The Discordant Note

by Claudio Ruggeri

  “No, I got it; was he German, right?”.

  “Yes, Piazza, though he lived in Italy at least fifteen or twenty years, you should be able to find something to work with”.

  “I see, Commissioner, I will keep you updated then”.

  “Okay, Piazza”.

  At that point, Germano closed his cell phone and took the way up to the first floor of the house but was suddenly stopped by Parisi, when he was already halfway up the flight of stairs; the inspector, indeed, had already completed much of the work of research there and suggested to the commissioner not to spend more time up there, at least not for the moment; they already seemed to have enough on their plate, indeed.

  The group of police officers, consisting of Germano, Parisi, Venditti and Inspector Di Girolamo, reached the house gate and then walked towards the commissioner’s dwelling; after closing the door behind them and placing the various objects they had taken from Ralf Brandenburg’s room on the table, Germano’s team began to inspect them one by one.

  The first thing that jumped to the eye of the commissioner was the incredible amount of correspondence that the Master received and, therefore, sent.

  Germano remembered he had thought before that such an amount could have been more than ten years of private communications that a single person normally receives; instead, according to the dates given on postage, those two or three hundred letters were at most a couple of years old.

  The letters came mainly from Italy, except for a few greeting cards sent from the United States and some handwritten letters from Germany.

  Germano picked the five letters in German and verified that the sender was always the same, a woman called Corinna; the calligraphy denoted the young age of the girl.

  The commissioner started to update its notebook with some of the latest information but was distracted by Inspector Parisi.

  “Found anything, Vincent?”.

  “Maybe, some of these letters, five to be specific, were written in German and the writer is a woman named Corinna; I think she must be quite young”.

  “I see ... do you think we should bring them to the station?”.

  “Definitively, Angelo; meanwhile, also ask the headquarters to send us an interpreter of German, I'm curious to know what they say”.

  “Okay”.

  “What about you?”.

  The first to answer was Inspector Di Girolamo.

  “Nothing special, Commissioner, a lot of formal correspondence, exchange cards, contracts and agreements, and even some letters from admirers who must have thought that the best way to express their feelings was to write him a letter”.

  “Okay, Giulio, keep the letters from admirers, they could turn out to be useful”.

  “Okay ...”.

  “Something's wrong, Giulio?”.

  “No, no, Commissioner, I was just thinking that there are people who have never, and never will receive a love letter, and others, even if they are no longer so young as this Ralf Brandenburg, who instead receives many of them every month”.

  “What can I say ... I would not put myself in the philosopher’s shoes ... but I think we should not be surprised if someone like the Master Brandenburg, despite having nearly sixty years, receives these letters; you see, Giulio ... we are compelled, for the work we do, having to be in contact every day with sadness and meanness of the human being, but it does not happen only to us; others, in everyday life, indeed, encounter and are forced to see the superficiality, cunning, hypocrisy and even worse, so then when you meet a person like Brandenburg, you can’t help to be fascinated, this holds true especially for women”.

  “Maybe, Commissioner, it happens only because of the fame that surrounds characters like him ...”.

  “I can’t be sure but ... I do not think that this kind of people, commonly known as artists, are able to move thousands of people only with their music, their movies or because of what they write; I think instead that they are able to do it in everyday life as well, which is, perhaps, the reason why it is so hard to forget them ... however ... we should go back to work, now ... you Venditti? Have you found anything relevant?”.

  “No, Commissioner, just some letters of the same kind of those found by Di Girolamo; however, I’ll keep trying”.

  “Good”.

  The research of the four men went on for another thirty minutes until, glancing at his watch, Germano realized that the lunch hour was long past; he instantly suspended the work and walked into the kitchen to see if there was still something left of his meal the night before.

  The search was, unfortunately, in vain. With the thirty-five degrees in the shade, in that early afternoon of July, having a batch of fried vegetable for lunch was not exactly the best thing; the commissioner, however, resigned to the fact and convinced himself that in the end that was better than nothing. The four, then, began to fill their mouth with stuffed olives and rice balls without protesting too much.

  Inspector Parisi’s eye fell on a 20x15 white envelope, and he decided to show it immediately to Germano.

  “What's wrong with it, Angelo?”.

  “Take a good look inside this envelope, Vincent ... I found only two letters in it, but if you look carefully just the way it is warped ...”.

  “Yeah ... it seems that it contained more than the two letters you found, are you sure you haven’t drop anything in the carry from the Master’s home to my table?”.

  “One hundred per cent sure, Vincent; I even had to remove a paper clip that held it tightly sealed, to see its content, two minutes ago”.

  “I see ... you've already prepared the paper clip to be sent to the scientific department, right?”.

  “Of course, Vincent”.

  “Well, I was leafing through what appeared to be Brandenburg Ralf’s agenda, you see ... he used to write down the things he had to do during the day and the time of the lessons, but nothing more; however, let’s take this to the station as well, without sending it to the scientific department though”.

  “It will be done, Vincent”.

