Death and the Olive Grove Read Free Page A

the woman replied, poker faced.
    Bordelli gave a slight bow of respect and headed back towards the gate, but after taking a few steps he stopped and turned round to face the woman again.
    â€˜One more question, Miss Olga … Have you got a Doberman in this house?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Do you know by any chance if any neighbours—?’
    â€˜I don’t know much about dogs,’ the woman interrupted him, with a note of scorn in her voice.
    â€˜All right, then. Goodnight,’ said Bordelli, and he headed back down the dark garden path. Closing the gate behind him, he noticed that the woman was still standing in the doorway. He walked back towards the Beetle without turning round, and moments later heard the sound of the great door closing.
    In the car he found Casimiro asleep. The dwarf’s head had fallen to one side, and he was snoring. The moment Bordelli started up the car, the little man raised his head abruptly and rubbed his eyes.
    â€˜I wasn’t asleep,’ he said.
    â€˜I’ll take you home.’
    â€˜Did you discover anything, Inspector?’
    â€˜No, but there’s something fishy about all this,’ said Bordelli, staring into space. Then he turned the car round again and headed back towards town. During one straight stretch of road he pulled his wallet out of his jacket pocket, took out two thousand lire, and put the money in Casimiro’s hand.
    â€˜You could use a little, no?’ he said. The dwarf hesitated for a moment, as he always did, then took the money and put it in his shoe.
    â€˜Thank you, Inspector, I can’t be too picky,’ he said darkly.
    â€˜Cigarette?’
    â€˜No, thanks … If you want, I can try to find something out myself.’
    â€˜But you’ve already shat your pants once …’ Bordelli said, laughing.
    â€˜I’m not afraid,’ the little man said, slightly offended. He didn’t like to be seen as a coward.
    â€˜Never mind, Casimiro, it might be dangerous,’ Bordelli said in a serious tone.
    â€˜Why dangerous?’
    â€˜You never know.’
    â€˜I know what I’m doing,’ said Casimiro, squeezing the little skeleton tightly in his hand.
    â€˜And what if you run into another puppy dog like the last one?’
    â€˜I’ll bring a pistol this long …’ said Casimiro, playing the tough guy. He seemed in the grip of a fit of pride.
    â€˜This isn’t a cowboy movie, Casimiro … But I may have another little job for you in a few days,’ Bordelli lied, already trying to think of something. Once he had even had the little guy tail Diotivede, telling him the doctor was a mafioso …
    They rode for a few moments in silence. The Beetle descended slowly towards the city. At San Domenico, Bordelli turned to pass by way of the Badia Fiesolana for no reason in particular, perhaps only because he wanted to see one more time the steep descent he used to take in his toy wagon, always risking a broken neck.
    â€˜Have you got any news of Botta, Casimiro?’ Bordelli hadn’t seen Ennio Bottarini for quite a while. He wanted to arrange another dinner party at his place, with Botta at the cooker. The luckless thief wasn’t a bad cook at all. He’d spent a number of years in jails across half of Europe and had learned from his various cellmates how to make the local dishes.
    â€˜He must be still in Greece,’ said Casimiro.
    â€˜Free or in jail?’
    â€˜A few days ago I ran into a friend of his, who said Botta’d made a little money down there and is supposed to return soon.’
    â€˜You don’t say …’
    *  *  *
    A few days later, a phone call came in to the station, and Bordelli set out in his VW, stepping hard on the accelerator. As usual, young Piras was with him. It was almost 7 p.m., and the sun had already set a while before.
    There was a big crowd at the entrance of the Parco del Ventaglio, along with three