Blume only had one phone number in his memory. He dialled it with reverential care and lobbed the phone upwards towards the hole he had blown in the corrugated plastic. He missed twice. The first time he caught the phone one-handed before it hit the ground. The second time, it clattered at his feet, but the battery cover stayed on and the panel stayed wedged open. He brushed it down, pressed disconnect, kissed and blessed the phone, then dialled the same number again. He could already see the message flashing no signal as he lobbed it skywards again. This time, it sailed through the shining gap above.
52
Milan
She need not have worried about her reception in the bereaved household. Letizia Arconti did not expect Caterina to answer angry questions. She was just thankful, immensely thankful, that Caterina had taken all the trouble to come up here and talk to her. She had heard that the East Europeans who had done this to Matteo were dead and that it had all been part of some warning to a judge in Rome. What she really wanted Caterina to tell her was how he had looked when they found him.
‘You came down to identify him in the morgue in Rome. You saw what he looked like,’ said Caterina.
‘But they had cleaned him up then, closed his eyes, his mouth. My father died at home, and I remember how my sister and I smoothed away the rictus of pain on his face before we let my mother see him again. What did Matteo look like when you found him? Were his eyes open? Could you see fear?’
They taught you that it was better to withhold as many details as possible from the family of a murder victim. It did no one any good.
‘No, no. I could not see fear,’ said Caterina.
‘That’s because it was a stupid question. Of course, you can’t see fear. The dead are dead. I’m sorry. I’m doing the hysterical widow act.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Caterina. ‘And it wasn’t a stupid question. I’ve seen fear on the faces of the dead. Immigrants who suffocated in the back of a semi. I promise you he didn’t have that sort of fear in him.’
‘Are you trying to be kind?’
‘Yes, but I’m a widow, too. I lost my husband in a road accident.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘He was on a motorbike, got hit by a car. His body was broken all over, his face pulped, and so there was no recognizable expression on it, but I can guess it would have been shock and anger. He would have been so angry to die at that age. I knew him, knew what he was like. I see the same look of stunned anger on my son’s face, sometimes. You knew your husband. How you imagine he faced his death is probably how he died. They didn’t torture him, you know.’
‘The hours before they killed him would have been torture.’
‘As long as people are alive they don’t really believe they’re going to die. If the realization came to him, it will have been in the last moment, maybe with a sense of resignation.’
‘Thank you, Caterina.’ Letizia clasped her hand. ‘You’ve restored my faith in the system of justice in this country. You people can never get paid too much for what you do.’
Caterina freed her hand as gently as she could.
‘Sorry,’ said Letizia. ‘I have no right to throw myself at you like this. Where are you going now, back to Rome?’
‘Yes,’ said Caterina. ‘There’s a train… The Eurostar.’
‘Matteo used to fly. I always told him he should take the train, but he preferred flying. Come into the kitchen, the children are there.’
‘No, really…’
‘Please? It’ll only take a moment.’
She led Caterina down the hallway. It was a beautiful apartment. The hallway was broad enough to be a room in its own right. Arconti must have been doing well for himself.
‘Children, this is Inspector Mattiola. Caterina. She has a train to catch, so she’s just saying hello.’
An adolescent girl and a boy who probably thought he was an adolescent but was only a baby, sat at the table, a jar of Nutella between them. Caterina lifted her hand in awkward greeting. The boy slowly scanned her face and sought out her eyes; the girl examined her face and then her body.
‘I am a policewoman. I was assigned to investigate your father’s murder.’
‘The killers got killed, didn’t they?’ said the girl.
‘Yes.’
‘So it’s all over?’
‘Yes,’ she said without any hesitation in her voice.
The boy put down the knife with Nutella on it, came over to her, put his arms around her waist, and hugged her. Instinctively she found herself caressing his hair, while his mother stood at the kitchen door.
A phone rang.
‘Wait!’ said Caterina, pushing the boy from her, then, seeing his face, pulling him back and kissing him quickly on the forehead before running into the living room. ‘That’s my phone. I absolutely need to get that. I’ve been waiting for news from a friend.’
She fumbled around in her bag hunting for the phone, mentally imploring the caller not to hang up. The phone was still going. Twelve or so was the maximum number of rings before an automatic disconnect. She looked at the number, and frowned. In a voice that startled even herself, she shouted at Letizia to get a pen and a piece of paper, ‘Now!’ The phone would record the number, but she wanted physical backup.
‘Hello?’ She listened. Letizia handed her a piece of paper and she scribbled down the number. ‘Hello?’
Silence, or almost. The connection was live, and she could hear rustling and a crackle. She had her notebook out now, and with her phone pressed to her ear had gone across the room and picked up Letizia’s house phone without even glancing at her for permission.
She dialled Massimiliano Massimiliani’s personal number. Come on, come on. The sounds from the mysterious mobile phone sounded like the background to one of those new-age relaxation pieces, all rushing air, faraway birdsong. Blume hated that music. Said it was bad enough when Pink Floyd started doing it forty years or so ago.
‘Alec? Is that you? Maybe you can’t speak, but can you hear me? Alec? Answer.’
The mobile phone said nothing, but Massimiliani answered on the other line.
‘At last, Blume’s calling me. You need to track the number, now.’
‘Inspector Mattiola?’
She collected herself, also because she was being watched by the startled widow she had come to comfort. ‘Yes, Inspector Mattiola. Commissioner Blume is calling me at this moment from this number.’ She read out the digits on the piece of paper, and then gave him her own mobile number.
‘Where did you say he’s calling from?’
‘Shit! The line just went down. He’s not calling now.’
‘I’m taking it he said nothing and you need a location?’
‘Yes,’ she said, thankful Massimiliani was quick on the uptake. ‘But what I gave you wasn’t his number.’
‘Right. I’ll get back to you.’ He hung up, without asking any pointless questions.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Letizia.
‘Yes. Can I have a glass of water?’
‘Sofia! Bring a glass of water in here.’
Sofia arrived followed by Lorenzo. Caterina accepted the glass, and gulped it down gratefully.
‘Thank you, Sofia.’ The girl blushed self-consciously. Laden with hurt and fear, yet still able to suffer social embarrassment as if it counted.
Lorenzo stepped forward and relieved her of the glass, and offered to get her another.
‘No thanks, tesoro.’
She turned to Letizia. ‘As you may have gathered that was something of an emergency. What’s a good taxi number for me to call? I need to get to Linate airport.’