TEODORI LOOKED LESS PALE and less swollen, and his eyes were a little less yellow. He had shaved and his jacket, tie, and shirt matched. He was bursting with energy and optimism. His office was covered with photos of Elisa Sordi, the autopsy report, and, the biggest surprise of all, the possible alibis of not only Valerio Bona but also the inhabitants of Via della Camilluccia.
“We checked,” he said, beaming. “Valerio Bona is the only one who isn’t covered for the whole afternoon; then, after eight, he’s got witnesses who say he was at home, although with all the chaos after the game we can’t be sure.”
“Father Paul?”
“The other volunteer, Antonio Orlandi, has confirmed his whole story.”
“And Manfredi?”
“Same thing. His personal trainer at the Top Top is a Polish guy named Jan Deniak. He says Manfredi was with him for at least an hour, from a 6:45 to 8:00, doing weight training in the gym.”
The rejuvenated Teodori had even very discreetly verified the count’s movements: first at his party’s meeting, then at the minister of the interior’s. Everything had been confirmed, except there were no witnesses to Ulla’s shopping expedition. Then from eight fifteen onward they were all at home with friends. And there was no doubt about Manfredi. Teodori had even double-checked when Cardinal Alessandrini arrived at and left the Vatican.
Almost apologetically, he continued, “We also ascertained that Dioguardi was with his girlfriend all day. Then he came to get you at five, and then the two of you were together after leaving Via della Camilluccia.”
So you even checked my alibi.
“And the telephone records for the Sordi house?”
“The girl had nothing arranged for Sunday, so she didn’t tell anyone she was going into the office. She was supposed to spend the day with her parents, going to mass, and then come home before the game.”
“Did she make any calls from the office on Saturday or Sunday?”
“Only on Saturday, to tell her mother and Valerio Bona that she’d be working the next day. No outgoing calls on Sunday, only incoming calls from Angelo Dioguardi and her mother—and you, of course, Captain, when you were looking for Dioguardi.”
There was no sarcasm in his “of course.” If Teodori were harboring any doubts about my call, he’d let them go after Fratini’s arrest.
When it came time to go Teodori took my hand in his. “I’m eternally grateful to you, Balistreri. I don’t even want to know how you did it.”
I didn’t dare tell him for fear of his having a heart attack. The victim of the crime was back after a busy night, right there typing away at her desk, dressed soberly to cover the marks left from the night before.