by Marco Vichi
‘And what about the fat guy? Did he give you work?’
‘Of course, and he doubled our pay, just like he promised.’
‘And what about the unfinished building? What happened to it?’
‘It’s still there, the same way we left it, Inspector … It’s become a legend.’
‘What’ve you got for a second course, Totò?’
‘Grilled mullet or fried sea bass.’
‘Let’s have the mullet.’
Totò went and threw four mullets on the grill and came back to drink his wine.
‘You know, I really ought to be going back home for a visit, Inspector. My grandmother’s not doing so well … But how can I leave Cesare without a cook?’
‘You’ve got a problem on your hands,’ said Bordelli, who was already percolating a solution.
‘I’d only need two or three days, just to put in an appearance.’
‘Well, if you’re interested, I’ve got a friend who could possibly fill in for you while you’re away.’
‘You really mean that?’ said Totó, coming closer.
‘Absolutely. He’s a very good cook.’
‘And who is he?’
‘His name’s Bottarini, but his friends call him Botta.’
‘And has this man ever worked in a restaurant?’
‘I don’t think so, but I assure you he’s very good.’
Totò gave a sneer of superiority.
‘Cooking for three hundred people’s not the same as cooking for three, Inspector.’
‘He could manage, I’m sure of it.’
‘If you say so,’ said the cook with a sceptical expression, wiping his hands on his apron. He seemed a little jealous.
‘I was just trying to do you a favour. If you don’t feel like it, then …’ said Bordelli.
The cook sighed with conceit and went to turn the mullets, brow furrowed. He let them cook for another minute, basting them with a sauce of mostly olive oil, then put them on a plate which he brought over to the inspector. He was acting somewhat strangely.
‘Tell your friend to come and see me one of these days. I’d like to ask him some questions first,’ he said, looking very serious.
‘All right,’ said Bordelli, amused by Totó’s professorial attitude.
The mullets were superb, and the wine went down like water. The cook refilled his own glass to the brim and knocked it back in one gulp before refilling it again.
‘To change the subject … When the hell are you going to catch this bloody killer, Inspector?’ he said rather vehemently.
‘Soon, Totó, I’ll catch him soon,’ said Bordelli, ignoring the provocation. He had a fishbone stuck between the teeth at the back of his mouth and couldn’t manage to dislodge it.
At about half past two the inspector rang Levi’s buzzer. He wanted to have a little chat with him, but he also hoped to see Milena again. The sun was high in the sky and there wasn’t a cloud to be seen. It was rather hot.
Levi greeted him with a smile, as if expecting this visit, and saw him into the usual room. Through the open window one could see diagonal bands of sunlight across the façade of the building across the street.
‘Did you like the little joke I played on you after my last visit, Dr Levi?’
‘Most amusing … Will you have a drink?’
‘The usual, thanks.’
Levi filled two glasses with Hennessy, handed one to Bordelli and left the other on the table.
‘Dr Levi, why did you lie to me?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m talking about Karl Strüffen.’
Levi closed his eyes and gave one of his smiles, but it was clear that Bordelli’s words had hit home. Despite the hour, he picked up his glass from the table and calmly took a gulp of cognac.
‘My compliments, Bordelli. How did you arrive at that conclusion?’
‘With a bit of luck,’ said the inspector, shrugging his shoulders in modesty.
‘And what will you do now?’ asked Levi, frowning slightly. He looked anything but serene.
‘I want Strüffen,’ said Bordelli.
‘He’s run away, you know’
‘I figured as much. That’s why I’m here.’
Levi shook his head.
‘Why do you want him? Karl Strüffen has already been convicted.’
‘A friend of mine lost his life in this affair, and I have good reason to believe it was your Nazi who killed him … Do you know anything about this?’
‘Inspector, we hardly spend all our time prowling around the villa, as some others do … We’ve known for some time that he’s there. We need only find the right way to get inside the villa, without making any mistakes. But now you and your friend have got mixed up in this, and you’ve made some noise … And our man has flown away.’
‘We’ve all been unlucky.’
‘I’m sorry, Bordelli, but the Strüffen dossier is our prerogative.’
