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Gaetano tried a different approach. “Were the mayor or other city officials on the Quattro Canti?”
“No. He and his family attended Mass at the Cathedral. My wife and my family were also at Mass.”
Gaetano took yet another approach. “But those on the Quattro Canti had to be given permission to be there, didn’t they?”
“I dispensed no such permission. That’s not my duty or concern.”
“Who would have given them permission?”
“I doubt it’s so formal, Gaetano.” Marshal Rosselli shrugged, his gold epaulets shifting up and down. “Anyway, many of the best families leave for the seaside in the summer.”
“Some return for the festival.”
“Then they leave again.” Marshal Rosselli spread his palms. “It’s simply impossible to tell where they would be at any given time.”
“It’s difficult, not impossible.” Gaetano couldn’t suppress his exasperation. “I don’t understand why you’re so unbothered by this crime.”
Marshal Rosselli bristled. “What do you expect me to do? Investigate the kidnapping of an unknown child?”
“Yes, exactly,” Gaetano shot back. “You can’t sit here and donothing.”
“I wait for the parents to contact me. You lack the experience to see the wisdom in my approach.”
Gaetano thought it was lassitude, not wisdom. “I’m trying to help an innocent boy.”
“It’s my job. Why are you trying to do it?”
Because you won’t, Gaetano thought but didn’t say. If the police did their job, there would be no need for the Beati Paoli.
“Indeed, whyareyou involved, Gaetano?”
“I represent an interested client.”
“Who?”
“It’s confidential.”
“How hypocritical.” Marshal Rosselli lifted an eyebrow. “You expect me to share information, yet you do not.”
“We’re not in the same position. You’re a public official, and I’m a private lawyer. You’re inquiring into a private business relationship, and I’m asking about a matter of public interest.”
“Hmph! Your client must be wealthy to hire a fancy lawyer like you.” Marshal Rosselli cocked his head. “If he is, perhaps he’s friends with the victim’s family. Perhapsheknows who the victim might be. I should invite your client here and interviewhim.”
“That won’t be possible.”
“This meeting is over.” Marshal Rosselli stubbed out his cigarette in a crowded ashtray. “Good day.”
“Good day,” Gaetano said, turning to go.
But he was just getting started.
CHAPTER TEN
Mafalda nursed Lucia at the table across from Turi, who slumped in his chair. His eyes remained downcast, and lines creased his forehead. His pasta with sardines and broccoli rabe with garlic and oil cooled on his plate.
“Turi, don’t you want to eat?” Mafalda asked gently.
“I’m not hungry.” Turi raised his glass of wine and drained it quickly. “Giuseppe’s funeral is tomorrow.”
