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  Antonio laughed.

  ‘However,’ Francesca continued, ‘if your plan was simply to ask me out for a drink after I get off work this evening, I might just say yes.’

  ‘Was it that obvious?’ Antonio asked.

  ‘Why don’t we meet at Lucio’s around six?’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ said Antonio as he turned to leave.

  ‘Don’t forget your toothpaste, Lieutenant.’

  * * *

  When Antonio turned up at the police station, there was a large, burly man wearing a long white coat and a blue-and-white striped apron waiting for him outside the front door.

  ‘Good morning, Inspector. My name is Umberto Cattaneo.’

  ‘Lieutenant, Signor Cattaneo,’ corrected Antonio.

  ‘I feel confident, Lieutenant, that promotion will not be far away when you hear what I have to tell you.’

  ‘Please don’t tell me you killed the mayor?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said the butcher as he lowered his voice. ‘However, I can tell you who did kill Lombardi.’

  At last, an informer, thought Antonio. He unlocked the door to the station and led Cattaneo through to his little office.

  ‘But before I let you know who the murderer is,’ continued Cattaneo as he sat down, ‘I need to be sure that it won’t be traced back to me.’

  ‘You have my word on that,’ said Antonio, opening his notepad. ‘That’s assuming we won’t need you to act as a witness when the case comes to trial.’

  ‘You won’t need a witness,’ said Cattaneo, ‘because I can tell you where the gun is buried.’

  Antonio snapped his notepad shut, and let out a deep sigh.

  ‘But I haven’t even told you who the murderer is,’ Cattaneo protested.

  ‘You needn’t bother, Signor Cattaneo, because Lombardi wasn’t shot.’

  ‘But Gian Lucio told me he’d shot him. He even showed me the weapon,’ insisted Cattaneo.

  ‘Before I lock you both up for a couple of days, if for no other reason than to stop any more of you wasting my time, may I ask why you are so willing to get your friend arrested for a crime I can assure you he didn’t commit?’

  ‘Gian Lucio Altana is my oldest and dearest friend,’ protested the butcher.

  ‘Then why accuse him of murder?’

  ‘Because I lost the toss,’ said Cattaneo.

  ‘You lost the toss?’

  ‘Yes, we agreed that whoever won would give himself up and admit that he’d killed the mayor.’

  ‘Then why hasn’t he given himself up?’ said Antonio, unable to hide his frustration.

  ‘Signor De Rosa advised us against that. Said there had been far too many confessions already, and he felt Gian Lucio would have a better chance of being arrested if you thought I was an informer.’

  ‘Just out of interest, Signor Cattaneo,’ said Antonio, ‘if you had won the toss, dare I ask how you would have killed the mayor?’

  ‘I would have shot him as well, but unfortunately we only have one gun between us, so I had to bury the weapon in his garden, where you can still find it.’

  ‘Again, just so that I understand his motive, may I ask why Gian Lucio was so willing to be charged with a murder that he didn’t commit?’

  ‘Oh, that’s easy to explain, Lieutenant. Lombardi used to eat at Gian Lucio’s restaurant three times a day and he never once paid the bill.’

  ‘That’s hardly a good enough reason to kill someone.’

  ‘It is when you lose all your regular customers because none of them want to eat in the same restaurant as the mayor.’

  ‘But that doesn’t explain why you wanted to kill him.’

  ‘Gian Lucio is my best customer, and he could no longer afford my finest cuts, so it wouldn’t have been much longer before we were both out of business. By the way, Lieutenant, was Lombardi electrocuted by any chance?’

  ‘Get out of here, Signor Cattaneo, before I get myself arrested for murder.’

  Not a totally wasted morning, considered Antonio, because he was now confident only he, Constable Gentile and the murderer had any idea how Lombardi had been killed. But where was Gentile?

  * * *

  Antonio arrived at Lucio’s just before 6 p.m., looking forward to seeing Francesca. He sat at an outside table and placed a bunch of lilies on the chair next to him, smiling when Gian Lucio joined him.

