The Marshal's Own Case (13 page)

‘Tell me what happened that night.’

‘I’ve told you. I’ve told them all. I’m tired . . .’

‘Tell me again.’

‘There’s nothing else to tell. What do you want from me?’ He turned his face to the wall.

‘I want help from you.’

The only response was a grunt of disgust.

‘I want to find Nanny.’

That made him turn back. He propped himself up on one elbow.

‘Nobody believes Nanny even exists! Why should you—’

‘Because I know he does exist. I’ve seen a photograph of him.’

‘I don’t know his real name, if that’s what you want.’

‘I know you don’t. I’ll still find him. Florence isn’t such a big city and I have that photograph.’

‘He doesn’t live in Florence.’

‘You know that? Why didn’t you say so?’

‘Because nobody asked me! They didn’t believe a fucking word I said, did they? Well, did they?’

‘Try and keep calm.’

‘I feel ill. I haven’t slept. Last night I took two sleeping pills and all they did was give me nightmares. I couldn’t fall asleep and I couldn’t keep properly awake. Just nightmares for hours. You can’t imagine—’

‘Start at the beginning and tell me again.’

‘If you say so. I ate at the trattoria—whether they say so or not, I did—’

‘Never mind that. Go on.’

‘I went to work about half past eleven. I was in my usual place where you picked me up—’

‘How did you get there?’

‘To the Cascine? By taxi, same as always.’

‘Then the taxi-driver will confirm it.’

‘He will if he feels like it, for what difference it makes.’

‘Go on.’

‘Nanny turned up. I don’t know what time but I hadn’t been there long.’

‘Turned up on foot or in a car?’

‘In his car—then you really do believe me?’

‘What happened then? What did he say?’

‘That . . . that Lulu had left for Spain. He was pissed off. He asked me to go back to Lulu’s flat with him.’

‘What for?’

‘What do you think?’

‘And did . . . ?’

‘No. I told you he was pissed off. When we got there he said he just wanted to talk but that he’d pay me. He put a record on and we had a drink.’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘About Lulu mostly. She was the biggest bitch of all time but he was always crazy about her.’

‘Was he over-excited? Did he seem to behave oddly?’

‘No. He was very quiet.’

‘He told you Lulu had gone to Spain—but he didn’t look upset?’

‘Why should he be? She’d only gone to the clinic, she was coming back. I thought he looked a bit tired but he was calm enough.’

‘Where did all this take place? The drinks and music, in the sitting-room?’

‘That’s right.’

‘The whole time?’

‘I told you, we didn’t—’

‘I just want to know if you went in any of the other rooms. The kitchen, for instance. Did you see that anyone had eaten there?’

‘I didn’t go in the kitchen—Wait! He did. Nanny—he went to get a bottle of water from the fridge. We drank whisky.’

‘You didn’t glance in there? You didn’t notice the table?’

‘No. I was pouring the whisky.’

‘What about the other rooms?’

‘I didn’t go wandering about the place. We were only there about a quarter of an hour, long enough to have a drink. Then I reminded him he’d promised to pay me.’

‘And he gave you those traveller’s cheques? Listen, I can only help you if you tell me the truth.’

‘I am telling the truth! You’re just as bad as the rest of the bastards! Why will nobody believe me?’

‘Keep your voice down. I’m not saying I don’t believe he gave you the cheques, I’m only saying that if he did you must have known something was up unless he gave you a good explanation. Why should Lulu have left them behind—and what about the amount? You’re not trying to tell me that you’d ever been paid that much for a quarter of an hour? Well?’

‘I knew it was too much. I knew that. I thought he did it just to spite her, seeing as it was her money and not his—and why should I have cared? He said she had more money than she knew what to do with, that she’d left it behind. It was obvious enough that it was stolen from her, but I needed it. It wasn’t my problem if he had troubles with Lulu, and I needed it!’

‘To set up your business?’

‘Yes. Nanny knew that. He said he wanted to help me. The shit!’

‘What do you know about him?’

‘I don’t know . . . nothing much except that he was always after Lulu like the rest of them . . . and his kid. I never heard him mention his wife but he was crazy about this kid of his.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘No. Yes . . . he’d been staying in Lulu’s flat for a bit. He must have been because there were a lot of his clothes and stuff in the bedroom.’

