1995.’
‘Massimo Tonin was Ricky’s father.’
She looked at me as if it were a wind-up. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Never sure about anything. But he didn’t deny it this morning.’
She stared blankly over my shoulder and considered the implications. I guessed that her first thought would be dismay that there might exist yet another man to destabilise her daughter. But when she spoke she seemed only piqued by the hypocrisy of the Salati woman. Her lips were pursed.
‘So all that time she was criticising the way we were living, she was lying to all and sundry. She must have known this might have something to do with Ricky’s disappearance, and yet she never …’ She looked into the distance and then stared at me. ‘You’re sure about this?’
I nodded.
‘Nothing surprises me any more,’ she said dreamily. ‘All the stability we construct around ourselves collapses sooner or later. I’ve had so much collapse that I don’t bother trying to construct anything any more.’
Except your hair, I thought to myself. ‘You said Tonin came round here looking for Ricky that week after he disappeared …’
She nodded.
‘What happened exactly? He came round to your caravan?’
‘Sure.’
‘And did he go inside?’
She shut her eyes. ‘I can’t possibly remember.’
‘Think about it. It’s important.’
She shook her head and looked at me. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t know.’ Witnesses were unreliable at the best of times, but fourteen years later they’re as good as useless.
‘Did you ever get the impression he was looking for anything other than Riccardo?’
She shook her head and frowned, not sure what I was implying.
‘Is Elisabetta in?’ I asked.
‘I’m not going to allow you to slip a hand grenade like this into her life. She’s unstable enough as it is right now. She’s barely recovered from what happened yesterday.’ She tried to stare at me with anger, but it was all burned out now. ‘I think she’s mourning her grandmother and her father and her childhood all at once, and this would only confuse her further. Let her sleep.’
The phone started ringing inside and she held up a finger and went in to answer it. I followed her into her flat and whilst she was still talking on the phone I started opening the doors. I found the girl in a small bedroom with the blinds down. She was propped up on pillows and was staring at the ceiling.
‘Elisabetta?’ I said quietly. ‘It’s Castagnetti. We spoke on the phone yesterday.’
She moved her eyes rather than her head to look at me.
‘Your mother seems to think I’m to blame for upsetting you yesterday.’
‘My mother’, she said with her eyes shut, ‘will always blame anyone except herself.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘She thought I had got overexcited by the thought of … you know, the thought that you were going to find my father.’
‘I told you, I don’t think he’s still alive.’
‘Yeah,’ she said like she was high and couldn’t care less, ‘I know.’
I felt sorry for her, but I didn’t want to be accused of building up her hopes. Ricky was dead, I felt sure.
‘I don’t think he’s alive. But I’ll try to find out what happened.’ It was my standard speech. It was what the bereaved normally wanted most. If they couldn’t have their loved one back, alive and well, they wanted to know, that was all. They yearned for what they most feared. They wanted, just once, to see the kill, because it couldn’t possibly be worse than what they had imagined.
‘You need some sleep. I’ll be back again one day when you’re better and we can talk about what’s come up.’
She just nodded and followed me out with her eyes.
As I was walking down the corridor it struck me that I couldn’t understand how a man could resist contacting his granddaughter. Surely he would want to write to her, arrange to see her, try to claim her as his own whatever the consequences. It didn’t seem natural to me. Tonin appeared to be a
‘Massimo Tonin was Ricky’s father.’
She looked at me as if it were a wind-up. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Never sure about anything. But he didn’t deny it this morning.’
She stared blankly over my shoulder and considered the implications. I guessed that her first thought would be dismay that there might exist yet another man to destabilise her daughter. But when she spoke she seemed only piqued by the hypocrisy of the Salati woman. Her lips were pursed.
‘So all that time she was criticising the way we were living, she was lying to all and sundry. She must have known this might have something to do with Ricky’s disappearance, and yet she never …’ She looked into the distance and then stared at me. ‘You’re sure about this?’
I nodded.
‘Nothing surprises me any more,’ she said dreamily. ‘All the stability we construct around ourselves collapses sooner or later. I’ve had so much collapse that I don’t bother trying to construct anything any more.’
Except your hair, I thought to myself. ‘You said Tonin came round here looking for Ricky that week after he disappeared …’
She nodded.
‘What happened exactly? He came round to your caravan?’
‘Sure.’
‘And did he go inside?’
She shut her eyes. ‘I can’t possibly remember.’
‘Think about it. It’s important.’
She shook her head and looked at me. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t know.’ Witnesses were unreliable at the best of times, but fourteen years later they’re as good as useless.
‘Did you ever get the impression he was looking for anything other than Riccardo?’
She shook her head and frowned, not sure what I was implying.
‘Is Elisabetta in?’ I asked.
‘I’m not going to allow you to slip a hand grenade like this into her life. She’s unstable enough as it is right now. She’s barely recovered from what happened yesterday.’ She tried to stare at me with anger, but it was all burned out now. ‘I think she’s mourning her grandmother and her father and her childhood all at once, and this would only confuse her further. Let her sleep.’
The phone started ringing inside and she held up a finger and went in to answer it. I followed her into her flat and whilst she was still talking on the phone I started opening the doors. I found the girl in a small bedroom with the blinds down. She was propped up on pillows and was staring at the ceiling.
‘Elisabetta?’ I said quietly. ‘It’s Castagnetti. We spoke on the phone yesterday.’
She moved her eyes rather than her head to look at me.
‘Your mother seems to think I’m to blame for upsetting you yesterday.’
‘My mother’, she said with her eyes shut, ‘will always blame anyone except herself.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘She thought I had got overexcited by the thought of … you know, the thought that you were going to find my father.’
‘I told you, I don’t think he’s still alive.’
‘Yeah,’ she said like she was high and couldn’t care less, ‘I know.’
I felt sorry for her, but I didn’t want to be accused of building up her hopes. Ricky was dead, I felt sure.
‘I don’t think he’s alive. But I’ll try to find out what happened.’ It was my standard speech. It was what the bereaved normally wanted most. If they couldn’t have their loved one back, alive and well, they wanted to know, that was all. They yearned for what they most feared. They wanted, just once, to see the kill, because it couldn’t possibly be worse than what they had imagined.
‘You need some sleep. I’ll be back again one day when you’re better and we can talk about what’s come up.’
She just nodded and followed me out with her eyes.
As I was walking down the corridor it struck me that I couldn’t understand how a man could resist contacting his granddaughter. Surely he would want to write to her, arrange to see her, try to claim her as his own whatever the consequences. It didn’t seem natural to me. Tonin appeared to be a
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