magnificent. It’s the perfect place for a young girl to heal.’ After evaluating the pros and cons of Damiano’s suggestion, Matilda and I decided to send our daughter to the clinic. Unfortunately, shortly after her admission, we received news from the clinic director: Caterina had indeed contracted tuberculosis, and a strong form of it, which left little hope for recovery. Two months later she was dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Antonio said softly, remembering the family’s sorrow and the crowd’s sadness during Caterina’s funeral twenty-four months earlier. He could still see the white casket, the flowers, and the long faces of the people who had attended the burial in tears. “It must have been hard on you. And on your wife.”
“Very hard. We were devastated.”
“Mister Berilli, I know all about your daughter’s death. I attended the funeral. How does all this relate to Ivano Bo and the threatening letters?”
Giuseppe gazed at his surroundings, slowly turning his head right and left. “On the day I forbade Caterina to see Ivano, he came to our house and told our butler he wanted to see me, as he intended to ask for Caterina’s hand. I told Guglielmo to send him away, but Mister Bo didn’t desist. He kept knocking, all day long and for several days afterwards. Of course I never spoke to him. And at some point I ordered Guglielmo not to open the door, period. Then, when the news spread that Caterina had become ill, Mister Bo assaulted me in in front of my office. I almost had a heart attack, I was so scared.” He brought a hand to his heart and gasped. “The mere thought of that incident still frightens me.”
“What happened then?” Antonio asked.
Giuseppe pointed a shaky hand at the nightstand. “I need water, Antonio. My throat is dry.”
Antonio stood up. He poured water in a glass from a pitcher and handed the glass to the lawyer.
Giuseppe drank slowly. “Thank you,” he said, then cleared his throat. “When it became known that Caterina had passed away,” he resumed, “Ivano Bo came to our house again and stood under these windows screaming that Caterina had died because I had taken her from him, that I was to blame for Caterina’s death, and that he’d kill me before he died. I had him arrested, but he was freed the following day, which didn’t make me feel safe at all. So I hired a man—Terenzio Gallo—to watch him. A few weeks later, Terenzio told me that Mister Bo had become a bum and, in his opinion, I shouldn’t worry about him anymore. I called off the watch and didn’t hear about Ivano Bo for some time. I met Terenzio again recently, by chance, in court. He said that Ivano had gone back to work at his father’s bakery. ‘I’m sure that by now he has forgotten all about you and your daughter,’ he told me, and for some time I thought he must have been right, for I haven’t heard another word from Ivano Bo since. I stopped thinking about him altogether. Until the letters came.”
“It’s a good thing you decided to confide in me, Mister Berilli,” Antonio said, frowning. “What you told me will certainly help my investigation. Is there anything else I should know?”
“No, Antonio. This is all.”
“And it’s all true, I assume,” Antonio said.
“Yes. What I told you is the complete truth, I swear.”
Antonio remained silent a moment. Then he asked, “Where can I find Terenzio Gallo?”
“At the cemetery. He died a month ago.”
“Who else knows about the relationship between your daughter and Mister Bo?” Antonio asked.
Giuseppe swallowed. He opened his eyes wide. “Only Matilda and I know the truth. No one else knows the complete story, not even my sons and my sister. Not even Damiano, who diagnosed Caterina’s tuberculosis. I want things to remain this way. I don’t want a shadow cast on my daughter’s memory. Please, Antonio, don’t tell anybody.”
“I won’t, Mister Berilli. You can count on me. Before tonight’s accident, I had
“I’m sorry,” Antonio said softly, remembering the family’s sorrow and the crowd’s sadness during Caterina’s funeral twenty-four months earlier. He could still see the white casket, the flowers, and the long faces of the people who had attended the burial in tears. “It must have been hard on you. And on your wife.”
“Very hard. We were devastated.”
“Mister Berilli, I know all about your daughter’s death. I attended the funeral. How does all this relate to Ivano Bo and the threatening letters?”
Giuseppe gazed at his surroundings, slowly turning his head right and left. “On the day I forbade Caterina to see Ivano, he came to our house and told our butler he wanted to see me, as he intended to ask for Caterina’s hand. I told Guglielmo to send him away, but Mister Bo didn’t desist. He kept knocking, all day long and for several days afterwards. Of course I never spoke to him. And at some point I ordered Guglielmo not to open the door, period. Then, when the news spread that Caterina had become ill, Mister Bo assaulted me in in front of my office. I almost had a heart attack, I was so scared.” He brought a hand to his heart and gasped. “The mere thought of that incident still frightens me.”
“What happened then?” Antonio asked.
Giuseppe pointed a shaky hand at the nightstand. “I need water, Antonio. My throat is dry.”
Antonio stood up. He poured water in a glass from a pitcher and handed the glass to the lawyer.
Giuseppe drank slowly. “Thank you,” he said, then cleared his throat. “When it became known that Caterina had passed away,” he resumed, “Ivano Bo came to our house again and stood under these windows screaming that Caterina had died because I had taken her from him, that I was to blame for Caterina’s death, and that he’d kill me before he died. I had him arrested, but he was freed the following day, which didn’t make me feel safe at all. So I hired a man—Terenzio Gallo—to watch him. A few weeks later, Terenzio told me that Mister Bo had become a bum and, in his opinion, I shouldn’t worry about him anymore. I called off the watch and didn’t hear about Ivano Bo for some time. I met Terenzio again recently, by chance, in court. He said that Ivano had gone back to work at his father’s bakery. ‘I’m sure that by now he has forgotten all about you and your daughter,’ he told me, and for some time I thought he must have been right, for I haven’t heard another word from Ivano Bo since. I stopped thinking about him altogether. Until the letters came.”
“It’s a good thing you decided to confide in me, Mister Berilli,” Antonio said, frowning. “What you told me will certainly help my investigation. Is there anything else I should know?”
“No, Antonio. This is all.”
“And it’s all true, I assume,” Antonio said.
“Yes. What I told you is the complete truth, I swear.”
Antonio remained silent a moment. Then he asked, “Where can I find Terenzio Gallo?”
“At the cemetery. He died a month ago.”
“Who else knows about the relationship between your daughter and Mister Bo?” Antonio asked.
Giuseppe swallowed. He opened his eyes wide. “Only Matilda and I know the truth. No one else knows the complete story, not even my sons and my sister. Not even Damiano, who diagnosed Caterina’s tuberculosis. I want things to remain this way. I don’t want a shadow cast on my daughter’s memory. Please, Antonio, don’t tell anybody.”
“I won’t, Mister Berilli. You can count on me. Before tonight’s accident, I had
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