  The verification work ended shortly before five in the afternoon; Germano and his men gathered everything that was useful to the investigation, small thing to be honest, and headed back to the police station, where another series of already planned activities were waiting for them.

  Upon their arrival, they found Inspector Gianni Piazza already dealing with the analysis of the Master’s printout and correspondence by e-mail; the shrug with which he received them meant that, at least for the moment, there was nothing so important for the investigation to be shared with others.

  In addition to Piazza, they found Marco Farina, the gardener who did the call to the police station and now, as asked by Germano, was there to make his formal deposition; about this matter, Inspector Di Girolamo told the gardener to follow him in his office where he would have handled administrative tasks.

  Parisi and Germano, on the other hand, headed to the commissioner’s office, in order to start and make the first hypothesis about the case.

  Before starting the conversation, the commissioner remembered he had to make a phone call; that’s why, after looking inside of his phone book, he picked up the phone and dialed a number; the communication immediately seemed too disturbed.

  “Hello”.

  “Do you hear me, Ferrucci?”.

  “Not that clear ... who is it?”.

  “It’s Vincent Germano, I need ...”.

  “Look ... the condominium meeting has been moved to the end of the month because of unavoidable commitments that I had”.

  “Ferrucci? I'm not calling you because of the condominium but as Commissioner ...”.

  “Ah ... Any problem in sending the shares?”.

  “Not that I know, however, the point here is not whether you are able to do your job as building administrator or not ... a very sad thing happened this morning and I need the recording from the camera that was installed at the beginning of the road, the driveway to the residence, I mean”. />
  “I understand ... The company Fossi & Sons is dealing with it, you should ask them”.

  “Listen, Ferrucci ... this morning, Master Brandenburg was murdered, I do not have time to go to this Fossi, you call him, tell him to prepare the video and tell him to come to the police station; on his arrival, Fossi will find all the permissions of the Judicial Authority for that video, is that clear?”.

  “For God's sake ... You should give me a few minutes, Commissioner ...”.

  “Excuse me, but where the hell are you?”.

  “I am in Sardinia with some friends of mine, at the helm of a small boat”.

  “I see ...”.

  “The boat is not mine, Commissioner, however, I ...”.

  “Well, for one who always acts the poor-mouth like you do, a boat, indeed, seemed too much to me”.

  “My friends own it, however ...”.

  “For God's sake! Take that damn ship to the port and contact your representative to Fossi & Sons, tell him to let me have that video as soon as possible, end of story”.

  “It will be done, Commissioner”.

  “I hope so”.

  After closing the phone in a discouraged way, Germano told his colleague Parisi about the phone called he just had; he was about to add something when he was interrupted by someone knocking on the door.

  The commissioner invited Agent Fiorini to enter and make them aware of what was happening.

  “The interpreter’s here, Commissioner”.

  “Well, then, Angelo go with him into your office and show him everything we have, if he asked for a copy of the letters to examine them later, just allow him to make a copy, but hold the original”.

  “Okay, Vincent, I’ll come back downstairs later and let you know something more”.

  “Okay, see you later then”.

  After that Inspector Parisi and Agent Fiorini left, the commissioner was left nothing to do but wait, something that he did not like that much, to be honest, but that he found himself forced to do.

  He thought of soliciting Silvestri to have some anticipation about autopsy but he gave up, preferring to take advantage of that quiet moment to arrange his notes and add the latest information, in an attempt, unfortunately useless, to try to make sense of the murder.

  At the end, tiredness had the upper hand, the same weariness that Germano had tried to lighten that morning, before the murder of Brandenburg Ralf forced him to go back to work.

  When they knocked on the door, the commissioner wanted to look at the clock before uttering a single word, it was nearly seven o'clock in the evening and that meant that he had been asleep leaning against his chair for more than an hour.

  “Come in”.

  Inspector Piazza did not need to hear twice and went in; after a rather eloquent glance, Germano settled without much preamble.

  “The thing is getting bad, Commissioner ...”.

  “Damn bitch ... what happened, Piazza?”.

  “I’ve been going over the victim’s printouts with a toothcomb for hours now, without getting nowhere; he never used the phone, actually, the only calls he received in the last three months, they were form the customer service of the telephone company, calls that lasted, however, less than ten seconds”.

  “Master Brandenburg was an old-fashioned man ...”.

  “A little bit too much, Commissioner ...he never used his mailbox”.

  “Well ... listen, broaden the search to the last six months ... no, it’s better to the whole last year, you must find something ...”.

  “Okay, I'll try”.

  “Let me know immediately, Piazza, just in case there was any news”.

  “You can count on it, Commissioner”.

  Germano, sensing how the ongoing investigation was not that easy at all, passed his hand across his forehead in the hope that some idea did peep out, but the only thing who actually did peep out was instead Inspector Parisi, who took the place that Piazza had left some minutes before, sitting on one of the chairs facing the commissioner’s desk.

  “What news do you have, Angelo?”.

  “I found something ... the interpreter told me that he thought those letters were written by a person who was both very fond of the old Master but from which, however, wanted to keep some distance, I have here a copy of some sentences translated by the interpreter, Vincent ... give it a look”.

