The Marshal and the Murderer (21 page)

'What about him?'

'He said the girl would ... He said she'd do it with anybody but that she liked me.'

'Did you go there often, to Berti's studio to see the girl?'

'She always smiled at me. She liked talking to me, and Berti said ... he told me things he'd done to her, right there in the studio.'

'He was lying, Moretti. Do you understand? He was only teasing you.'

'No, it's not true. She was there and she heard him.'

'But she didn't understand him.'

'The things he said'

'She didn't understand. She was a foreigner and wouldn't understand a lot of what was said.'

The Marshal noticed thankfully that he had started, as if absent-mindedly, to fumble with the pile of clothes.

'She liked me, so why did she . . . Berti said she'd come to see me and she did.'

'She came to work, Moretti, that's all. Berti was having you on.'

'You don't understand. She liked me. I told her she could come in here and eat her sandwiches. I made her some coffee. If she did it with everybody else, why not with me? I didn't mean to hurt her, only to keep her still. It wasn't my fault, you can ask my brother. I wasn't going to tell anybody. Nobody would have known, but then my brother came back and saw . . . He was angry. He said what's done is done and he took me home with him. He knows I didn't want to hurt her, you can ask him.'

'We will, we'll talk to your brother.'

'He always said he'd find somebody for me. He found somebody for Tina. I wanted somebody of my own.'

'Put your boots on, and your hat - it's cold.'

Why should his lack of a bootlace be the thing that banished the Marshal's fear and aroused his compassion? All the more so because he knew that in any case they would shortly take the other one from him.

'Take your cigarettes.'

A brief flash of animal cunning crossed Big Beppe's face.

'But you'll be bringing me back soon!'

'Of course. But you might want a smoke while we're talking.'

The face became docile and stupid again. The Marshal's heart was heavy with the misery of it all, for this dumb beast of a man, for the body of a pretty girl soiled and broken under a pile of sherds, for frail, fierce little Moretti, dumped by a war of which he knew nothing into a situation like this,

'Let's go.'

Seeing him pull back a bit of torn curtain that concealed the kitchen's own entrance, the Marshal stopped him.

'We have to go out through the factory. I left all the lights on.' He led the way himself back along the tiled corridor. They were at the foot of the stairs and he had just turned out the light when he heard the footsteps behind him stop. He paused, feeling his scalp prickling under his hat.

'What is it?'

'You're not going to lock me up in the villa?'

'We're just going to talk to your brother.'

'Because once when I hit Sestini - my brother told me, he said it wasn't my fault and that they wouldn't torment me any more, he'd see to that, but that if I hurt anybody they'd lock me up in the villa!'

'Don't worry, nobody's going to hurt you.' He walked forward slowly and heard the footsteps follow him. They had passed through the throwing room and were momentarily in darkness when the sound of a siren in the not too far distance caused the Marshal to scent danger. He turned, thinking to get the man in front of him and keep a wary hand on the Beretta in its holster, but before he could complete the turn he felt a vicious blow on his left temple which almost swung him off his feet. Instinctively he lifted his forearm to ward oif further blows, only to take a kick in the stomach that made him double up, winded and retching. He could see nothing but buzzing rings of light in a nauseating blackness, but doubled up as he was he began to run, one hand clutching his stomach, the other outstretched to avoid obstacles. Heavy feet were thudding behind him but he knew he was running faster than his pursuer and despite his stunned condition he remembered with gratitude that heavy unlaced boot which might well save his life. Then his right hip crashed into something sharp and solid, stopping him in his tracks and doubling him up further. The pain was so sharp as to make him groan aloud but he silenced himself in an instant as he became aware that the blackness around him was no longer the result of concussion but real darkness, and that the thudding footsteps behind him had stopped. He had run the wrong way in his pain and blindness, away from the light and the exit and into the darkness of a maze he couldn't fathom even in broad daylight. He stood still, trying to quieten the sound of his broken breath. He could hear and see nothing. Gingerly he stretched out a hand. It touched a piece of polythene, the heavy tubular machine, a table.

'You want to lock me in the villa.' The voice was quiet and close. The Marshal didn't answer. A cold sweat broke on his forehead. Would he switch on the light? He was moving about now, the unlaced boot shuffling after the other. What need had he to switch on the light when he spent his every waking moment in the place and probably wandered about it often enough in the dark. Or was it craftiness? He must know the Marshal was armed. And it was true that there was no other way. If there was no light he would have to wait for the voice again and shoot at it. Very slowly he let his right hand drop until it touched the leather of his holster. He slid the Beret-ta put without even the faintest noise.

'What are you doing?'

