Maione went over to Ricciardi; he was extremely agitated.
“Commissa’, then you know about it too! I was about to come to your house to call you, even if it’s past midnight. What are we going to do now? Who can we go to? We can’t even be sure that Garzo isn’t involved; that idiot’s a master when it comes to things like this . . .”
Ricciardi was so surprised to see the brigadier there that it took him a while to stanch that flood of words:
“Hold on, hold on, Raffaele. I don’t know anything, tell me: what are you doing here at this hour?”
Maione stopped, perplexed:
“Excuse me, Commissa’, but if you don’t know anything, then how . . .”
Ricciardi pointed at the dog.
“I found him, sitting obediently on the Via Toledo, when I left police headquarters. As if he was waiting for me. So I went over to see at the hospital, but an employee there told me that Bruno had taken a vacation, for Easter. It struck me that the man was afraid of something, he was hesitant, he kept contradicting himself and he seemed worried, at a certain point he even told me that he had small children, as if that was supposed to help me understand why he wouldn’t tell me anything more. That’s when I got worried, and I came here.”
“He’s not here, the doctor; I’ve been ringing the doorbell for the past half hour.”
“What about you? Do you want to tell me why you’re here? Maybe we’re both worried for no reason, while Bruno is actually someplace like Il Paradiso, drinking and playing cards.”
Maione adjusted his collar. For some reason, the fact that he was in civilian clothes in the presence of the commissario put him ill at ease.
“Commissa’, I really don’t think the doctor is anywhere having a good time; this is serious. Very serious. I think our friend has been taken by the Fascists.”
The phrase fell in the lonely night like a bottle from a balcony. Though he’d barely whispered it, Maione still looked around the deserted street to make sure no one had overheard.
“What do you mean, by the Fascists? And how do you know that?”
Continuing to whisper, Maione told him what Lucia had witnessed in the hospital courtyard.
“. . . and so, as you can see, it was a full-fledged arrest. With an unmarked car, officers in plainclothes, maybe even packing concealed weapons. Just like in those American movies, you know? The part where the music gets louder.”
Ricciardi tried to think clearly.
“And you say that your wife saw them argue, but she didn’t hear what they said, is that right?”
“Yes, Commissa’. She was far away, they were at the opposite end of the courtyard and she was outside the gate, and then there was the dog, chained up and barking.”
“In fact, I found the collar still attached to the chain. They must have chained him up when they got there, otherwise he would have done what he did at Viper’s funeral and defended Bruno. So that makes me think that the argument they had this morning has something to do with it: those four idiots must have been the ones who informed on him.”
“You think so, Commissa’? I had assumed that they might know something at police headquarters. Maybe that dope Garzo has a piece of paper sitting on his desk and he chose not to tell us about it. Or it could even be that brown-noser Ponte, his lapdog, maybe he knows something. If that’s the case, I swear that I’ll smack him so hard he’ll forget the way home! I’ll . . .”
Ricciardi shook his head no.
“I don’t think anyone at police headquarters knows anything about this. Those people move through other channels. We need to figure out exactly what happened, and if things are the way we think they are, then we need to find out where they’re holding him and for how long . . .”
Maione agreed grimly.
“I know. They take them to the islands. Ponza, Ventotene, Elba. Who knows where. The luckiest ones . . . We have to find him, Commissa’. Right away. And we have to free him.”
Ricciardi grabbed the brigadier’s arm.
“Yes, that’s right. But we have to move very cautiously, because these people aren’t playing around. You have children, you shouldn’t put yourself at risk. Let me take care of it.”
Maione pulled free, indignantly.
“Commissa’, how can you think such a thing of me? What kind of a man do you take me for? My wife told me that, when it happened, a vendor standing nearby told her: Signo’, you should mind your own business. And that’s why she waited to tell me, because she was worried that I might get myself into trouble. But how many friends do you have, in life? Real friends, I mean. How many? Two, three? The doctor is a friend to me. And if a friend is in this kind of situation, I don’t go home and climb into bed and pretend everything’s fine. Fascists or no Fascists. And as for the children, Commissa’: if you teach your kids to live one way, then how can you set the opposite example? Don’t you agree?”
His reasoning was airtight, and Ricciardi knew exactly how hardheaded Maione could be. On the other hand, the risk of stumbling into charges of aiding and abetting or, worse, conspiracy, was very real, and he couldn’t allow the brigadier to put his own freedom at risk. So he tried to involve him in a way that would do him the least possible harm.
“All right then. Here’s what we’ll do: tomorrow morning early, before you come in to the office, run by and see that girlfriend of yours who knows everything inside and out, and try to figure out where they’re holding him. I’m going to go check things out in a certain place, and maybe if I’m lucky I’ll be able to get some information.”
“Yessir, Commissa’. And please, don’t do anything reckless: you know I’m not the only one who runs in without looking where I’m putting my feet. As for the dog, I’ll take him home with me, for now. It’s something I promised the doctor.”