  What could have been but it was not ... the things that come back are not always forever ... our recent meetings ... not to lose something that has been refund after you thought you lost it ...

  After reading some of the phrases that the interpreter had been able to translate on the spot, Germano asked that the letters were fully translated; in the meantime he would have tried to discover the identity of the sender; the woman who signed them with the name of Corinna had to be traced.

  “One more thing, Vincent ... the letters came from Monaco, all of them, the stamp of the German post office was still readable and the interpreter has confirmed to me that they were sent right from Bavaria”.

  “I understand”.

  “What are we doing now?”.

  “We’ll call both Lufthansa and Alitalia, to see if the Master took one of their planes during the last year”.

  “Okay, Vincent”.

  Germano was about to add something when he was interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

  “Hello”.

  “Hi, Commissioner, it’s Silvestri”.

  “Hello, Doctor, tell me everything”.

  “I’m calling to confirm what I had already anticipated a few hours ago, the murder weapon was a broom handle, the shards of a particular type of wood that is used to make broomsticks that I’ve found near the wound it’s a proof to me”.

  “I understand, what about the rest?”.

  “Nothing to add, the victim had not been drugged, he had not been drinking, from what I know, the Master had not even had breakfast, or had eaten something, but very early this morning”.

  “The time of death?”.

  “About ten o'clock, you will receive my report with all the details later”.

  “Thank you, Silvestri, see you soon”.

  “Seeing you soon, Commissioner, is not a good wish ...”.

  “Do what you want, Silvestri, read the thing as you like, have a good day”.

  On hearing those last words, Parisi could not refrain to laugh.

  “Why are you laughing, Angelo?”.

  “Because Silvestri must have said one of his crap”.

  “You guessed right ... but in addition to its proverbial shit, he has also confirmed that to kill the Master was a broomstick”.

  “Okay, then, I will say to the men who are still in the house to look carefully for it; did Silvestri tell you something about the time of death?”.

  “Ten, ten o’clock in the morning ... then, trying to recap, no signs of violation were found ... and the Master seems to have been struck from behind, by a person he surely knew, and he trusted”.

  “Then, it won’t be difficult to find it, Vincent ...”.

  “I would not be that sure ... Piazza came to me some minutes ago, he was going crazy trying to find something useful among the Master’s contacts”.

  “How many will ever be?”.

  “The problem is all here, Angelo, the only way that Brandenburg used to communicate seems to be the letters, not phone nor e- mail”.

  “Um ...”.

  “We have to look at all those hundreds of letters one by one, sentence by sentence and even try to read between the lines”.

  “I really need to start to get organized, then; I would need at least Venditti and Di Girolamo to accelerate a little bit all the work we have to do...”.

  “Okay, Angelo, ask their help as soon as you see them, and start as soon as possible”.

  The last sentence of the commissioner was interrupted by a knock on his door, a very harassing one.

  “Come in”.

  The man who had been commissioned by t
he Fossi & Sons to deliver the video with footage from that morning, showed up the two policemen.

  He handed a DVD and, after having briefly explained how it worked, he turned and started to leave, but he was stopped by the commissioner.

  “Don’t you want these?”.

  “What, sir?”.

  “The permissions for the video ...”.

  “Ah ... I did not think they were ready, my boss told me that we would have to wait for weeks to get them ...”.

  “Here they are, instead ...listen, give me your phone number and your boss’, in case we still need you”.

  “Sure”.

  The boy wrote several numbers on a piece of paper and after giving it to Germano, he took his leave.

  The commissioner put it into his personal agenda after a quick glance, and then returned immediately to focus on Parisi.

  “Have you heard, Angelo, how you should use this?”.

  “Forget about that, Vincent, while he was speaking I was more intent to try and understand if he was only polite in giving us all the information or maybe he considered us two old stoned unable to have anything to do with technology”.

  “Maybe the first one, or maybe not ... anyway, let's see what it is”.

  The two policemen settled the DVD in the player and began to scroll through the images; the first few hours of the night were sieved on a fairly superficial way, both because they were not the ones they had to bet their attention on, and because, after all, the darkness made it almost impossible to distinguish any object or shape.

  With the dawn, the images became cleaner; the small camera installed at the beginning of the avenue, clearly showed indeed, the arrival of the van of a freight forwarder and that one of the garbage compactor.

  From this moment on, Germano reduced speed of scrolling until it is almost back to normal; Parisi, meanwhile, was nervously filling his notebook with any kind of information those images could provide, such as parts of license plate numbers of vehicles or clothing and characteristics of people who did not seem to be passing there by chance.

  The search went on for over two hours, in which the only noteworthy thing that they saw was a couple greeting each other warmly before going away from the visual field.

  The commissioner also discovered why his own correspondence often ended up in the mailbox of his neighbor; in a section of the video, indeed, he could clearly see the postman while resting comfortably on the scooter given to him by the company he worked for, preparing and smoking what seemed nothing but a joint.