When both were gone, Stefania started thinking. Maria, Madame Durand, Karl Dressler . . .
Who can tell us something about you, young man?
Maybe Raffaella Moretto would know where to start.
She was thinking of asking her friend for advice when the cell phone rang in the inside pocket of her jacket.
“It’s Luca, Luca Valli. Hi.”
“And this is Stefania, Stefania Valenti. Hello.”
They both laughed.
“There’s nothing going on in this town, not even an art exhibition or a concert.”
“What a shame.”
“Yeah. But wouldn’t you rather just walk around? I’ll be up by the lake on Saturday and Sunday.”
“Me, too—again by chance, mind you. Both Saturday and Sunday.”
It was true. Camilla would be spending the weekend with her father, and Stefania had planned to go to the lake.
“Do you know the church of San Martino, the one atop Monte Calbiga, outside Menaggio?” Valli suggested.
Stefania suddenly had an idea.
“No, let’s go somewhere else. You’ll like it, you’ll see. Trust me.”
“Shall we meet at the Pasticceria Manzoni at nine?”
“Yes, and if it’s raining, we’ll console ourselves with maritozzi or pan Matalocc.”
“See you Sunday, then.”
“See you Sunday.”
Hearing the alarm go off, Stefania thought how nice it would be, every once in a while, to be able to sleep late.
She had nothing personal against school, even though for her it meant getting up an hour earlier than necessary every blessed morning. But this had been going on since Camilla started elementary school. She and Guido had split up a few years after the girl was born, and ever since then her ex-husband took care of Camilla every third weekend.
Again that morning there awaited the customary ritual of breakfast, morning snack, satchel, car, traffic, red lights. She would make it all go well just the same, and anyway, there was no alternative.
Camilla was all worked up. She would be spending her morning snack time with her friends. Before long, school would be out, and in a few weeks, a month and a half in all, her life would assume more tolerable rhythms.
Once school was out, Camilla would go and spend a few weeks on the lake with her mother before leaving with her father for a vacation at the beach. Every time the school year was about to end, Stefania was surprised at how quickly it had passed. One day at a time, they passed—the school years, Camilla’s childhood years, Stefania’s years.
The years go by, life goes on, and I’m still here, thought Stefania.
She stopped at the bar behind police headquarters and ordered her usual cappuccino. That morning there were even fresh cornetti with jam inside. Before going back to her office she went outside into the already hot sun to smoke a cigarette. She exchanged some banter with Marino. The world could wait another five minutes.
When she got to her office it was almost half past eight.
She quickly dealt with a case concerning a guy who was caught by customs agents at Ponte Chiasso with hashish stuffed in his tires. Then she organized things a little in her computer, answered a few phone calls, and started to read the file of the new case Carboni had assigned to her, a nasty affair involving a series of likely arsonous fires at a well-known chain of clothing stores. The suspicion was that the protection racket was behind it.
As she was trying to concentrate on the testimonies of the owners and salespersons, there was a knock at the door. It was Lucchesi, back from the photo department, delivering the envelope with the new enlargement as well as the box with the exhibits.
After a moment of hesitation, Stefania put the box in a cabinet, which she then locked. She would have to take everything to the archive and warehouse, where she would sign a receipt and write on the identification card that they were exhibits pertaining to a case now closed.
She figured she would go to the archive later.
She sat there staring at the yellow envelope containing the photos, without opening it. She knew its contents by heart. At that moment there was probably another box, she thought, the one with Karl Dressler’s remains, traveling across Europe on its way to Geneva. The authorization for the expatriation had been signed directly by Assistant Prosecutor Arisi. The soldier’s mortal remains would rest, after a brief funeral oration, with those of the colonel. She liked to think that the colonel’s sword would be laid down beside the young man’s body. Provided, of course, that someone didn’t suddenly appear to claim the soldier’s corpse.
She shut the folder and dialed an internal number.
“Lucchesi? Piras? Are you there?”
“I’m here, Inspector. Lucchesi’s out on patrol.”
“Did you do what I asked you to do?”
“Yes, Inspector.”
“And?”
“This Maria Cappelletti left Lanzo in 1947. She was still alive at the time.”
“Well, that’s certainly news. Do we know anything else, such as where she moved to?”
“To Bergamo province. I wrote the name of the place down—at any rate, the Lanzo station is supposed to send us a fax.”
“Yes, but did you check at the city hall of the town she moved to whether they know if she’s still alive and, if so, where she lives?”
“We sent the request through the Carabinieri station there.”
“Good. When the fax arrives please bring it up to me. I’ll wait for you in my office.”
Piras arrived a few minutes later.
“The place is called Seprio al Monte, Via delle Gere, number seven, in Bergamo province.”
“What else?”
“For everything else we’ll have to wait.”
Stefania shrugged and moved the mouse. She remembered a Web site containing information on every town hall in Italy.