‘And I know what that means, Dr Levi. But I want him alive. He must be tried for the murder of Casimiro Robetti.’
Levi looked him long in the eye, no hint of a smile on his lips any more.
‘Let us do our work, Bordelli. We got here first. It was hard tracking down Strüffen. We succeeded only a short time ago, after years of searching … And now he’s escaped again. He can’t have gone very far, however. We’ll find him again soon, and this time—’
At that moment a door opened, and Goldberg stuck his head inside. He said something to Levi in Hebrew, casting an untroubled glance at Bordelli.
‘Excuse me just a moment, Inspector.’
‘By all means.’
Levi left the room, closing the door behind him. Bordelli lit a cigarette and leaned back on the sofa. He was trying to think of how he might persuade Levi to turn Karl Strüffen over to him, though he didn’t have much hope.
The door opened again and Milena came in. The mass of hair round her head looked like a cluster of snakes. She was beautiful, but that was not all. She had luminous eyes, and a gaze full of secrets.
‘Hello, Inspector.’
Bordelli stood up with a smile and shook her slender, warm hand. He liked this woman very much, more than he could ever remember liking another. He knew Levi would be back before long, so he didn’t want to let slip this opportunity. He took a deep breath, to summon the courage to speak.
‘I’m sorry to ask you this way, Milena, but I don’t think I have much time … What are you doing tomorrow evening?’ he asked, blushing slightly. She looked at him in wonder.
‘I’m dining with you, didn’t you know?’
‘Of course, how silly of me,’ said Bordelli, beginning to breathe more easily.
‘Nine o’clock, in front of the Giubbe Rosse, Inspector?’
‘I’ll be there,’ said Bordelli, his cheeks hot.
They heard some footsteps, the door opened, and Levi returned. He looked at Milena.
‘Could you let us have a moment alone?’ he asked her.
‘Of course … Come back soon, Inspector,’ she said, walking away. When she was at the door, she turned and said to Levi:
‘I’m dining out tomorrow evening.’
‘You didn’t tell me,’ said Levi, almost resentfully.
‘I just need a little peace and quiet. I work so hard all day.’
‘A man?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Milena. She left the room, closing the door behind her. Bordelli coughed into his fist, embarrassed. Levi sighed and sat down, fixing his eyes on Bordelli.
‘And what about Miss Olga?’ the inspector enquired with apparent interest, to turn their attention away from Milena.
‘Have you met the woman?’ Levi asked with some surprise.
‘It was love at first sight.’
‘Fräulein Olga disappeared a few days after Karl Strüffen did. She stayed on a short while at the villa, probably on orders from her master, to see if she could understand what was going on.’
‘Who is she?’
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‘A former mistress of Strüffen who has remained true to the old legend. She’s of no interest to us.’
‘Nor to me. I want Strüffen.’
‘That’s asking too much, Bordelli. You’re well familiar with our principles and methods,’ said Levi, pouring himself some more cognac. He seemed nervous.
‘Strüffen must stand trial for murdering my friend …’
‘Karl Strüffen was already sentenced at Nuremberg, Inspector. Why do you want him only to serve a life sentence?’
‘I want him to bear the responsibility for this crime as well. Casimiro has as much right to justice as everyone else … Afterwards, you can do whatever you like with Strüffen,’ said Bordelli.
‘How can you be so sure it was our man who killed your friend?’
‘Because I can put two and two together.’
‘Care to tell me about it?’
‘Why should I?’
‘It could be useful to us … Don’t you feel like it?’
‘No, but I’ll do it anyway.’
Bordelli calmly lit a cigarette and started telling the story in detail, as he had managed to reconstruct it by piecing together the facts available to him.
‘One night Casimiro went walking through an olive grove at Fiesole, looking for some cabbage to steal. He saw a man lying on the ground and thought he was dead. He came running to get me, but when we went back together the man was gone … To your knowledge, does Strüffen have anyone living there with him in the villa, aside from Miss Olga?’
‘He’s called Rudolph, a former soldier of his,’ said Levi, seeming quite interested.
Bordelli smiled and resumed his conjectures.