The Marshal raised his arm, sprung the first bullet and fired. A scream of rage and pain told him the shot had gone home but had only wounded. Then he was flung backwards and big hands closed over his throat. He tried to use his own weight to push his attacker off but he was off balance right from the start and was driven backwards until his legs hit something sharp which he knew must be one of the big baths of clay. He was still holding the Beretta and now he hit out with it, fired it again and heard the bullet rebound from something metallic. The grip on his throat was inexorable and he knew that he must soon lose consciousness. With a last desperate effort he managed to draw up one knee and push. Even as he did it he realized it was a mistake and probably his last, for it only overbalanced him more, levering him backwards over the edge of the bath
so
that the water closed over his ears making them sing. His eyes were still open but he was losing his sense of reality and couldn't be sure if he saw or imagined the tiny eyes gleaming close to his face. Then his head plunged backwards under the water and into the slimy clay below. Through the singing and bubbling in his ears he heard a spent scream and in his last conscious moment was lucid enough to wonder whether it was his own.

Ten

'Imbecile!' roared Niccolini, raising his fist, 'imbecile! Is this what you wanted? To finish up in this place? You must have gone out of your mind - I still can't believe you did it! You should be under restraint, by God, you should be - Here's a bit of chocolate for you — not to mention giving me the trouble of driving all this way just to tell you what a jackass you are!'

'How did you get in?'

'I have my methods. How are you feeling?'

'Well'

'Good. It's more than you deserve.'

The Marshal smiled. He'd been about to say that he was feeling worse than he'd ever felt in his life, but if he couldn't combat Niccolini's steam-roller conversation at the best of times he wasn't going to try it from a hospital bed.

'Now then.' Niccolini sat down on the bed, making it bounce and the Marshal wince. 'The best thing you can do is to get yourself out of this place as fast as you can. Go about tackling ten-ton maniacs on your own if you must, but at least keep away from quacks who'll finish you off in no time once you let them start.'

'They're keeping me here another week under observation.'

'Rubbish! You really must learn to defend yourself - and in more ways than one.'

'I'm afraid you're right. How did I . . . how was it that he didn't manage . . .?'

'You don't know? You mean nobody's told you anything?'

'Nobody. They won't let anybody in except my wife and she's under orders not to mention work to me. They say complete rest . . .'

'And how are you supposed to rest if you don't know what's going on! No sense in it at all. Well, it's true you were in a bad way and it's not a pleasant business to talk about, but the long and the short of it is Big Beppe's dead. We got there just in time, but we had a devil of a job finding you in that place. It's lucky for you that you fired, otherwise . . . But surely you heard our sirens?'

'It was you? I knew I'd hit him but I didn't think -I killed him, then. That's what they didn't want to tell me.'

'Nothing of the sort.' Niccolini's face darkened a little. 'I shot him. Had no choice. Nobody could have got him off you any other way and it was a matter of seconds ... To tell you the truth, I thought you were a goner as it was. It's not a thing I've ever had to do before and I hope I never have to do it again, but there it is.'

'Then you saved my life.'

'Nothing of the kind. Little Moretti saved your life. He asked for me after you'd gone. Nobody else knew what you were up to but apparently he did -did you tell him?'

'I told him I knew . . .'

'Well, he must have got scared and what he wanted to tell me was not to go for Beppe unless he went with us because nobody else could control him if he got violent. It seems Moretti wouldn't let him in his own house unless he was there himself- that's why he stayed at the factory that lunch-time when Moretti ate with his clients. Anyway, at that point it didn't take much working out where you'd slipped off to, so I went after you with a couple of my lads. I'll tell you something else you don't know: a few years back there was an incident at the factory - the men had been teasing Big Beppe as they often did and he reacted and went for Sestini, nearly did for him. It was lucky Moretti was there, otherwise . . . Anyway, the matter was settled between themselves and no report made to us. They never teased him again after that.'

The Marshal didn't say that he already knew something of the story. Nor did he mention that if the men of the factory had given up teasing Big Beppe, Berti hadn't. He didn't feel up to going into all that yet and there was no longer any urgency. He was sufficiently satisfied to know that after being so ambivalent for so long in his attitude to Berti he could now settle on disliking him thoroughly, though he remained fascinated by his skill in the way a bird might be fascinated by a snake.

'Well, there it is,' concluded Niccolini, rousing himself to be cheerful again. 'I'm only glad I didn't have time to think before doing what had to be done. After all, the poor creature would otherwise have ended his days up at the villa and I think that would have broken little Moretti's heart after all he'd done to prevent it.'

'How is he?'

