Lojacono and Alex followed Professor Forgione through a maze of hallways and staircases. The lieutenant was increasingly convinced that without an expert scout to guide them back out, they would have remained prisoners for the rest of their lives in the coils of that building.
When they got to the laboratory, they were quite impressed. The place was spacious, tidy, and spotless. Deep down inside, the lieutenant was forced to admit that often his negative prejudices against that dirty and chaotic city were proven wrong by the things he encountered in real life.
Renato was standing in front of a complicated system of test tubes and very narrow glass pipes. He was staring into the middle distance, as pale as a rag; with one hand he was tormenting the hem of his lab coat. His grief at the loss of his friend and the trauma of having stumbled upon his corpose were far from having been metabolized.
There were at least eight or ten other people in the room, and at the sight of the professor they all grew agitated. It was clear that the boss was rarely seen around there, and the general intent was clearly to make a good impression.
“Signori, buongiorno to you all,” said Antimo Forgione. “Forgive us if we interrupt the work you’re doing. As you know, the university and our institute in particular have suffered a terrible loss, that of our friend Dr. Varricchio. This gentleman and lady are from the police and they’re conducting an investigation into the case. I’d like to ask you to make yourselves available to them and answer any questions they may wish to ask of you.”
Lojacono appreciated the peremptory tone of that request.
“Thanks, Professor. For the moment, we’re happy just to speak with your son, whom we have already met before.”
The others in the room exchanged glances, heaving a sigh of relief, and silently went back to the work that they’d been doing.
Renato came over, saying hello.
The professor led them to an office that was separated from the larger room by glass walls, transparent but soundproof.
“Renato,” he told his son, “these policemen want to know about the last period of Biagio’s life: how he was doing, whether he was having any troubles. I told them what I could, but you were his friend. I also told them that recently you’d been covering up for his shortcomings with the work you did . . . ”
The young man waffled defensively.
“Papà, come on, I told you a thousand times, that’s not the way it was, he—”
The professor gently touched his arm.
“My dear boy, do you think I don’t know how to judge my own coworkers? I always know what you’re doing in here, and also what you aren’t. For the past six months, for the most part you’ve been in charge of the projects assigned to the two of you. But that doesn’t matter, I knew just how capable and skilled Biagio was, it was just a matter of waiting for the bad times to be over. Unfortunately, as we know, they didn’t end at all.”
Renato opened his mouth, and then shut it again. The hand that he raised to adjust his eyeglasses was trembling.
Lojacono and Alex were speechless. Before his partner had a chance to say something unnecessary, Lojacono took back control of the situation.
“Professor, we thank you for your time. We don’t want to take up any more of it. Why don’t you let us ask a few questions of our own? We’d like to spend a few more minutes with young Dr. Forgione, here, and then we’ll get out of your hair.”
“Let me thank you for your diplomatic approach, you want to talk to Renato alone because you think that he might find it awkward to talk with me here. But let me assure you that my son and I have no secrets between us, and—”
The young man weighed in, decisively.
“Papà, why don’t you just let us talk. Biagio wouldn’t have wanted me to reveal things in your presence that he had told me in confidence.”
Forgione nodded.
“Yes, you’re probably right. Signori, my regards. If you need anything, you know how to get in touch.”
And he left the room.
Once the professor had left the laboratory, after saying goodbye to the other researchers, the young man relaxed. Alex recognized in his eyes the often debilitating effects of the influence of an authoritative father.
Renato caught her look, and sighed.
“My father is a great scientist, a fantastic man, but sometimes he just doesn’t understand certain situations.”
Lojacono tried to reassure him.
“Don’t worry about that. Among other things, he was very helpful, and I assure you that’s rarely the case. To come back to us, when we spoke with you at the apartment, we were interested in you inasmuch as you were the one who found the victims. Now we’d like to talk to you as a friend of Biagio Varricchio’s, to better understand his life and his sister’s life. We’re going to need to track back to whoever—”
Renato waved his hand.
“I understand perfectly. Go ahead and ask: I’m as eager as anyone to ensure that whoever committed . . . that terrible deed should be identified and made to pay for it.”
Alex noticed that the resemblance between father and son become more unmistakable the moment that the young man lost his usual indecisive expression.
“The professor referred to the fact that Biagio had been somewhat distracted on the job. Can you tell us more?”
Renato gently shook his head.
“You see, our line of work involves a few initial hunches followed by lengthy, boring routines, taking measurements, re-checking them, experimenting: all to prove whether a single hypothesis is true or false. All it takes is the slightest oversight and you run the risk of taking for granted a reaction or a process that invalidates all the rest. Error lurks around every corner.”
“So?”