‘In all likelihood, that evening Rudolph got tired of spending all his time shut up inside the villa like a prisoner, and so he grabbed a bottle of good cognac and went out for a walk in the olive grove … He drank a lot, fell to the ground, stinking drunk, split his lip and started bleeding. That was the state he was in when he was seen by Casimiro, who then came running to me. A short while later, our Rudolph wakes up – perhaps summoned by Strüffen – and goes back inside the villa, unaware that Casimiro has seen him. Then we arrive, and at a certain point a Doberman with a mouth like a shark comes out, headed straight for us, but luckily I’m able to get off a shot and kill it. I’m convinced the dog was Strüffen’s.’
‘Yes, it was his,’ said Levi, refilling the glasses with cognac. Bordelli made a gesture of thanks and took a long sip before resuming his account.
‘I’m also convinced that it was a stupid accident. Strüffen must live in perpetual fear of being discovered, and it certainly was not in his interest to draw any attention to that villa. The dog must have slipped out of an open gate, or through a hole in the wall …’
‘I agree,’ said Levi.
‘Casimiro and I left a few minutes later. As we were descending towards town, for no particular reason, I turned the car round just before San Domenico and headed back up. When I got back there, the dog’s carcass was already gone. Most likely Strüffen had heard the gunshot, come outside to check, seen the dead dog and decided to remove it, possibly thinking there might be trouble if anybody found it. As I was looking around, I suddenly heard a sound and hid. And, without being seen, I saw Struffen look out over the stone balustrade in the garden, probably just to make sure there wasn’t anyone prowling about below … But at that moment I didn’t recognise him …’
‘You hadn’t told me that,’ said Levi, seeming offended.
‘I don’t think the Dove has been any more talkative than I’ve been,’ said Bordelli.
‘You know very well how we work.’
‘Well, the same goes for me.’
‘And what happened next?’ asked Levi, curious.
‘I went and rang the bell at the gate and had the pleasure of meeting Miss Olga … But I don’t think the valiant Karl Strüffen was too worried about my visit. To him I was only a pain-in-the-arse cop who had landed there by chance, and he was absolutely right. But I’m certain that in the days that followed, he kept the area around the house under strict surveillance, just to be sure … I myself would have done the same.’
‘So would I,’ said Levi.
‘For everything that happened after that, I can only conjecture,’ said Bordelli, throwing up his hands.
‘Of course …’ said Levi. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, as I imagine it, one evening Strüffen catches Casimiro prowling about the place and, pretending to be friendly, invites him to dine at the villa. He stuffs him with food and wine to get him to talk and, without too much trouble, even manages to make him say where he lives. Whatever Casimiro may have said, Strüffen surely realised that this had nothing to do with his Nazi past and was only a strange coincidence. But, given his situation, he couldn’t afford to let a witness go. And so he killed the dwarf and got rid of his bicycle. He could have buried Casimiro’s body in a field up there around Fiesole, and nobody would ever have found it. Instead he ordered Rudolph to wrap it up well and pack it into a suitcase and take this to Casimiro’s own home … And that’s what I can’t understand …’
‘Nor I, frankly … But I’m not too worried about it, since I can’t understand why Strüffen tortured Jewish children, either,’ said Levi, cold as ice. The inspector nodded.
‘He must have had his reasons … Whatever the case, if Casimiro confessed that he was spying on the villa for the police, then, whether the body was found or not, Strüffen could have imagined that sooner or later someone would come and check on the villa. And so, just to be safe, after killing Casimiro he decided he needed a little change of scene for a while … and, without even realising it, he escaped just as the White Dove was about to put salt on his tail.’
‘He won’t get away next time,’ said Levi.
‘That depends,’ said Bordelli.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Listen to me, Levi. Strüffen almost certainly fled only because he feared being discovered purely by chance, because of a Doberman and a silly dwarf who liked to play cop … And he probably just went for a long walk in the mountains or in some village not too far away from here. But if he knew that the White Dove was after him … well, I think he would get all the gods of the Third Reich moving and flee to the moon if he could, and he might even succeed in staying away for a very long time, if not for ever … What do you think?’