Seprio al Monte, province of Bergamo. An image of a lovely mountain valley appeared on-screen: green meadows, cottages, woods. Snow-capped peaks in the background.
“What a beautiful place!” Piras said behind her.
“Less than half an hour by car from Bergamo. ‘A charming summer holiday destination since the early twentieth century. Local cheese production, woodworking, headquarters of the Istituto Santa Maria della Pietà.’”
She clicked on the image of the institute. An austere white building, square and surrounded by a large pinewood. Small windows all the same.
“It looks like a boarding school,” said Piras.
“Or a summer vacation colony. Actually it’s a kind of hospital. An accredited psychiatric institution. Treatment, rehabilitation, and long-term hospitalization. Operational psychogeriatric unit.”
“Kind of a loony bin,” her colleague commented.
Stefania kept staring at the image of the building, trying to recall where she had earlier heard that name mentioned.
Santa Maria della Pietà, near Bergamo.
“Battista!” she exclaimed. That’s where she’d heard it.
“Battista?”
“Yes, the very same Battista Cappelletti, twenty-seven years old, handicapped. You yourself brought me the paper with all those names on it.”
Piras remained silent.
Stefania reopened the green folder and looked at the latest documents.
“Here it is,” she said, pointing to a few lines with her forefinger. “Battista was interned at that institute in 1947. It’s a clinic for the mentally ill.”
She moved the mouse again and did a double click.
“Perfect: Via delle Gere, number seven. When Maria Cappelletti left Lanzo, this is where she came to stay.”
“Was she crazy, too?”
“Let’s hope not,” Stefania said, smiling.
It took the rest of her mo
rning to talk to the owner, manager, two supervisors, and four salesgirls from the clothing store. Naturally nobody had seen or noticed anything unusual. The fires were set at night.
A waste of time, thought Stefania. She was distracted and in a bad mood, and above all was waiting impatiently for news from Lanzo. She prayed that Maria was still alive.
It seemed strange to her that the big strong girl from the photos could end up in a psychiatric institute like her brother. She must be a good eighty-five years old by now, she thought.
In the early afternoon she dashed over to the prosecutors’ offices. By three she was back at her desk. While discussing the morning’s interrogations with Carboni, her cell phone rang.
“Inspector, we have a call from the Carabinieri station at Seprio al Monte.”
Stefania immediately noticed Carboni’s inquisitive expression.
“Piras, I’m busy with the chief. We can talk later.”
“But, Inspector, you said it was urgent, and so I put a rush on it.”
Stefania quickly hung up before Piras could say anything else. Then, with a nonchalant air, she turned to Carboni.
“So, as I was saying,” she said, “in my opinion we should check the bank accounts of the company with which the stores are affiliated and possibly look into phone taps and bugs in some of the rooms.”
“Is there a problem, Valenti?” Carboni asked, raising an eyebrow.
Stefania put on an innocent face and pretended not to understand the question.
“Well, yes, of course there’s a problem. I didn’t expect them to cooperate so readily. It’s clear they fear even worse developments. They’re afraid that people might find out they talked to us. But by checking the accounts we might be able to tell straight off whether it’s a case of the racket or loan sharking.”
Carboni still looked at her inquisitively. Stefania decided to cut things short.
“You should evaluate the situation with the prosecutor and let me know what actions I should take. I’ll be in my office.”
“Yes, but you keep me informed. Constantly. On everything. Got that, Valenti?”
“Constantly informed, sir, you can count on it.”
She said good-bye and dashed out before Carboni could reply. As soon as she was outside in the hallway, she heaved a sigh of relief. If Piras had pronounced the name Cappelletti there would have been hell to pay for everyone. Carboni, who had a world of experience and was well familiar with her stubbornness, seemed suspicious. She rushed upstairs and went straight to Piras. In the meantime Lucchesi had returned, and the two were chatting animatedly.
“Okay, tell me everything,” she said to Piras.
“We got the information we wanted. Maria Cappelletti is still alive and indeed lives at Via delle Gere, number seven, in that place we saw earlier on your computer.”
“And?”
“They told me over the phone that Maria Cappelletti is a nun. Everybody knows her there. She’s a kind of mother superior or something like that. And apparently, despite her age, she’s still very much with it and runs a tight ship.”
“I’m not surprised. That’s how she was when she was young, and she was only some kind of nurse.”
“Why, do you know her?”
“Hell, yes, I was a nurse back then, too!”
Lucchesi elbowed him, but Piras remained unruffled.
“Very well,” Stefania continued, “now get me the phone number of that institute. And you, Lucchesi, how did you make out with Signora Durand?”
“That guy Armando came out, nice guy, actually, and he said that the signora had already spoken to you and that she’d already given you all the information she had on the case. He added that in any event, from now on, if we want anything from her, we should contact her lawyer in Milan.”