“Biagio was always a fantastic researcher, full of brilliant hunches but especially determined and careful when it came to the successive steps, the process of verification. Recently, though, it was as if he’d lost his ability to concentrate. I had to double check his data, which delayed the completion of the research project. I think that’s what my father was talking about. I was happy to do it, Biagio helped me out when I was studying, and even afterward: in some sense I was just returning the favor. It was a bad time for him.”
Alex wanted to get a clearer understanding.
“So are you saying that the problem was that Varricchio’s calculations, or whatever they were, had to be done over again?”
“That was part of it. Then there was the issue of how seldom he was showing up in the laboratory. He’d stay at home with his laptop and say he was working from there. But he’d stopped bringing anything back here. It was clear that he had other things on his mind.”
“Had he confided in you the reason for his uneasiness?” Lojacono asked.
Renato shrugged his shoulders.
“Biagio didn’t talk much, in part because he didn’t have anything going on outside of the university. He used to say that he’d start going out, spending time with other people, once he’d attained the professional goals he’d set for himself. Actually, though, he was just shy, even with me, and I was his only friend.”
“But you must have had some idea of your own, right?”
“You can’t live with a person for ten or twelve hours a day without understanding, at least a little, what is going through his mind. The problem was his sister.”
“Had he told you anything about her?” Alex persisted.
“Yes. When he was at the university, we would eat lunch together, and if we were working late, I would drive him home. In those periods of time, he had an opportunity to chat a little bit.”
The young man tended to dole out information with an eyedropper. Perhaps that was typical of the work he did, Lojacono thought to himself.
“Then, do you think you could explain to us why his sister would have been a problem?”
Renato looked at him, in some surprise.
“Didn’t you talk to Paco and Vinnie? Grazia had turned Biagio’s life upside down. Before she came, everything was calm and quiet, there was a smooth and orderly routine. After she arrived, the place turned into a circus. Just think, when there was work to be done even after the laboratory had closed for the night, Biagio preferred to come to my house, just like in the old days when we’d study together. In fact, if I didn’t see him for a while I’d start to worry. That’s actually why I dropped by to see him the other morning.”
“What do you mean, a ‘circus’?”
“That her boyfriend would come and go, and he and Grazia were always fighting furiously. Then there was his father, constantly threatening to show up there and drag his daughter back down to the village. Biagio was terrified of him. He described him as a hulking monster, violent and capable of anything. Then there was the whole thing with the photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“Grazia had brought Biagio a snapshot with her name on it that she’d had taken for a modeling agency; she was practically nude, wearing nothing but a skimpy swimsuit. Only her boyfriend happened to get a look at it, too, and he ripped it into a thousand pieces and then attacked her. Biagio, who certainly was no fighter, found himself forced to stand up for her.”
Lojacono thought it over. The episode fit in with everything he’d learned when he’d questioned Foti and Cava; and the young man’s reaction seemed to fit right in with his personality.
“What was Biagio planning to do?” he asked.
“He loved his sister very much. In an almost paternal way. He’d worked himself half to death to be able to study and at the same time pay for her expenses living with their aunt and uncle. I myself helped him out financially when he was in his direst straits. I think he wanted to go on helping her, but she had no other real gifts, aside from her beauty. Becoming a model, all things considered, was a pretty good idea, and Biagio was happy about it. But her boyfriend and the father would never have allowed her to do it.”
“And so?” asked Alex.
“And so Biagio was in a state of crisis. His mind was accustomed to finding solutions, but now it was chasing endlessly around the problem without being able to make head or tails of it. And that was draining him, exhausting him. Sadly.”
“Speaking of money, Doctor,” Lojacono jumped in, “had Varricchio asked you for any money, recently? Even a small sum, but above and beyond his usual needs.”
“No. He never asked for money, maybe I didn’t make myself clear. I would sense when he needed money and arrange to get it to him. The apartment, for instance: I let him have it years ago, when I realized that living in a pensione was forcing him to study in bed, by the dim light of a bare bulb. Or the grocery shopping, the household staples like laundry detergent and other cleaning supplies that I’d send around periodically. For his other needs, the salaries that we get here, when we get them, were more than sufficient for him. At least, until his sister arrived. But he never asked me for a cent.”
Lojacono exchanged a glance with Alex.
“Doctor, we thank you for the information that you’ve given us. If we were to need anything else—”
“He was an extraordinary young man, you know? A wonderful friend. And he would have been a great scientist, the kind that really leave their mark. My father thinks that, of the two of us, I was the more brilliant, but he is completely wrong. Biagio was a shy type, and even when he was interviewed by the universitary magazine, he was very shy, but he had remarkable abilities.”
“We’re sure that’s true, Doctor. We’re sure of it,” Alex murmured.
Renato stared at her. His eyes, behind the lenses of his glasses, were welling over with tears.
“He was my friend. I loved him very much. No one will miss him more than I will.”