'He'll do. He has his wife and little girl and the factory to keep him busy. Of course there's still a case to answer, this business of Robiglio's money.'

'Will it come to anything?'

'Not if I know Robiglio. After all, Moretti only confessed to the one incident, and the money never left. Robiglio's lawyers will get him off- he's under house arrest for the moment but that character has nine lives. He got himself back in power after the war and I reckon he'll soon be strutting about the town as if nothing had happened. He'll rise to the top again, scum always does. The only consolation is that he won't be standing for election any more, not this time, at least.'

'But there'll be a next time.'

'Oh, there'll be a next time all right. Sooner or later we'll be blessed with him as mayor. Well, I hope I get transferred before it happens. Who's standing in for you, by the way?'

'My brigadier can manage, he's a competent lad.'

They chatted for a while of everyday problems but it was inevitable that their thoughts should return before long to the case that was uppermost in their minds.

'Did you ever find the missing clothing?' the Marshal asked.

'Not a sign. We searched Big Beppe's den but I imagine it was got rid of right away either by him or Moretti.'

'Did her parents ever come down?'

'No. The body leaves tomorrow by train. The Captain saw to everything from here. I gather the other lass is to travel with the body. It's been a bad shock for her, I shouldn't wonder. Was she as pretty as her friend?'

'No, she wasn't pretty, but she struck me as a good-hearted, affectionate creature, if a bit strange.'

He wondered where someone in her situation could turn for comfort. Probably not even to her parents from whom she had most likely hidden the truth. He thought of that young man Corsari, neither flesh nor fowl, who had made a friend of both girls. The thought gave him no pleasure.

Niccolini, determined to keep a cheerful note, had launched into the story of another of his past conquests. He had just come to the climax of the story, his voice loud and his eyes bright, when the door burst open and an angry young nurse appeared.

'What's going on in here? I could hear the noise from the far end of the corridor! I thought you had two minutes' business to transact.'

'Perfectly right. All finished now. I was just leaving'

'Do you realize that this patient has three cracked ribs, a chipped femur and a damaged throat? Not to mention shock and drowning! I must ask you to leave immediately. The doctor's on his way.' She swept out, closing the door with an angry click.

'Beautiful girl,' remarked Niccolini, his eyes still bright. 'Plenty of spirit, too, which I always like. Is that why you're content to hang around here for another week? Well, I suppose I'd better leave you. But having come all this way to tell you what a jackass you are, I might as well tell you that I was pretty impressed as well that you got on to the truth the way you did. To be quite honest, when I first met you I thought you were going to be a dead loss. You won't be offended? I thought to myself: This chap's asleep on his feet. You give that impression -you're not offended?'

'No, no . . .' He was a little offended. Goodness knows, he was used to it. Ever since his earliest schooldays people had got angry with him for seeming asleep on his feet. His wife often complained of it, too. But he was sorry to have made such an impression on his new friend and wished he had a quarter of his energy and cheerfulness.

'I'm glad you came,' he told Niccolini as the latter grasped his hand and shook it vigorously, not without some ill effect on those cracked ribs.

'You take my advice and get home as fast as you can - and take another piece of advice: don't go risking your neck like that again! It's not worth it. You'd have done nobody any good by getting yourself killed. Doing your duty's all very well but don't take it all too seriously, you've your own life to live and enjoy. Advice finished. I'm off. All the best!'

When he had gone the room was heavy with silence and the Marshal was left to concentrate on the combined pains of his broken bones and swollen throat and a thorough dissatisfaction with himself. He'd never much minded being thought dozy before, but all of a sudden he minded it very much. Could it be a question of diet? Perhaps he ate the wrong sort of thing. His glance fell on the huge bar of chocolate on the locker beside him. It must have weighed a kilo. Sugar was probably a good thing for giving you energy. With some difficulty he managed to stretch out an arm and get hold of the chocolate. Even breaking a piece off hurt him, but he did it and settled down to munch thoughtfully. While he had so much time to spare he should make out a new plan for his life, beginning with being more careful about what he ate and an attempt at making a better impression on people by being more lively and communicative. He would start right away while he was still in the hospital. He could discuss this business of diet with the doctor, be a lot more chatty to that pretty nurse who probably thought him the dullest patient ever to be wished on her, and show a bit more interest in all the little things his wife chattered about in the hope of cheering him up.

Ten minutes later the nurse entered followed by his wife and the doctor, and the three of them stood around his bed looking down at him. The nurse had no intention of admitting that she had let in an unlawful visitor to exhaust her patient and she was careful to say as she felt for his pulse, 'As you see, he's in much less pain today.'

The Marshal responded with a gentle snore.