Cold Tuscan Stone, David Wagner [i read book txt] 📗

street, and walked slowly toward the car. Commissario Conti looked at him as he approached, sensing that the answers would be the same. All the men, starting with Malandro the foreman, had given him the same account for the afternoon of the murder, as well as for the days that led up to it. They could have been coached, though with the surprise visit and his sergeant watching them all inside, he doubted it. But talking with each of them a second time had been worthwhile—at least Conti tried to convince himself of that. If nothing else, he now knew more about the murdered man; not just of the work the man did, but his relationships with the others in Landi’s little organization. The reality of Canopo’s death was starting to sink in with them, bringing with it a mixture of sorrow and anxiety. Despite the man’s Sicilian roots and the Tuscan sense of superiority over southerners, he had won over the men in his shop. As Conti knew from personal experience, that was not an easy feat.

The new arrival instinctively brushed alabaster dust off his work coat and blinked, adjusting his eyes to the sunlight. Conti was glad he’d decided to interview them out on the street, otherwise he would have been the one dusting himself off, as well as trying to get his hearing back to normal. For the final time he pulled the notebook from his coat pocket and leaned back against the warm hood of the police car, fortunately parked in a spot which caught some rays of sun on a day when few were to be seen.

“This won’t take very long,” he said to the boy who now stood before him. Conti remembered that Nino Reni, barely twenty and the youngest in the shop, had not said much during the first interview, either out of fear or shock. Perhaps this time he would be more helpful. “If I remember correctly, Nino, you’ve been working for Galleria Landi only two years.”

“Yes, Commissario, a bit less than that in fact. Twenty two months. When I finish two years I’ll no longer be an apprentice. I’ll get paid more.”

Already he was more talkative. “Tell me again about the day Canopo died.”

The boy tensed up, staring at the ground and clasping his hands tightly together. He’s going to stop talking, Conti thought, but then decided that what he saw was emotion rather than a reluctance to speak.

“It was a normal day,” he began, after taking two deep breaths. “Orlando was in the shop from eight in the morning until he went to see Signor Landi in the afternoon, except for the lunch break. A shipment of alabaster was delivered in the morning, so he was counting pieces and weighing them.”

“Did he seem out of sorts, preoccupied, different in any way than other days?” The answer was not what the policeman expected.

“If someone said he was so worried about something that he took his own life, it’s a lie!” Conti’s eyes jumped up from his note pad. He watched as the boy looked up and down the street, embarrassed by his outburst. He tried to compose himself, blinking rapidly and rubbing his hands against dirty jeans. “Orlando would never have done that,” he said, speaking more softly and slowly. “Never.”

“From what I know about Canopo, I would agree with you. Can you think of anyone who would want to do him harm?”

“No. I can think of no one.” He stared at the ground. The flash of anger had come and gone quickly, and Nino Reni retreated inside his own grief.

Conti had already come to the conclusion that none of the men was holding anything back, including the boy. He was tired of interviews and frustrated that the case was going nowhere. The door opened and his sergeant emerged, slapping his coat in an attempt to rid it of alabaster dust. His appearance confirmed that Nino was the last one to be re-interviewed.

“That’s all, Nino. Thank you for your help.”

“You’ll find him, won’t you Commissario?”

It took a moment before he understood that the boy was talking about Canopo’s murderer. Everyone, it seemed, now assumed it was murder. “Yes, yes of course. If you can think of anything that might help, you know where to find me.” The boy nodded and turned back to the door, not even glancing at the sergeant as they passed. Conti sighed and stuffed the small notebook back into his coat.

“Did you get anything from them, Capo?

Conti shook his head without speaking. The sergeant walked around to the driver’s side and got in the car. Conti looked at his watch, opened the passenger door and glanced up the street. “Just a moment, Sergeant,” he said through the open door, “this shouldn’t take long.”

Signora Canopo and her daughter had just turned the far corner and were now walking slowly toward him. The little girl grasped her mother’s hand tightly and stared down at the stone like she was counting the cracks between the cobblestones. The woman stared blankly ahead as she walked, but when she noticed Conti she tried to put a smile on her face, but without success. It would be a while before she could smile again. He waited as they approached, watching the mother walk slowly to match the pace set by the girl’s short legs.

“Signora, good morning. How have you been?” It was a weak greeting, but he could think of nothing else to say. When he spoke, the girl looked up from the sidewalk, noticing him for the first time. A look of fear took over the small face and she hid behind her mother’s dark skirt.

“As well as can be expected, Commissario.” She looked down at her daughter, whose face was hidden. “Please excuse Angela. I’m afraid she associates you with…”

“That is understandable, Signora.”

“We needed to get out of the house, so I thought we would come by to see Orlando’s co-workers. They have been very kind. Is there any news?”

Conti shifted