Free The Salati Case by Tobias Jones Page B

She nodded in my direction, and I took it as a chance to sit down again.
    ‘Please,’ Crespi pointed at another armchair on the other side of his office. She sat on the arm, her spine as straight as a sword.
    ‘As you know, Signora,’ Crespi intoned, ‘Castagnetti here is helping us to honour the last wishes of the late Salati, Silvia, in order to establish the legal status of her son, Salati, Riccardo.’
    She nodded briefly.
    ‘He believes knowledge of his ensuing investigation preceded his commission. He is curious to know whether you, or I’, he said hastily, ‘might have informed anyone else of the investigation during the course of last weekend.’
    She looked at me, but turned back to Crespi and answered to him.
    ‘I …’ She didn’t say anything more than that.
    ‘Who?’ I said.
    ‘I might have mentioned it to a friend.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Serena.’
    ‘Who’s that?’
    ‘Works in a law firm off Via Farini.’
    ‘The Tonin firm?’
    She nodded.
    ‘Who is this Serena? One of the lawyers?’
    ‘Receptionist.’ The woman looked across at Crespi as if to apologise. I nodded at them both as if I had won a small victory. That was one of the satisfactions of this job: showing conceited people that they weren’t as perfect as they thought they were.
     
     
    I was walking towards the Tonin office when the phone started ringing.
    ‘Sì.’
    ‘Your friend Lo Bue’s a nice piece of work,’ Dall’Aglio said.
    ‘Meaning?’
    ‘He opened up his wife with a carving knife when she said she was leaving him. He did four months for battery.’
    ‘Four months?’ I sighed. The court case usually lasts longer than the sentence in Italy.
    ‘He’s done time before that for the usual: fencing stolen goods, importing Albania’s finest tobacco, that sort of thing. He’s certainly been through the university of life.’
    ‘Only problem with that university is the graduation.’
    Dall’Aglio laughed.
    ‘Who’s he with?’ I said, serious again.
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘Has he got a big family?’
    Dall’Aglio caught the inference. ‘He’s from Calabria, but that doesn’t mean anything.’
    ‘Means enough,’ I said, and hung up. I’m not one of those people who pretend they’re not prejudiced. I think everyone is
    prejudiced, I reckon it’s impossible not to be. All our wisdom is received rather than invented. I’m willing to be proved wrong, but when a tough nut and his crew are from Calabria, I assume he’s only a phone call away from the ’Ndrangheta.
     
     
    When I got to the law offices, there was a girl on the front desk. She was so beautiful that I looked for longer than I needed to. She had round cheeks, big eyes and thick hair in loose curls. She wasn’t wearing any jewellery or make-up, and it didn’t look like she needed to.
    ‘Can I help?’ she asked as I walked up to the desk.
    ‘Already have.’
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘Never mind. Tonin not in?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You Serena?’
    She nodded.
    ‘How long have you worked here?’
    ‘Who are you?’
    ‘Castagnetti. I’m an investigator. I had a little chat with old Tonin this afternoon. He said it would be OK if I asked you a couple of things.’
    She looked around at the shut doors of the adjoining offices.
    ‘The name Riccardo Salati mean anything to you?’
    She looked at me and shook her head.
    ‘How about Giovanna Monti, know her?’
    ‘Sure, she’s a friend.’
    ‘You talk to her on Saturday?’
    ‘I expect so, I don’t remember.’ She was smiling like she was more amused than worried.
    ‘She tell you they were reopening a case from way back?’
    She closed her eyes. ‘Yes, I remember. She might have said something.’
    ‘And did you tell anyone else in this office?’
    ‘I don’t talk to anyone in this office about anything other than work.’
    ‘You don’t like them?’
    ‘It’s not that. It’s just that our relationship is professional.’
    I wondered just how professional she was. She looked it all