator was old, wooden, large enough to take a bed. It was suffused with yellow light from a series of low-watt bulbs and smelled of beeswax.
Pernazzo stepped out, closed the brass gates, and beat softly with his fist on Di Tivoli’s thick door.
“Di Tivoli! C’mon, open up. Open. Hurry up,” he said in an urgent whisper. He kept hammering the door, softly but incessantly. Eventually he heard footsteps.
“Who is it?” said Di Tivoli, but opened the door before waiting for a response. As soon as it was open a crack, Pernazzo dropped his bag into the gap. The metal embosser made a louder thud than he had expected. He would have to be careful about the noise, given the presence of the woman in the apartment below. Then, with the bag acting as a stop, he squeezed himself in with such speed that Di Tivoli had to turn around before he realized who had just entered.
“What?” said Di Tivoli. “Who are you?”
Pernazzo saw a look of disgust and contempt on Di Tivoli’s face, but then he caught the gratifying whiff of fear.
“Are you alone?” Pernazzo asked.
“Yes… That is to say, no. I’m expecting someone…”
Di Tivoli could not think whom he was expecting. Pernazzo moved over to a bookcase, leaned against it, and waited as Di Tivoli’s eyes looked him over. The pistol sat squat and safe inside his pocket. No need to brandish it about.
Speaking from the hallway, Di Tivoli said, “I want you out. I don’t know what you think you’re doing. I just got back… I am very tired.”
Pernazzo lifted his bag, moved into the living room and said, “The police are looking for me.”
Di Tivoli followed. He was wearing a silk dressing gown with a gold paisley pattern. “Well it’s hardly my doing… Have I seen you before?” He dipped his hand into a square pocket, trying to be master of the situation, lord of his own house.
“There’s only one reason I can think the police are after me,” continued Pernazzo. He moved his hand behind his back, and enjoyed the spectacle of Di Tivoli trying to monitor every micro-movement while retaining a casual demeanor.
“And that is?”
Pernazzo said, “You put them on to me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, or who you are.”
“I know. You see, I’m Angelo Pernazzo. I am the person who killed Clemente.”
Di Tivoli paled, then sat down slowly in an armchair. Even more slowly, he picked up a remote control.
“What are you doing?”
“Turning up the air-conditioning,” said Di Tivoli. “You killed Clemente?”
Pernazzo watched him carefully as he pointed it at an air-conditioning unit with a winking green light above the window.
“It’s fine. Leave it,” said Pernazzo. He did not like the idea of Di Tivoli holding anything in his hand.
Di Tivoli dropped the remote into armchair cushions behind him, made a steeple out of his fingers, and arched his eyebrows. His forehead was wet. He said, “You don’t have to tell me any more than you want to, but how do you figure I put the police on you? I don’t even know who you are.”
“I worked it out. The police found my name because I was detained when the Carabinieri raided a dog fight, and the only reason they raided the dog fight was because TV cameras were running. Yours.”
“The raid was Clemente’s idea,” said Di Tivoli. “I’d have just filmed the fight, no police or Carabinieri.”
“And, like I said, I’ve dealt with Clemente.”
“Arturo was… He was all sorts of things, but he was also my friend,” said Di Tivoli.
“You did a hell of a job on his reputation with your expose about his affair. For a friend.”
“He’s dead now. It makes no difference.”
“His widow probably didn’t like it.”
“No, she didn’t, and she told me. Also, I risked my life with that program. I exposed a connection with the most powerful criminal family in Rome.”
“That was brave.”
“I am a journalist,” declared Di Tivoli. He brought his hands together as if considering a proposition. “It is my job to tell the truth, to speak truth to power.”
Di Tivoli’s voice had become louder and clearer. Pernazzo reckoned the man was gaining in confidence, so he snapped the pistol out from behind his back and pointed it straight at Di Tivoli’s stomach.
Di Tivoli’s steepled fingers interlocked, and he brought his hands down toward his groin. “Can you not point the gun at me, please?”
Pernazzo lowered the pistol. He wasn’t going to use it, anyway. He tucked the gun back into his trousers.
Di Tivoli assumed a slightly less slumped position on the armchair and said, “You should leave now, Angelo. That’s your name, isn’t it? Make a break for it. The police still think Alleva had Clemente killed. They won’t be looking for you.”
“I just told you they were.”
“Probably not for the murder-you don’t mind me using that word?”
“It’s the right word. And if they’re not looking for me, how come that commissioner was at my house this evening? He called in a whole raiding party.”
Di Tivoli asked, “What commissioner?”
“His name is Blume,” said Pernazzo. “He took a real dislike to me the moment we met.”
“Blume?” Di Tivoli’s voice lifted slightly. “He’s not on the Clemente case now.”
“You know a lot about what’s going on.”
“I have my sources.” Di Tivoli made his first attempt at a smile, but it did not come off.
“Well your sources are wrong. Because the commissioner came to my house just now.”