facilitate that process. And that’s all.’
Brunetti waited a moment, then vaguely smiled.
‘That’s very frank of you,
vice-questore
.’
‘Too frank, you mean. Suspiciously so, in fact. But it happens to be true. I am of a slightly older generation than you, Dottor Brunetti, and I occasionally allow myself the luxury of saying what I actually mean. I am doing so now. I can quite understand that you don’t necessarily believe me, but frankly it would save us both a lot of time and bother if you did.’
Caught off guard, his interlocutor laughed nervously.
‘But of course I believe you!’
With a fastidious finger he indicated the thick file of documents on the teak desk between them.
‘Well, you’ll find everything that we know at this point in there. And if I can help to clarify or amplify any points involved, please don’t hesitate to ask.’
Zen picked up the file and put it away in his briefcase.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ll give it my fullest attention as soon as possible. In the meantime, could you perhaps give me a brief summary of the basic facts?’
Brunetti nodded vigorously.
‘It’s quite straightforward. The autopsy and forensic examinations have confirmed that Lorenzo Curti was murdered in the driver’s seat of his car about an hour before the discovery of the vehicle by one of our patrols. He was first shot through the heart with a 7.62 millimetre bullet, which was recovered, then stabbed in the chest with a Parmesan cutting knife which was left in situ and also recovered. The presence of the latter item suggests foreknowledge of the victim’s family and business origins.’
‘And premeditation.’
‘Indeed. Curti had attended the away match between his football team and Ancona. After the game he spent some time with the manager and players in the dressing room, then left alone to drive home. The electronic toll records show that his Audi saloon entered the autostrada system at Ancona Nord shortly before seven that evening and exited at Bologna San Lázzaro just over ninety minutes later, very shortly before he was killed.’
‘Would that have been his normal route?’
‘No. He lived outside Parma. His reason for leaving the motorway there is still unclear. It’s a moderately rough area at that time of night, but the element of premeditation and the implicit message sent by the post-mortem stabbing with the cheese cutter virtually rules out the possibility that this was an opportunistic or casual crime committed by some hitchhiker, drug dealer or pimp. In fact it’s virtually certain that the killer was known to Curti, and extremely probable that they had either made an appointment to meet at the scene of the murder or had travelled back together from Ancona. Why else, on a dark, cold evening, should Curti have left the autostrada at San Lázzaro instead of continuing straight on to join the A1 for Parma?’
‘So you’ve been looking for someone among the victim’s social or business contacts with a motive to kill him?’ suggested Zen helpfully.
‘That’s naturally what we have been doing,’ Brunetti replied.
‘But so far without result.’
‘On the contrary! It turns out that just about everyone Curti knew personally or professionally had a reason to wish him dead. As you probably know, his business empire has virtually crumbled overnight, the shares are now worth next to nothing, and our friends over at the Guardia di Finanza are starting a serious fraud investigation which will almost certainly result in jail sentences for many of those involved–including Curti himself–had this not happened.’
‘But now he won’t be able to testify.’
‘Tempting hypothesis, isn’t it?’
There was a silence.
‘Unfortunately…’
Brunetti let the word hang heavily for a moment.
‘The bad news is that virtually all the potential suspects were either at the game, out with friends, or at home in the bosom of their families. Of the rest, several were abroad
Brunetti waited a moment, then vaguely smiled.
‘That’s very frank of you,
vice-questore
.’
‘Too frank, you mean. Suspiciously so, in fact. But it happens to be true. I am of a slightly older generation than you, Dottor Brunetti, and I occasionally allow myself the luxury of saying what I actually mean. I am doing so now. I can quite understand that you don’t necessarily believe me, but frankly it would save us both a lot of time and bother if you did.’
Caught off guard, his interlocutor laughed nervously.
‘But of course I believe you!’
With a fastidious finger he indicated the thick file of documents on the teak desk between them.
‘Well, you’ll find everything that we know at this point in there. And if I can help to clarify or amplify any points involved, please don’t hesitate to ask.’
Zen picked up the file and put it away in his briefcase.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ll give it my fullest attention as soon as possible. In the meantime, could you perhaps give me a brief summary of the basic facts?’
Brunetti nodded vigorously.
‘It’s quite straightforward. The autopsy and forensic examinations have confirmed that Lorenzo Curti was murdered in the driver’s seat of his car about an hour before the discovery of the vehicle by one of our patrols. He was first shot through the heart with a 7.62 millimetre bullet, which was recovered, then stabbed in the chest with a Parmesan cutting knife which was left in situ and also recovered. The presence of the latter item suggests foreknowledge of the victim’s family and business origins.’
‘And premeditation.’
‘Indeed. Curti had attended the away match between his football team and Ancona. After the game he spent some time with the manager and players in the dressing room, then left alone to drive home. The electronic toll records show that his Audi saloon entered the autostrada system at Ancona Nord shortly before seven that evening and exited at Bologna San Lázzaro just over ninety minutes later, very shortly before he was killed.’
‘Would that have been his normal route?’
‘No. He lived outside Parma. His reason for leaving the motorway there is still unclear. It’s a moderately rough area at that time of night, but the element of premeditation and the implicit message sent by the post-mortem stabbing with the cheese cutter virtually rules out the possibility that this was an opportunistic or casual crime committed by some hitchhiker, drug dealer or pimp. In fact it’s virtually certain that the killer was known to Curti, and extremely probable that they had either made an appointment to meet at the scene of the murder or had travelled back together from Ancona. Why else, on a dark, cold evening, should Curti have left the autostrada at San Lázzaro instead of continuing straight on to join the A1 for Parma?’
‘So you’ve been looking for someone among the victim’s social or business contacts with a motive to kill him?’ suggested Zen helpfully.
‘That’s naturally what we have been doing,’ Brunetti replied.
‘But so far without result.’
‘On the contrary! It turns out that just about everyone Curti knew personally or professionally had a reason to wish him dead. As you probably know, his business empire has virtually crumbled overnight, the shares are now worth next to nothing, and our friends over at the Guardia di Finanza are starting a serious fraud investigation which will almost certainly result in jail sentences for many of those involved–including Curti himself–had this not happened.’
‘But now he won’t be able to testify.’
‘Tempting hypothesis, isn’t it?’
There was a silence.
‘Unfortunately…’
Brunetti let the word hang heavily for a moment.
‘The bad news is that virtually all the potential suspects were either at the game, out with friends, or at home in the bosom of their families. Of the rest, several were abroad
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