The Art of Killing Well by Marco Malvaldi, Howard Curtis Read Free Book Online Page B

of the nobility do things with their own hands?
    â€œMy butler usually caters to my needs, Ispettore, and those of my guests. As I was saying, I had the port poured for me, while the others toasted with champagne. But yesterday I must have been suffering from some indisposition and did not feel at all well, so I barely took a sip of the port.”
    â€œI see. How then, Barone, do you explain the fact that the glass found in front of Teodoro was empty?”
    The baron gave the inspector a dirty look. After a moment, he smiled slightly. “I’ve always suspected that Teodoro finished my drinks whenever I left anything. I frequently noticed that he filled my glass once too often, from which I deduced that he was filling it for himself. He was crafty, the poor boy. He knew that I could keep an eye on the level in the bottles, but the glass … It was a little trick of his, God rest his soul.”
    â€œExcuse me, Barone. You said earlier that in the course of the evening you felt indisposed. Do you mind my asking if you had a bad night?”
    â€œIndeed I did. I didn’t get a wink of sleep.”
    â€œIf I’m not being indiscreet, may I ask what kind of condition kept you awake?”
    The baron appeared embarrassed. Some questions are simply not asked, he seemed to say.
    â€œThat’s quite alright. As I’ve told you, I often suffer from digestiveproblems. Because of my stomach ache, my heart was beating faster than usual last night. There were times when I feared I was on the verge of an apoplectic fit.”
    â€œI understand. Barone, I see no reason to detain you any longer. I need now to speak to your two sons. I would ask you not to breathe a word to anyone of what we have said, at least until the day is over. My respects, Barone.”
    â€œI am most grateful, Ispettore.”

    One of the most common afflictions of powerful men is to have a stupid son. There is no shortage of historical examples, particularly in politics, from Cromwell onwards: it may be because when you are powerful you have no time to waste keeping an eye on your children, or because if you are influential your offspring are bound to grow up spoilt, but it is not a rare occurrence for a father in a position of authority to be succeeded by an idiot son. As you will all have gathered, Ispettore Artistico had given himself up to such reflections as soon as the baron’s younger son, Lapo, had sat down facing him.
    Even his way of sitting was irritating: not facing straight ahead, but with the chair angled to the right and his legs crossed, as if instead of dealing with a police officer the young fool were at the café with his friends, and it was in this way, without looking at the inspector, that he had started answering the questions.
    â€œDo you remember at approximately what time the toast finished?”
    â€œI have no idea. I left the company at about eleven in theevening, and went to the village with some of my companions. I only got back this morning.”
    â€œYou can confirm, though, can you not, that there was a toast in the course of which you all drank champagne, and only your father was served port?”
    â€œI can confirm that, yes. We hadn’t toasted with champagne for a long time. You see, old Cesaroni’s horse had won its race, and my father was quite excited.”
    â€œI see. Is he great friends with Barone Cesaroni? Or are they partners in the stables?”
    â€œNo, not at all. Can you imagine? No, the fact is, my father had bet good money on that horse, which was supposed to be a worn-out old nag and actually won. My father, you know, has always been fond of betting on the horses, and has squandered a fair amount of money on it. A reprehensible vice.”
    What about you? thought the inspector. The baron’s passion for horseflesh was as well known in the area as his son’s passion for female flesh (preferably enjoyed doggy-fashion), but the inspector had