Pulito to carry, and the two of them headed to the chief’s office.
The letter burned in his pocket. He’d thought it prudent, at this stage in the inquiry, not to open it, and to place everything in the hands of the investigating judge.
‘Let’s open it together,’ said the judge, after hearing the results of the Commissario’s latest efforts.
The letter was dated the Thursday of Signora Giulia’s disappearance and said:
My dear Luciano,
Perhaps today I’ll wait in vain. Just when you’re leaving, things are getting more complicated. From the beginning of our affair, someone has known about it. I never said anything to you because I knew that any kind of difficulty bothered you. But maybe today, what I’ve always feared will come true. Do I wait for everything to be discovered? Face the consequences? If my husband throws me out, it will actually be liberating. Don’t be afraid of anything. I’ll never give him your name, and no one will ever know how happy I was in your arms. And if some day I’m free and feel sure that I won’t drag you down, I’ll come and find you… I’ll go and see your sister in Tuscany, and she’ll tell me where you are. It’s the only dream I have left.
Your Giulia
‘Poor woman!’ murmured Sciancalepre.
The judge, however, exclaimed, ‘Fantastic! Wonderful! Now I’m sure Esengrini is innocent.’ And turning to Sciancalepre: ‘Let’s go get the killer.’
‘But what killer?’ asked Sciancalepre.
‘Oh, that’s right. You’re not au fait with Esengrini’s declaration and petition. Here – take this file and read the whole thing while I go and hear a couple of witnesses. Then we’ll drive to M—— and on the way you’ll tell me the killer’s name. I think we’ll be in agreement.’
Sciancalepre wouldn’t even have read the will of an American uncle with such delight.
When he found the famous apocryphal letter from Esengrini to Barsanti and repeated the experiment with the overlay at the window, his face lit up. But confronted with the signed notes in the lawyer’s diary, his thoughts once again became muddled. He turned his mind back, and tried to imagine how and when Signora Giulia could have written the letter to Barsanti that Thursday. Evidently at around nine that morning, when she’d sent Teresa Foletti back home. But who had ‘known about it’? Surely whoever had traced the signature of Esengrini. And if they’d traced it from the document containing the request for Marchionato’s provisional liberty, the operation must have taken place in Esengrini’s office in his absence. But when? The previous Saturday. And that explained why Esengrini had put forward the request for the sequestration of his office. That Saturday morning, the request for Marchionato’s provisional liberty had lain on Esengrini’s table, typed up and already signed. The lawyer Berrini had already been in Esengrini’s office andthe surveyor Chiodetti would be there later, when Esengrini returned from court…
Who else was in the office during that half hour? Had Esengrini left it for just a few moments, giving someone enough time to trace his signature onto a prepared letter?
Sciancalepre closed up the file, lost in thoughts that now had a sure focus. A little later the judge came back with some other people. Sciancalepre said nothing. He continued to think, starting involuntarily every now and again.
As he sat beside the judge on the road to M——, he whispered a name in his ear so that officer Pulito, who was driving, wouldn’t hear it – or maybe just because he still feared being wrong.
The judge nodded. They didn’t say anything else to each other, and for the rest of the journey they continued their silent scheming, eventually attaching a specific name to the findings Esengrini had dangled before the magistrates for a month.
As they entered the district prison for M——, the judge halted for a moment. He looked up at Sciancalepre. ‘What if we’re
The letter burned in his pocket. He’d thought it prudent, at this stage in the inquiry, not to open it, and to place everything in the hands of the investigating judge.
‘Let’s open it together,’ said the judge, after hearing the results of the Commissario’s latest efforts.
The letter was dated the Thursday of Signora Giulia’s disappearance and said:
My dear Luciano,
Perhaps today I’ll wait in vain. Just when you’re leaving, things are getting more complicated. From the beginning of our affair, someone has known about it. I never said anything to you because I knew that any kind of difficulty bothered you. But maybe today, what I’ve always feared will come true. Do I wait for everything to be discovered? Face the consequences? If my husband throws me out, it will actually be liberating. Don’t be afraid of anything. I’ll never give him your name, and no one will ever know how happy I was in your arms. And if some day I’m free and feel sure that I won’t drag you down, I’ll come and find you… I’ll go and see your sister in Tuscany, and she’ll tell me where you are. It’s the only dream I have left.
Your Giulia
‘Poor woman!’ murmured Sciancalepre.
The judge, however, exclaimed, ‘Fantastic! Wonderful! Now I’m sure Esengrini is innocent.’ And turning to Sciancalepre: ‘Let’s go get the killer.’
‘But what killer?’ asked Sciancalepre.
‘Oh, that’s right. You’re not au fait with Esengrini’s declaration and petition. Here – take this file and read the whole thing while I go and hear a couple of witnesses. Then we’ll drive to M—— and on the way you’ll tell me the killer’s name. I think we’ll be in agreement.’
Sciancalepre wouldn’t even have read the will of an American uncle with such delight.
When he found the famous apocryphal letter from Esengrini to Barsanti and repeated the experiment with the overlay at the window, his face lit up. But confronted with the signed notes in the lawyer’s diary, his thoughts once again became muddled. He turned his mind back, and tried to imagine how and when Signora Giulia could have written the letter to Barsanti that Thursday. Evidently at around nine that morning, when she’d sent Teresa Foletti back home. But who had ‘known about it’? Surely whoever had traced the signature of Esengrini. And if they’d traced it from the document containing the request for Marchionato’s provisional liberty, the operation must have taken place in Esengrini’s office in his absence. But when? The previous Saturday. And that explained why Esengrini had put forward the request for the sequestration of his office. That Saturday morning, the request for Marchionato’s provisional liberty had lain on Esengrini’s table, typed up and already signed. The lawyer Berrini had already been in Esengrini’s office andthe surveyor Chiodetti would be there later, when Esengrini returned from court…
Who else was in the office during that half hour? Had Esengrini left it for just a few moments, giving someone enough time to trace his signature onto a prepared letter?
Sciancalepre closed up the file, lost in thoughts that now had a sure focus. A little later the judge came back with some other people. Sciancalepre said nothing. He continued to think, starting involuntarily every now and again.
As he sat beside the judge on the road to M——, he whispered a name in his ear so that officer Pulito, who was driving, wouldn’t hear it – or maybe just because he still feared being wrong.
The judge nodded. They didn’t say anything else to each other, and for the rest of the journey they continued their silent scheming, eventually attaching a specific name to the findings Esengrini had dangled before the magistrates for a month.
As they entered the district prison for M——, the judge halted for a moment. He looked up at Sciancalepre. ‘What if we’re
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