‘You said you didn’t go in the other rooms.’

‘I forgot. I went in the bedroom before we left, to powder my nose.’

He watched Peppina’s face carefully as he asked, ‘Did you use the bathroom?’

Not a flicker. There had been nothing in the papers yet about the blood found there. Peppina was picking at his chipped red nail varnish. ‘No . . . He was in there, I remember. He went for a pee. He was in there talking to himself, muttering about Lulu.’

‘Saying what?’

‘I don’t know, I wasn’t listening. Something about “coming back” and I heard him say Lulu’s name, that’s all—Christ! You don’t think that bitch was in there hiding, listening to it all?’

‘I think she was dead by then.’ But where the devil was the body? In the wardrobe? It was all too bizarre.

‘Anyway, then we left. There’s really nothing against me, is there,’ Peppina said, ‘except that money, that and what I am. Christ, why did I ever take it? Why did I?’

‘For your own good, try and keep calm. Anything you tell me could be important. If you don’t keep calm you won’t remember.’

There was little point in telling him that there was more against him than just the money. There were the fingerprints in the flat, not yet confirmed but they would be. That and the hopeless task—whatever he’d said to the contrary—of finding the wretched Nanny who could so easily deny everything.

‘What’s the use?’ Peppina said, dropping his head again, as if reading his thoughts. ‘There’s nothing else to remember. He drove me back to my place in the Cascine and left me.’

‘Do you know where he went?’

‘Home. He said he was going home, that he wanted to see his kid. That was the last I saw of him. You’re wasting your time, you know that? I’ll never get out . . . I don’t care any more. I wouldn’t care if only I could sleep . . . Will you do me a favour?’

‘If I can.’

‘In my bag, there on the floor somewhere. There are two prescriptions in it. I don’t know who else to ask.’

He found the prescriptions and slipped them in his pocket.

‘I just want to sleep . . .’

Outside it was still raining. After the heat of the basement the Marshal shivered in his damp clothes. He turned up his collar but it felt wet and sharp against his face. After crossing the river he had to hang about for a bit in the bar in Piazza San Felice until the chemist next door opened up. As it happened, the chemist himself, handsome, spruce and cheerful, appeared in the bar wanting a coffee before starting work.

‘Afternoon, Marshal! You look as though you might be waiting for me. What have you been doing to your face?’

‘I—nothing. It’s nothing. I was waiting for you, though.’

‘If it’s urgent—’

‘No. Have your coffee.’

‘Right you are. Can I offer you something?’

‘I’ve ordered.’

They drank up and walked next door together. The Marshal produced the two prescriptions and the chemist disappeared into the back room. When he came back he was staring with a puzzled look at the boxes in his hand.

‘What do you want with this stuff?’

‘I don’t even know what it is.’

‘This one’s sleeping pills, but this other’s a hormone usually given to women threatening to miscarry—’

‘They’re not for me. I’m just doing somebody a favour.’

‘I see. I was worried about your wife for a minute. Eight thousand seven-fifty to you. And let’s hope this rain doesn’t keep up.’

The Marshal left and began walking slowly through Piazza Pitti in spite of the steady downpour. He would arrive only in time to go straight into his office at five. It must be nearly that now. The traffic was already thick, swishing slowly through the rain. Most of the cars had their lights on.

‘Marshal!’

He stopped and looked about him.

‘Marshal! Over here!’ He spotted an old lady of the Quarter whom he knew quite well. She was waving at him frantically from the other side of the square. He pushed his way between the barely moving cars and went over to her. She was very tiny and her raincoat came almost down to her feet.

‘You’ll have to help me,’ she said, ‘I can’t manage on my own. Look.’ They were in front of a travel agent’s shop. It had two windows and between them in the space before the door the usual metal shutter was pulled down. The lower part of the shutter was of solid horizontal strips but the rest was a sort of lattice-work. Behind the shutter sat an orange and white cat looking up at them hopefully. On the floor beside it was a bit of butcher’s paper with some mincemeat on it.

‘Poor little thing! Poor little kitty!’ crooned Pierina. Her hand which she poked through the lattice grille was wet and scratched. The cat ran forward and sniffed at it eagerly, purring.