‘What is your point?’ Levi asked, staring at him.
Bordelli gave a roguish smile.
‘If you don’t let me have Strüffen, I will spread the news that the White Dove is on his tail, which should make a pretty fair mess of things for you.’
Levi’s eyes flashed with fear, but he quickly recovered and returned the inspector’s smile. He filled the glasses yet again, and took a sip of cognac.
‘All right, then, you’ll have your Strüffen … but on one condition,’ he said.
‘And what would that be?’
‘Let us work in peace until we find him … It won’t take long.’
‘Do I have your word that you will turn him over to me?’
‘You have my word.’
In his half-sleep the mutterings of the television sounded to him like the shouts of the SS during round-ups, and he started awake, looking for his machine gun. He was greeted by a western starring Gary Cooper and collapsed against the back of the sofa, head swimming with memories. Still groggy with sleep, he started thinking about the monstrosities he’d seen with his own eyes during the war. Old images passed before him like colour slides. They showed not only blood but humiliation and despair. He remembered the moment he’d heard the radio announce the Armistice; he felt the same sense of liberation in his breast he had back then. From the very start of the conflict, a hatred of his Nazi ‘comrades’ had grown within him, inescapably, and only after the 8 September armistice had he felt he was fighting a just and unavoidable war against a sort of disease.
A spectacle he’d witnessed in a southern village
, a few months after the Armistice, came back to him. One morning he and his men had stopped at the top of a hill to spy on the town with their binoculars, and with their own eyes they saw women being raped, children massacred, houses burnt, entire rows of unarmed civilians executed. ‘As soon as it gets dark, we’re going down there,’ Bordelli said to his men. There were ten of them, and they were all in agreement. Counting the hours and minutes, they began to make their way down towards the village the moment the sun set. They descended the slope in silence, faces smeared with mud, Bordelli at the head. His eyes were still full of the things he’d seen that morning, and his arms twitched with a desire to shoot. When they entered the village, they surrounded the elementary school in which the Germans were barricaded. An endless gun battle ensued, and a good number of hand grenades were thrown into the building. Eventually the San Marco squadron managed to enter the school and had to fight with daggers and bare fists to eliminate the last Nazis. When the battle was over, they realised there were no officers among the dead. And yet that morning they had clearly seen them ordering the massacres. They decided to inspect all the classrooms with the utmost caution. Kicking the doors in, one by one, they entered, machine-gun barrels first. At last they found them, huddling in the darkness of a broom closet. There were eight of them, in black uniforms with decorations gleaming. They immediately raised their hands, shading their eyes against the sudden blinding light. Muttering between their teeth, faces drawn from fear, they spoke in that accursed tongue of theirs, asking perhaps for fair treatment … Then one of them whispered in terror: ‘Sammarko!’ The inspector could still see them all before him, eyes dilated and trained on him as if he were a beacon, Commander Bordelli, a San Marco officer with a machine gun in his hand and a bleeding ear. His sleepy memory lined them up for him again like so many Strüffens, all with white hair and a black mark on the neck. He remembered those moments well … The Nazis before him, innocuous as babies, hands on their heads and terror in their faces … He exchanged a look of understanding with his men and, after a few tension-packed moments, he nodded ever so slightly to say: Yes. They didn’t even let them out of the closet. They merely took a step back and fired all at once on that mass of flesh in uniform, firing far more shots than was necessary, thinking of the babies tossed in the air and machine-gunned, looking straight in the faces of those smartly dressed men dancing disjointedly under the impact of the bullets. Blood very quickly covered the floor of the closet, spilled out over the threshold and started dripping down the stairs. The hardest thing was carrying the dead outside; not just the officers, but everyone else. They put them round the public fountain, forming a star. From the spout they hung a sign that said: A GIFT FROM THE SAN MARCO. They left the town at a slow pace, walking down the main street. Behind closed shutters burned the eyes of the few survivors. Peering out from under cover had become a habit for them. Bordelli tried to meet their glances between the slats of the blinds, hoping at least to hear a word. But not so much as a fly moved. At bottom only one thing mattered. The town was now free.
