Of course, Ric knew what Talaia was going to say. He knew what the results of the fingerprint test would show the moment the detective told him the Beretta had been wiped clean but for one partial print.
“And I was hoping this situation would not get much worse for you, Signor Ross.”
“Thank you for your… sympathy, if I read you correctly, Commissario. But you and I both know there’s no way I did for Candela.”
The detective shrugs. “This,” he taps the report again, “would suggest otherwise. And this makes me sad: I was beginning to like you. But you could have made this so much easier for yourself, if you had told me when I asked you yesterday if the gun was yours.”
Ric thins his lips and replies, “It wasn’t and it isn’t. It just happened to turn up on the Mara. I should have filed it in a couple of hundred fathoms. Don’t know why I didn’t.”
Talaia inclines his head. “Oh, this is understandable. I think it is impossible for a soldier – pardon, a fighting man – to throw away his weapon. It is against his nature. This, I will grant you.”
“You’re too understanding,” Ric replies, with deserved sarcasm. “But the Beretta stayed on the boat until it was taken out of the water. I found it was missing when I went to Maggiore’s yard. Didn’t you tell me a few minutes ago that the chair you are sitting in is yours until you vacate it?”
He nods, “Yes, but you know very well what I meant when I said this. And even though this pistol is not in your possession at this moment; it has your fingerprint on it, which tells me that it was in your possession and that is how it came to be here.”
“Okay, you’re right, Commissario. The Beretta was on the Mara when I arrived; it was left on the boat by someone who thought I might need it. For what reason, I don’t know. But maybe that’s a story for later. However, sometime between my arrival in Lipari and the boat ending up in Maggiore’s yard, someone removed it and used it to shoot Candela.”
Talaia scoffs, “And you expect me to believe Candela’s killer removed the pistol from your yacht in order to implicate you?”
“It explains why the pistol was wiped clean except for one of my fingerprints.”
“It would, but, if you will permit me, this theory stretches the imagination too far. How did this person know that your print was still on the pistol after he had wiped it clean?”
Pellets of rain slap against the window behind the detective.
“I don’t know; maybe they hedged their bets.”
Talaia looks up at Officer Paolo and nods at Ric. The tall poliziotto steps forward.
“Hang on a minute, Commissario, you know as well as I do that I’ve no motive for shooting Candela.”
“It is true. But…” he pauses, considering. “So, what you are suggesting is that Signor Maggiore Marcello removed the pistol from your yacht and used it to shoot Girolamo Candela?”
“No, Commissario, he can’t have shot Candela. Maggiore was out in the ocean fishing with me. I can verify his alibi in the same way he has verified mine–”
“Which makes this a conspiracy between the two of you,” he interrupts, pouting and raising his eyebrows. “If you remember, I asked you if you trusted Signor Maggiore.”
“And, if I remember rightly, I told you I had no reason not to. Now, though, I’m not so sure.”
“Because you think it must be Signor Maggiore who stole the pistol from your yacht?” Talaia’s tone and expression suggest he is leading his suspect down a path he has been expecting him to take all along.
“Or one of his men,” Ric replies, thinking of the wiry Salvo. “I know Maggiore didn’t shoot Candela, but that doesn’t rule out the possibility one of his men did it.”
“No,” Talaia agrees, “it most definitely does not, Signor Ross. However, I have made many checks on Signor Maggiore and though he may be the acquaintance of some less than desirable members of the wider community, I find it hard to believe he would be stupid enough to commit, or even commission, this sort of action.”
“You mean he’s not part of the Mafia? I thought everyone was in some way.”
The Commissario groans, leans forward on his forearms and interlaces his fingers, putting his thumbs together as though he is imitating a church spire on the roof of his fingers.
“Signor Ross, we have spoken about the Mafia. I was hoping to have educated you as to how many strands of this insular organisation exist. But what you have singularly failed to appreciate is that the Mafia is only a natural extension of the way society is constructed here. There are many families, associations and even corporations – call them what you will – who conduct themselves perfectly peacefully and yet they adhere to the same unspoken laws as those of the criminal gangs. These laws are a complex sociological construct which has evolved over many centuries. The concept of the Godfather has been made real and popular for us by writers like Puzo and film-makers like Coppola, or, come to think of it, even by some opera composers. What I am not saying is that these larger than life characters do not exist, because sadly they do. But, what I am saying is that their origins lie in a feudal system where one man, by his own nature, has the power to impose himself over others.”
Ric interrupts, “And Marcello Maggiore is one such character?”
“In some ways, yes. But what I am talking about is a society founded on respect. Each man has respect for the other, but individual strengths and weaknesses produce a society in which one man generates more respect than the next. Also, this respect is handed down from one generation to the next, from one Vecchio Signori to the next, and so the respect becomes, quite literally, inherent; it is not questioned.”
Talaia’s lecture on the laws of the Sicilian jungle confuses Ric. It knocks him off balance for a while. For if the Commissario does not suspect Maggiore for having some part in Candela’s murder, Ric cannot think who else might have killed him.
The little detective smiles, evidently pleased that he is ahead of Ric. “Signor Ross, in my opinion Signor Maggiore has too much to lose to be involved in Candela’s assassination. He is neither a big enough, nor a small enough fish for such a crime.”
Ric is fast running out of ideas and is puzzled as to why Talaia should want to lend Maggiore such a ringing endorsement. “What about his brother? I understand Marcello Maggiore had a brother,” he offers. “Is he big enough to fry?”
“Yes and no,” Talaia replies. “This Claudio, I have not met him, but I am led to believe he walks in his brother’s shadow; he has not the same spine as Signor Maggiore. However, my counterparts in Palermo, who have been investigating Girolamo Candela, have discovered correspondence between Claudio and the deceased.”
“What sort of correspondence?”
The detective chews Ric’s question over for a couple of seconds before replying, “For the moment, let us not concern ourselves with the communications between these two individuals. They are in all probability irrelevant to our enquiries.”
Ric notes his reluctance to explain the connection further.
Talaia blinks and frowns, “You said had, Signor Ross. If I recall correctly, you said Signor Maggiore Marcello had a brother. What did you mean by this?”
Though Ric knows the news will mean a whole load of trouble for Marcello, he has no option left other than to give it up: “What I mean, Commissario, is that Claudio Maggiore, like his pen-friend, Girolamo Candela, is dead.”