“Message received. We’ll start by hearing out Sister Maria and we’ll deal with Madame later. I may very well take tomorrow afternoon off and go to Bergamo, if everything’s calm here. Or maybe Saturday morning. I should still have some vacation days left over from last year. Okay, guys, I’ll be in my office. Keep me posted.”
She’d just sat down at her desk with the idea of lighting a Muratti when there was a knock at the door. It was Lucchesi.
“Inspector, I wrote down the number of the institute for you here.”
“Thanks. I’ll try to call now.”
She dialed the number and listened to the recorded message, which told her to wait so as not to lose her place in line. Lucchesi was still standing in front of her desk.
“Thanks, Lucchesi, you can go now.”
The young man seemed undecided and kept fumbling with the piece of paper in his hands.
“Is there a problem, Inspector?”
Stefania looked at him in surprise for a moment, then smiled. He was a smart kid.
“No, Antonio. But this phase of the investigation has to be kept under wraps, so to speak. No uniforms or squad cars, and use only the utmost discretion, at least until things become a little clearer. Do you understand?”
“I think so. But if you need me for anything—I mean, if you need us for anything—me or Piras, that is—we’re here. We’ve already talked about it, and we’re in agreement.”
Stefania kept looking at him.
“Thanks. And please thank Piras for me. I know I can count on you, and I know you’re good kids, but, believe me, for the moment it’s better if I handle this alone. I can’t get the two of you involved in a case that’s been officially closed. Mum’s the word with Carboni, I mean it.”
She couldn’t quite find the right words.
“In cases like this, I answer only to my conscience, first and foremost. But I can’t ask you guys to take any risks. Thanks, anyway, both of you.”
“As you prefer. At any rate, just remember we’re always here, at all times. We’ve also got some vacation time left over.”
“I’ll remember that. Thank you both.”
She watched him go out and close the door behind him.
They were good kids.
The neutral voice of the institute’s switchboard operator interrupted her thoughts.
“Santa Maria Institute, good morning. How can I help you?”
“Good morning. This is Dr. Valenti, and I’m calling from Como. I’d like to speak with Sister Maria Cappelletti, please.”
“I’ll put you through to her secretary. Please stay on the line.”
She stayed on the line.
“I’m sorry, who did you say you were?”
“Dr. Valenti.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I’m calling for the first time.”
“All right, please wait just a minute.”
She waited several minutes.
“Doctor, our relations with physicians are conducted directly through our health manager. Let me put you through to management.”
“I’m not a medical doctor. I’m a police inspector. And I would like to speak directly with Sister Maria Cappelletti.”
“I’m sorry, Inspector, I misunderstood.”
Stefania was starting to lose her patience.
“Hello, Inspector, I’m Sister Carla. The mother superior is busy at the moment, could I take a message?”
“No, I’m sorry. It’s a strictly personal matter. Please tell your mother superior that I need to ask her some questions about her sister Margherita Cappelletti. It would be preferable if we could meet in person.”
“I’ll let her know. Just another moment, please.”
This time the pause was very brief.
“Would Monday at two thirty P.M. be all right?”
“Are you ready to trek?” asked Stefania.
“Ready as ever. The day’s off to a pretty good start, I think.”
“Between the cappuccino and
the tart, we’ve got a full tank of calories. We’re ready for the expedition.”
“It was worth it, wasn’t it? That apple tart just out of the oven was a pure delight, to say nothing of the barchette with whipped cream.”
“I didn’t know you were such a glutton, Luca. Though it’s true, it’s impossible to resist the pastries of the Pasticceria Manzoni.”
“So where are we going?”
“At the moment, we’re going to the lakeshore, to smoke a cigarette.”
“Excellent idea. And then what?”
“A stroll back in time, by the lake.”
“When you put it that way, it sounds a little lugubrious.”
Valli laughed, then they both laughed.
Stefania felt in a good mood, as light as a feather. Valli had that sort of effect on her. Rather like when, as a little girl, on a summer morning when it was still cool outside, she was about to go out on an excursion or a hike in the mountains. She had always loved to walk, to run ahead of everyone else, in shorts and gym shoes and a backpack on her back.
After getting into Stefania’s car, they took the Regina road towards Tremezzo, leaving the village of Menaggio behind. Out the car window, Bellagio looked within reach, with Punta Spartivento drawing the center line of the lake. Stefania could make out the silhouette of Villa Melzi and headed straight towards La Tramezzina. The riverboat Milano, packed with tourists, was going in the same direction as them.
She drove past Griante and the pink turret rising above the lake; the Hotel Bellevue and the banners of the Grand Hotel Tramezzo were where they’d always been, besieged, like every summer, by British tourists. The old Anglican church and Villa Carlotta, which at that time were looking their best with their azaleas in bloom, were among the favorite destinations of the English. But Stefania greatly preferred the mysterious Villa Sola in Bolvedro, with its imposing gate and sumptuous façade of an ivory, almost unreal white, guaranteed to stir wonder in anyone who saw it for the first time.
Shadows on the Lake Page 18
