The Broken Frame Read Free Page B

trust.”
    “Did I have a choice?”
    The news of Simon's arrival had spread throughout the police station. When Germano finally came out of his office, he felt like a celebrity. Except that instead of being surrounded by photographers, when he looked out he only saw his own agents.
    He tried not to give away any clues to anyone about the substance of the conversation he'd just ended; he merely said the investigator was interested in a few details of little value.
    One man who didn't believe the whole story was Angelo Parisi. After leaving his colleagues, he met Germano in the parking lot while he was getting into his car.
    “What did he want?”
    “Nothing in particular. He just told me he wanted to investigate certain matters relating to this issue.”
    “But he can’t do that. Did you tell him?”
    "I tried, but I gave up when I realized it would be completely useless."
    “What a man.”
    "For now we must keep this case under our control. I'm sad to say it, but if we let the guy go, we'd have to stay on the defensive, waiting for someone to make a false move.”
    “There is no other way?”
    “Not yet my friend.”
    That night was very different from how he'd imagined it. When he arrived at his home, he found some unexpected guests waiting for him. His in-laws, who had decided to delight their children and grandchildren with their recipes. Of course, as usual, they chose Germano's house for the visit.
    The unexpected arrival of Simons at the Precinct had already made the rounds of the neighborhood. It meant between the mullet and the prawns, the Commissioner also had to entertain those present, by revealing as much as he could about the popular American detective.

November 15
    E lio Rossetti was the bartender who'd called a few days earlier to warn the police about the strange closing time of the art gallery. The Commissioner arranged for him to call in to see him that morning. Germano was waiting for him at nine o'clock. For some reason, the bartender arrived a few minutes early.
    "Good morning Rossetti. I only called you in today because of the delays with some of the paperwork, things I couldn't do before. In any case, thank you for your punctuality."
    “It’s no problem, Commissioner.”
    “I didn't answer your phone call the other night, so I'd like to hear from you how it all happened.”
    "Of course. It started a few minutes past nine. I kept noticing the shutter of the Riva gallery still up. At that point I started to watch the entrance with more interest."
    “The report says that your bar is on the corner. The art gallery right next to the bar is, is that correct?”
    "Yes, we have outside tables, and it often happens that customers want to be served outside. I had the chance to go back and forth several times that night, often passing a short distance from the front door of the gallery."
    “What do you mean by short distance? Three or four, or perhaps five feet from the entrance?”
    “More than five feet away.”
    “Did you see anybody leaving the gallery around 18:30 or 18:40?”
    "I didn't notice anyone. As I already told you, I began to suspect something was wrong around nine, when I realized that the doors were still open. Usually the gallery only remains open until six thirty.”
    “I understand. How many people work in the bar?”
    “Just my wife and I, but often I remain there on my own during the evenings.”
    “Mr. Rossetti, were you alone that night?”
    “Yes Commissioner.”
    "Did you hear any screams, or something that may have seemed like a fight? Any noises coming from the shop?"
    “No, nothing like that.”
    “How can you be so sure?”
    "Because the wall between my bar and his shop is not very thick. Sometimes I could hear him laughing. When he was laughing."
    “Do you know Michele Riva?”
    “Carlo Riva’s son? Yes, I saw him at times, when he showed up to visit his father. I’m not sure if he knows me, but his father told me about his son many times.”
    “Can you