The couple obviously slept apart because the next room along was feminine. The wardrobe was full of designer outfits in garish colours. On the reproduction chest of drawers were photographs of the same man. He was good-looking in an overdone sort of way. He had long curling hair and facial hair which changed in each photo: a goatee in one, long, narrow sideburns in another. He must have spent half an hour shaving every day. There was a large photo where the man was wearing yellow corduroys. His brogues looked like the narrow nib of a fountain pen and they had fat, external stitching as if to pretend they were done by hand instead of by a machine. It looked like the same guy from the photo in Tonin’s office.

‘Who’s that?’ I asked one of the cadets taking tape samples from the carpet.

‘No idea.’

I looked at the photographs again. I assumed it was their son Sandro because he was everywhere. There wasn’t anyone else, no sibling to rival his place on his mother’s chest of drawers. He must have thought he was an only child until poor Riccardo came along.

I went back downstairs and saw the huge hall. It was cold and unloved. Even the sofa against the far wall looked austere, like it had never been sat in. The cushions were placed at deliberate angles. I remembered when I had come in here two days ago how the woman’s voice had bounced off the walls. I closed my eyes and tried to recall that atmosphere when we had first walked in. She had been on the phone.

I got to the bottom of the stairs and saw the handset. She had been speaking to someone. I got out my mobile and called Dall’Aglio. He was still in the car by the sound of it.

‘I’ve got something else for you. Find out who their phone operator is and get an itemised breakdown of the calls from the Tonin house on Wednesday night.’

Dall’Aglio said nothing. He wasn’t happy taking dictation from a rival.

‘Has Tonin said anything?’ I asked.

‘Nothing. Says he will reply to questions in the presence of his lawyer.’

I laughed and hung up. Why a lawyer needed another lawyer to defend himself I couldn’t understand. It made it look like the truth wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to find a way out, and that meant calling in a colleague to help.

I went outside on to the drive and walked slowly towards the gate. I dialled the switchboard sweetheart.

‘Studio Tonin.’

‘That Serena?’

‘Sì.’

‘Castagnetti here.’

She didn’t say anything.

‘How you doing?’ I asked.

‘Fine. Can I help you?’ She sounded distant, as if there were someone listening to her talking.

‘Sure you can. In the next hour or two a call is going to come in from jail. It will be Massimo Tonin, asking to speak to one of his colleagues.’

‘Massimo’s been arrested?’ She sounded indignant.

‘He has.’

‘What for?’

‘I don’t know. Here’s what I need you to do. As soon as you’ve put the call through, phone me and let me know who he asked to speak to.’

‘I can’t do that.’ You would have thought I had asked her to show me her thighs.

‘It’s very simple,’ I repeated. ‘I’ll give you my number.’ I

started giving her the numbers and she didn’t interrupt. ‘You got that? And you call me. Just one name. It’s for Massimo’s benefit. Take my word.’

‘I don’t know what your word’s worth. I don’t know you.’

‘I know a really good way to get to know someone,’ I said.

‘I’m sure you do.’

‘Call me.’ I hung up before she could protest.

I had wandered back into the house and into the kitchen as we had been speaking. It was a large room with a central island of speckled granite. Above it hung huge pans and ladles. In one recess to the right was a large cooker where a pan was bubbling away.

Teresa Tonin came in from a far corner just as I was about to go out. She had an apron on which was smeared with flour. She suddenly saw me and jumped slightly with the surprise.

‘You,’ she said.

‘You heard your husband’s been arrested?’

‘Of course I have. I’ve had men crawling all over my house for the last hour.’ She looked at me bitterly, her lips pursed in anger. ‘It’s not enough that he publicly humiliated me by having that boy. To think that he could have done something even worse, so much worse. Not just give life to him, but…’

‘But what?’

She didn’t say anything.

‘What did Umberto Salati want with you two days ago?’ I asked.

She sighed heavily and then seemed to snap out of her reverie. ‘Sorry?’

‘Was Umberto Salati after money? The first words you said to me were over the intercom. “You’re not getting anything from us,” you said, or something similar.’

She stared at me. ‘He was after money, sure.’

‘Why?’

‘He was threatening to tell the authorities about Massimo.’

‘What about Massimo?’

‘About Massimo’s affair with that Salati woman.’

‘Why would you pay him not to talk?’

‘I wouldn’t. That’s what you heard me say, wasn’t it? Everyone seems to know about it now anyway. I’ve no idea why that Umberto Salati thought he could get money from us. The innocent can’t be blackmailed, isn’t that right?’

‘So why did Umberto think he could get money out of you? Because Riccardo had in the past?’

She had been about to turn her back and slice an onion, but she turned to face me.

‘Was Riccardo blackmailing your husband back in ’95?’

She held my stare and the earth seemed to stop turning for an instant. She didn’t say anything.

‘Tell me again,’ I said slowly, ‘what Umberto Salati wanted on Wednesday when he came round here.’

She looked at me with fiery, impatient eyes. ‘He said Massimo was a disgrace. Said he had humiliated his mother. He said he knew everything, said he would hand it all over to the authorities.’

‘What did he mean by that?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t understand it.’

It clearly meant something to her. ‘What did you think he meant?’

‘I assumed… I don’t know. He said Massimo would pay for it. Said he could pay now or later, but he would pay.’

‘Did he mention figures?’

‘All he said is that he wanted the proof his brother was dead.’

‘And he thought he could find it here?’ She looked at me with anger, so I asked her another. ‘So who did you phone?’

She froze. ‘I phoned…’

‘And then Salati was murdered?’

She stared at me with fury now. ‘What exactly are you accusing me of?’

‘Who did you phone?’ I pressed.

She started walking towards me with a finger taking aim at my face. ‘Get off my property. Get out of here.’

‘Want me to call the police?’ I said, and turned away.

‘Castagnetti?’

‘Serena?’

‘The name’s Giulio Tanzi.’

‘Thank you. Put me through.’

The phone rang once and he picked it up.

‘You the counsel for Tonin?’

‘I don’t talk to the press,’ he said straight off.

‘I’m not the press. Not police either. My name’s Castagnetti.’

‘And?’

‘I’m a private.’ The lawyer hesitated so I tried to say it quick, before he could interrupt. ‘Your colleague Massimo Tonin has been arrested and the charge is pretty serious. Wouldn’t look good for your firm to have a murderer in the ranks. Clients could kind of back off if they heard that. But I’ve got some great news for you. This charge won’t stand up any more than a new-born baby.’

‘How so?’

I brought him up to speed on the case. Told him what he already knew, like old Tonin was a gent, and some stuff he didn’t, like the Gazzetta payment in Riccardo’s name which was paid for with Tonin’s card.

‘What do you want?’ he asked when I had finished.

‘I want to interview him.’

‘What’s your interest?’

‘Professional satisfaction. Proving someone wrong. The usual reasons.’

‘If you do interview him, I will expect to be present.’

‘Fine. I’m sure your presence would help.’ I caressed the man’s vanity. ‘The whole city will be knocking on your door by tonight, pleading for an interview. You’re in the spotlight like you’ve never been before. You’re defending the most famous accused in Emilia-Romagna and you’re about to clear his name.’