  ‘Can I get you a drink, Lieutenant?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ll wait until my guest arrives. And Gian Lucio,’ Antonio said as the restaurateur turned to leave, ‘just to let you know your friend Signor Cattaneo failed to get you arrested for murder this morning.’

  ‘I know, but then I did win the toss,’ sighed Gian Lucio.

  ‘My bet is that both of you know who killed Lombardi.’

  ‘Can I get you a glass of wine while you’re waiting, Lieutenant?’ Gian Lucio said, quickly changing the subject. ‘Francesca prefers the Cortoglia White.’

  ‘Then why don’t you make it two?’

  Gian Lucio left quickly.

  Antonio continued to look across the square to the pharmacy until he spotted Francesca locking up. He watched her crossing the square and immediately realized it was the first time he’d seen her not wearing a long white coat. She was dressed in a red silk blouse, a black skirt and a pair of highheeled shoes that certainly hadn’t been bought in Cortoglia. He tried not to stare at her. What else was different? Of course, she’d let her hair down. He hadn’t thought it possible that she could be even more beautiful.

  ‘As you’re a highly trained detective,’ Francesca said when she sat down next to him, ‘you will know that my name is Francesca, while I’m not sure if you are Antonio or Toni?’

  ‘My mother calls me Antonio, but my friends call me Toni.’

  ‘Do your family also come from Naples?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Antonio. ‘My parents are both school-teachers. My father is the headmaster of the Michelangelo Illioneo School, where my mother teaches history, but no one is in any doubt who runs the place.’

  Francesca laughed. ‘Any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘Just one brother, Darius. He’s a lawyer. So once I’ve locked any criminals up, he puts on a long black gown and defends them. That way we keep it all in the family.’

  Francesca laughed again. ‘Did you always want to be a policeman?’ she asked, as Gian Lucio handed them both a glass of wine.

  ‘From the age of six when someone stole my sweets. But to be fair, if you’re brought up in Naples, you have to decide at an early age which side of the law you’re going to be on. Did you always want to be a pharmacist?’

  ‘I first worked in the shop at the age of twelve,’ she said, looking across the square, ‘and with the exception of four years at Milan University studying chemistry, it’s been my second home. So when the owner retired, I took over.’

  ‘How did your father feel about that?’

  ‘He was too busy fighting the mayoral election at the time, and I do mean fighting, to have even noticed.’

  ‘Which everyone assumed your father would win.’

  ‘By a landslide. So it came as something of a surprise when the town clerk announced that Lombardi had won.’

  ‘But I haven’t come across anyone who voted for Lombardi,’ said Antonio.

  ‘In that election, it didn’t matter how you voted, Toni, only who was counting the votes.’

  ‘But your father became mayor soon after Lombardi was murdered?’

  ‘No one even stood against him the second time, so I hope you’ll attend his inauguration on Saturday?’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ said Antonio, raising his glass. ‘That’s assuming I haven’t arrested Lombardi’s murderer before then.’

  ‘How many people admitted to killing the mayor today?’

  ‘Two. Pellegrino and the florist, Signor Burgoni.’

  ‘So how did he bump off Lombardi?’ Francesca asked.

  ‘Claimed he ran him down in his Fer
rari, and then reversed over him to make sure he was dead. Right here in the town square.’

  ‘Sounds pretty convincing to me, so why didn’t you arrest him?’

  ‘Because he doesn’t own a Fiat, let alone a Ferrari, and what’s more, doesn’t even have a driving licence,’ said Antonio, as he handed Francesca the lilies. ‘So he’ll be able to continue selling his flowers.’

  Francesca laughed, just as Gian Lucio appeared and suggested another glass of wine.

  ‘No, no, Gian Lucio,’ said Francesca, ‘I must get home. There’s so much I have to do before Saturday.’

  ‘When your father will take up his rightful position as mayor of Cortoglia. But I do hope that we’ll see you both before then,’ said Gian Lucio as he offered a slight bow.

  ‘If I’m given a second chance,’ said Antonio as Francesca stood up, and they began to walk across the square towards the pharmacy. Francesca explained that she lived in an apartment above the shop.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ said Francesca.