‘You see? She wants me to help her but I can’t manage.’

‘Well, it’s dry enough in there and surely they’ll open up at five.’

‘No, no! It’s not their cat and don’t you see the notice?’

In fact, there was a paper stuck on the glass door beyond the grille among the credit card signs which said ‘Closed for renovation’.

‘She must have managed to climb in somehow to shelter from the rain and now she can’t get out.’

‘But there’s food there,’ the Marshal said.

‘I poked it through,’ Pierina said. ‘But I can’t get a saucer of water through. I’ve tried. We have to get her out.’ The rain was running down her distressed face. Goodness knew how long she’d been struggling there and she was a frail creature to be hanging about in such weather. The Marshal knew she suffered badly from bronchitis and her neighbours were sure each year that one more winter would carry her off, but she was tough in her own way and struggled on. The saucer she had brought was parked on the doorstep in front of the metal shutter with the rain splashing into it.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘if she got in she should be able to get out.’ He bent down and was just able to get his big hand through the grille. Again the cat ran forward, purring. He got hold of it near the scruff of its neck and pulled it up to the first row of latticed holes. Its head came through but then, because its shoulders were wider and because it was impossible for both the Marshal’s hand and the cat to come through the same hole, they were stuck. The dangling cat began to panic and scratch and he had to let it drop. It sat down again immediately as though nothing had happened and stared up at them. It didn’t touch Pierina’s bit of mincemeat.

‘You see,’ she said. ‘That’s what happens when I try. Poor little creature—you’re not going?’ She had seen the Marshal glance at his watch.

‘No, no, don’t worry.’ He tried again, but as soon as the cat got stuck she panicked and tore back so that he had to drop her. His hand was a mass of wet scratches but he didn’t give up. Surely he could get one thing right today, relieve one bit of misery, however small.

‘I can’t help her if she won’t cooperate . . . she starts pulling back as soon as she feels the grille.’

‘She’s frightened, poor thing.’

They crouched there, side by side, the rain pattering steadily on their backs, the cars splashing filthy water at them, as they repeated the process time after time without results. And yet each time the orange and white cat ran forward purring to the hand that reached out to it uselessly.

‘My hand’s smaller,’ Pierina said. ‘Shall I have another try?’

‘Wait. We must think of some other way . . . You get hold of her this time, under the armpits, if you know what I mean, and I’ll put my hand through the next hole and try and push her from behind . . . Have you got her? Right, pull!’

And it worked. All three of them were pleased. Pierina held the loudly purring creature close to her wet coat.

‘There! Now you’re safe. I only wish I could take you home but my Robbi would see you off.’ She looked up at the Marshal and said, ‘I’d better take her back to Boboli.’

‘Is that where she’s from?’ The Boboli Gardens behind the Pitti Palace were full of cats of all shapes and sizes who survived mostly on the leavings of tourists and the goodwill of old women like Pierina.’

‘That’s where she’s from, all right. Poor creature, my coat’s making you all wet, isn’t it?’

‘I’ll take her back, if she’s from Boboli,’ the Marshal said. ‘I’m going back to my office now—and you should go home and get dry or you’ll catch a chill.’ He took the purring cat from her and buttoned it into the front of his greatcoat from where it peered out contentedly at the rainy world. Pierina picked up her saucer and emptied it. Then her tiny thin fingers clutched the Marshal’s big hand. ‘Thank you.’

He crossed the road and went up the sloping forecourt in front of the Palace. By the time he turned left at the top to go under the stone arch, he could feel the animal’s warmth penetrating his thick uniform. Nevertheless, by the time he got up the stairs and unlocked the door he had quite forgotten it. He had quite forgotten, too, his resolution not to go to his quarters but straight to his office. He was thinking of Carla and the unlucky little Mishi, thinking too that he should also change his clothes as he was even wetter than old Pierina had been. So he was vaguely surprised when Teresa, after the obvious comment, ‘Salva! You’re soaked!’ peered at him more closely and said, ‘Whatever have you got there?’

‘A cat,’ he said, remembering. He looked down. Only the very top of its head and its white ears were visible. It seemed to be asleep. He unbuttoned his wet coat. ‘I meant to leave it downstairs with the park keeper.’