I was still worried about that mourning notice. Assuming it wasn’t genuine, it meant someone was wanting to impersonate Riccardo. That seemed a pretty strange thing to do. At best it was tasteless. It sounded to me like someone wanting to muddy the waters. But it wasn’t only that that bothered me. It was the fact that the notice had gone into the paper on Monday, so it must have been paid for on the Sunday, a day before the case was reopened. If someone was trying to muddy the waters, they must have known there were waters to muddy.

Whoever placed the mourning notice must have known the case was about to be reopened before I was even hired.

I managed to haul myself out of my chair and went over to Crespi’s office.

‘Tell me something,’ I said to him when I was finally ushered into his regal presence. ‘Did Umberto bring you his mother’s will last weekend, when his mother was still warm?’

‘No. I’ve had it in the company safe for a year or so. Silvia gave it to me when her last illness was getting serious. She brought it into this office and said it was to be opened as soon as she died.’

‘And when did you open it?’

‘On Saturday morning. I was informed of her death and followed instructions. I took her letter out of the safe and read it.’

‘And did she name me personally or ask you to hire the first name out of the phone book?’

‘She wanted you.’

‘And who did you tell about this?’

Crespi frowned. He realised he was under polite interrogation and he didn’t like it.

‘Who?’ I asked again, so there could be no mistake.

‘I must have… I mentioned it to my secretary. I keep her informed of all the cases I’m dealing with.’

‘She’s the statue in the front office?’

‘Giovanna Monti,’ he said gravely, as if my description was a slur on her honour.

‘You told her on Saturday the case was going to be reopened.’

He shrugged and nodded in one movement. ‘She would never divulge anything that goes on in this office.’

‘So who else did you mention it to?’

The man paused long enough to show that he was running a memory check. He wasn’t as discreet as he made out.

‘No one. Absolutely no one,’ he said with certainty.

‘All right, call her in.’

He looked at me with disdain and pressed an intercom on his desk. ‘Signora Monti, would you mind coming in here one minute?’

He looked at me again now with defiance. The woman came in. I stood up out of politeness, but she still towered over me. She nodded in my direction, and I took it as a chance to sit down again.

‘Please,’ Crespi pointed at another armchair on the other side of his office. She sat on the arm, her spine as straight as a sword.

‘As you know, Signora,’ Crespi intoned, ‘Castagnetti here is helping us to honour the last wishes of the late Salati, Silvia, in order to establish the legal status of her son, Salati, Riccardo.’

She nodded briefly.

‘He believes knowledge of his ensuing investigation preceded his commission. He is curious to know whether you, or I’, he said hastily, ‘might have informed anyone else of the investigation during the course of last weekend.’

She looked at me, but turned back to Crespi and answered to him.

‘I…’ She didn’t say anything more than that.

‘Who?’ I said.

‘I might have mentioned it to a friend.’

‘Who?’

‘Serena.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘Works in a law firm off Via Farini.’

‘The Tonin firm?’

She nodded.

‘Who is this Serena? One of the lawyers?’

‘Receptionist.’ The woman looked across at Crespi as if to apologise. I nodded at them both as if I had won a small victory. That was one of the satisfactions of this job: showing conceited people that they weren’t as perfect as they thought they were.

I was walking towards the Tonin office when the phone started ringing.

‘Sì.’

‘Your friend Lo Bue’s a nice piece of work,’ Dall’Aglio said.

‘Meaning?’

‘He opened up his wife with a carving knife when she said she was leaving him. He did four months for battery.’

‘Four months?’ I sighed. The court case usually lasts longer than the sentence in Italy.

‘He’s done time before that for the usual: fencing stolen goods, importing Albania’s finest tobacco, that sort of thing. He’s certainly been through the university of life.’

‘Only problem with that university is the graduation.’

Dall’Aglio laughed.

‘Who’s he with?’ I said, serious again.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Has he got a big family?’

Dall’Aglio caught the inference. ‘He’s from Calabria, but that doesn’t mean anything.’

‘Means enough,’ I said, and hung up. I’m not one of those people who pretend they’re not prejudiced. I think everyone is

prejudiced, I reckon it’s impossible not to be. All our wisdom is received rather than invented. I’m willing to be proved wrong, but when a tough nut and his crew are from Calabria, I assume he’s only a phone call away from the ’Ndrangheta.

When I got to the law offices, there was a girl on the front desk. She was so beautiful that I looked for longer than I needed to. She had round cheeks, big eyes and thick hair in loose curls. She wasn’t wearing any jewellery or make-up, and it didn’t look like she needed to.

‘Can I help?’ she asked as I walked up to the desk.

‘Already have.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Never mind. Tonin not in?’

‘No.’

‘You Serena?’

She nodded.

‘How long have you worked here?’

‘Who are you?’

‘Castagnetti. I’m an investigator. I had a little chat with old Tonin this afternoon. He said it would be OK if I asked you a couple of things.’

She looked around at the shut doors of the adjoining offices.

‘The name Riccardo Salati mean anything to you?’

She looked at me and shook her head.

‘How about Giovanna Monti, know her?’

‘Sure, she’s a friend.’

‘You talk to her on Saturday?’

‘I expect so, I don’t remember.’ She was smiling like she was more amused than worried.

‘She tell you they were reopening a case from way back?’

She closed her eyes. ‘Yes, I remember. She might have said something.’

‘And did you tell anyone else in this office?’

‘I don’t talk to anyone in this office about anything other than work.’

‘You don’t like them?’

‘It’s not that. It’s just that our relationship is professional.’

I wondered just how professional she was. She looked it all right, her blouse all buttoned up like an ice-cool receptionist. But she might have let something slip, or someone might have overheard her conversation. Either way, the arrows were pointing towards Tonin.

‘What’s old Tonin like?’ I asked.

She looked at me like I was asking her to be unprofessional. ‘He’s an old-fashioned gentleman.’

‘Meaning?’

‘He’s courteous and kind.’

‘That a professional judgement?’

‘It was my mother’s judgement if you really want to know. She worked here for thirty years before I started. She died suddenly last year, and Massimo looked after me, offered me this job whilst I was getting myself back on my feet.’

‘What about Tonin’s family?’

She looked at me with suspicion, as if I was asking too many questions.

‘Is he married?’

‘Sure.’

‘Kids?’

She nodded. ‘Just one. Sandro. He’s,’ she paused, ‘he’s had his problems with stuff.’

‘What sort of problems?’

‘Substance abuse. He’s crossed the line from can’t get enough to had too much.’

‘It’s a short step,’ I said. ‘Where does he work?’

‘Here often. Not that I would call it work. He’s not even a qualified lawyer. He comes in to call his friends and download films and music as far as I can work out. Uses me as a secretary.’

‘I can see the attraction.’

She blushed slightly, but held my stare like she wanted to play the game.