  ‘They’ve put me in Lombardi’s old home while I’m here. I’ve never lived in such luxury, and I’m trying not to get used to it as it won’t be long before I have to return to my little flat in Naples.’

  ‘Not if you don’t catch the killer,’ she teased.

  ‘Nice idea, but my chief’s becoming restless. He’s made it clear he expects me back at my desk within a fortnight, with or without the murderer.’

  When they reached Francesca’s door, she took out a key, but before she could put it in the lock Antonio bent down and kissed her.

  ‘I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Toni.’

  Antonio looked puzzled until Francesca added, ‘I have a feeling that it can’t be too long before you’ll need another bar of soap. By the way, Toni, some of our customers buy them in boxes of three, even six.’

  Francesca opened the door and disappeared inside. Antonio walked across to the other side of the square to find several of the locals were grinning.

  * * *

  The following day started badly for Antonio. He was studying the pinboard, now covered in photographs, several with crosses through them. His thoughts were interrupted by Riccardo Forte, the local postman, who marched in and even before delivering the morning mail said, ‘I can’t bear the strain any longer, Lieutenant. I’ve decided to give myself up and admit that it was me who murdered the mayor.’

  ‘I was just making a cup of coffee, Riccardo, would you like one?’

  ‘Not before you arrest me and beat me up.’

  ‘Later perhaps, but first a few questions.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Black or white?’

  ‘Black, no sugar.’

  Toni poured a cup of coffee and handed it to the postman. ‘How did you kill the mayor, Riccardo?’ he asked, no longer wasting any time with preliminaries.

  ‘I drowned him,’ said the postman.

  ‘In the sea?’ suggested Antonio, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘No, in his bath. I took him by surprise.’

  ‘It must have come as quite a surprise,’ said Antonio, opening his notebook. ‘But before I charge you, Riccardo, I still have one or two more questions.’

  ‘I’ll admit to anything,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure you will, but first, how old are you?’

  ‘Sixty-three.’

  ‘And your height?’

  ‘One metre sixty-two.’

  ‘And your weight?’

  ‘Around seventy-six kilos.’

  ‘And you want me to believe, Riccardo, that you overpowered a man who was almost two metres tall and weighed around a hundred kilos. A man who some suggested never took a bath. Tell me, Riccardo, was Lombardi asleep at the time?’

  ‘No,’ said the postman, ‘but he was drunk.’

  ‘Ah, that would explain it,’ said Antonio. ‘Although, frankly, if he’d passed out before you attempted to drown him, it would still have been a close-run thing.’ The postman tried to look offended. ‘In any case, there’s something else you’ve over-looked.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Lombardi couldn’t have been drowned in a bath, because there’s only a shower in the house.’

  ‘In the sea?’ said the postman hopefully.

  ‘Not an option. Not least because eleven other younger men have already confessed to drowning him in the sea.’ Antonio closed his notebook. ‘But a good try, Riccardo. More importantly, have I got any letters this morning?’

  ‘Yes, three,’ said the postman, putting the opened envelopes on the table. ‘One from your mother, who wonders if you will be back in time for lunch on Sunday. The second is from the chief of police in Naples who wants to know why you haven’t arrested anyone yet, and a third from your brother.’

  ‘And what does he want?’ Antonio asked, ignoring the fact that the postman had illegally tampered with the mail.

  ‘Could you let him know as soon as you have arrested someone, and if they’ve got any money, would you remember to recommend him?’

  ‘Are there any secrets in this town?’

  ‘Just one,’ said the postman.

  * * *

  Dinner with Francesca at Lucio’s restaurant was about as public as an execution. If Antonio had even thought about holding her hand, it would have been front-page news in the Cortoglia Gazzetta.

  ‘Don’t you ever get bored living in a small town?’ he asked her after a waiter had whisked away their plates.

  ‘Never, I have the best of both worlds,’ she replied. ‘I can read the same books as you, watch the same television programmes, eat the same food and even enjoy the same wine but at half the price. And if I want to go to the opera, visit an art gallery or buy some new clothes, I can always spend the day in Naples and be back in Cortoglia before the sun sets. And perhaps you haven’t noticed, Toni, the magnificent rolling hills or how fresh the air is, and when people pass you in the street they smile and know your name.’

  ‘But the bustle, the excitement, the variety of everyday life?’

  ‘The traffic, the pollution, the graffiti, not to mention the manners of some of your fellow Neapolitans who consider women should only be seen in the kitchen or the bedroom, and then not necessarily the same woman.’

  Antonio leant across the table and took her hand. ‘I couldn’t tempt you to come back to Naples with me?’

  ‘For the day, yes,’ said Francesca. ‘But then I’d want us to be back in Cortoglia by nightfall.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to go on murdering some more of the locals.’

  ‘Certainly not. One will be quite enough for the next hundred years. So who’s the latest person who tried to convince you they disposed of Lombardi?’

  ‘Paolo Carrafini.’

  ‘Whose wine we are both enjoying,’ said Francesca, raising her glass.

  ‘And will continue to do so,’ said Antonio, ‘as Signor Carrafini’s attempt to prove he murdered the mayor turned out to be the least convincing so far.’

  ‘What was wrong with Lombardi falling through a trap door into the wine cellar and breaking his neck?’

  ‘Nothing wrong with the idea,’ said Antonio, ‘it’s just a pity Signor Carrafini would have had to lift up the trap door before he could push Lombardi through. You should tell any other potential murderers that they must be prepared for something to go wrong even when they’re innocent.’

  ‘So who’s next on your list?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s your father’s turn and he’s the last person I want to arrest. Although when it comes to motive, he’s an obvious candidate.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we know Lombardi removed him as mayor and within days of the murder, your father was back in the town hall.’

  ‘Along with his friends,’ Francesca reminded him.

  ‘Who we now know are all innocent, so I can’t wait to find out how your father killed Lombardi.’

  Francesca leant across the table and touched his cheek. ‘Don’t wor
ry, my father isn’t going to admit to the murder.’

  ‘All the more reason to believe he did it.’

  ‘Except in his case he has a cast-iron alibi. He was in Florence at the time, attending a local government conference.’

  ‘That’s a relief, assuming there are witnesses.’

  ‘Over a hundred.’

  ‘More than enough. But if it wasn’t your father who killed Lombardi, I’m fast running out of suspects. Although there still remains the mystery of the missing policeman, because Luca Gentile hasn’t been seen in Cortoglia since the day Lombardi was murdered, which is suspicious in and of itself.’

  ‘Luca isn’t capable of murder,’ said Francesca. ‘Although I suspect he knows who did it, which is why he won’t be returning to Cortoglia and resuming his former duties until you’re safely back in Naples.’

  ‘Then I’ve still got a few more days left to surprise you all,’ said Antonio.

  ‘I think you’ll find there are at least three more potential murderers who can’t wait to give themselves up.’

  ‘Surely they must be running out of ideas by now?’

  ‘I think you’ll enjoy tomorrow’s, which is a great improvement on trap doors, truffle knives or being shot.’

  ‘Tell them not to bother tomorrow,’ said Antonio. ‘I’m taking the day off to watch your father being inaugurated as mayor. Why don’t I get the bill?’

  ‘There won’t be a bill, Toni, however long you decide to stay,’ said Francesca. ‘Gian Lucio is telling everyone that although he confessed to shooting Lombardi, even producing the gun, you still refused to lock him up.’

  ‘Because he wasn’t guilty,’ protested an exasperated Antonio, ‘and if we hadn’t been having dinner here tonight, I would have locked him up for the possession of a firearm.’

  ‘But it wasn’t even his.’

  ‘Ah, but he won the toss,’ said Antonio.

  ‘Won the toss?’

  ‘At last I have found something you don’t know about,’ he said as he stood up to leave. Antonio took her hand as they crossed the square to Francesca’s home.

  When she opened the door this time Antonio followed her inside.