The Marshal and the Madwoman (22 page)

'That's right,' piped up a tiny, paint-splashed man, 'we got our bread given out there. You'd have been all right.'

'Even so,' the Marshal said, 'it's amazing to me how you managed.'

'We hadn't much choice,' Franco said, 'and anyway it'd take more than half a million tons of mud to get this lot down.'

'It got Dino down!' the butcher said and everybody laughed.

"Who's Dino?'

'You haven't met him,' Franco explained, 'he was shut in August. He has the take-away roasting place just further down on the left.'

'I've never seen him cry before or since,' said the butcher, 'but he cried that day when he dug out that whole loin of beef—a beauty it was, I sold it him myself and he'd already paid me, that was what was the killer! He had it in his arms like it was his only child. "Not a slice offit," he kept saying, wading round with it in his Wellingtons, "Not a slice off it and roasted to perfection." In the end he flung it back in the mud and held his arms up to the sky, roaring at the Almighty, "I'll never forgive You for this!"'

They pulled out many similar anecdotes for his entertainment and the Marshal kept the sadder details of Clementina's story to himself, leaving them at last, reluctantly, to their noisy breakfast.

He had other calls to make. He'd already done the first job of the day by calling on Linda Rossi who was more astonished than pleased at their good fortune, coming as it did in the wake of so much tragedy.

'Then we don't have to leave? You're sure?'

'Quite sure. Nothing will happen for the time being. It'll take quite a long time for the Finance Police to untangle Fantechi's affairs. After that there'll be a lot of debts to be paid off and most, if not all of his property will be sold. As sitting tenants you'll have first refusal, so if you can possibly manage it. . . The price won't be high, they'll want a quick sale.'

'Perhaps my mother can help us ... I can't thank you enough. I felt so guilty about bothering you with our problems when you had so much on your mind. I hope you'll forgive us, we were desperate.'

'You did quite right. It's part of my job.'

And he'd said that with some satisfaction because it
was
part of his job, and if a certain prosecutor didn't see it that way he'd do better to work with the police. He'd be no loss to the Carabinieri. The police only had crime to worry about and wouldn't waste time on 'other people's little problems'.

Not that there'd been any more remarks of that sort. The man had been positively subdued at their last meeting. He'd asked after Bruno. There was no getting away from the fact that if the Marshal had been allowed to go about things the way they should have been gone about he'd have had the keys in his pocket that night. He must have realized, too, that but for the Marshal's attention to people's little problems the case wouldn't have been concluded and he himself free to leave for his holidays on schedule. 'The best of luck to him,' muttered the Marshal, 'and let's hope he comes back a reformed character.' He was walking back towards the Pitti, his car now being under repair. Thank God it was September.

The rest of his morning was spent on paperwork to do with Clementina's case. Its conclusion was a visit to the hospital. And if Bruno's parents had arrived, then that, too would have to be faced.

He found his wife sitting on a hard chair outside the door of Bruno's room. That could mean only one thing.

'They're here?'

'Go in. They're waiting for you.' Why should she look at him so oddly? Had they already said something? He wondered whether it wouldn't be better to wait here until they came out. It didn't seem proper, somehow, to talk to them with the boy lying there. But his wife said again, 'Go in.'

He opened the door.

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at him and he stopped dead on the threshold. A man and woman were seated on either side of the bed, and in between them Bruno sat bolt upright, grinning.

'Marshal!'

He walked slowly forward and held out his hand.

'So I've decided,' announced Bruno after a quarter of an hour during which no one else had managed to get a word in edge ways.

Even now, all the Marshal could manage to get out was, 'Well 'They'll send me to Rome first, won't they?'

'I . . .'

'You'll be able to give me a reference. What will they think about this scrape, though, that's what I've been wondering? I can't make up my mind whether it'll go against me or whether they'll give me a medal. What do you think?'

'I . . .'

'I wouldn't mind getting a medal. Anyway I was thinking about it all this morning while they were tapping and testing and telling me I was a phenomenon and I've made up my mind. No university for me. As soon as I'm back on my feet I'll apply for a commission!'

The two parents looked helplessly at the Marshal but, as usual, Bruno had left him speechless.

The Marshal's next call was the last of the day. The last of the case. The rest was more paperwork.

'And how I'll get through it all I don't know . . .' The passenger sitting beside him in the van made no answer. He took up a good deal of room but he created no disturbance, sitting bolt upright and staring out at the traffic ahead, and the low sun. They turned in at the gates of the asylum and followed the signs to the administration block.

'Out you get,' the Marshal said, 'we're here.'

Mannucci seemed pleased to see the Marshal again and pushed aside a mountain of old files by way of welcome. He did give a puzzled glance at the Marshal's companion but made no comment.

'Sit down and tell me all.'

'There isn't much to tell that you won't already have seen in the papers. I must say, though, I was a bit surprised . . .' He tailed off, embarrassed at himself.'

'Surprised at what?'

'Well, I suppose I should have thought of it myself but I wondered at your not thinking, given the dates, of the flood having put Clementina in here. You're the expert. . .'

'That's right, I'm the expert. I wasn't here then, Marshal, but I have all the figures for the period if you're interested in seeing them. We've never had fewer admissions here than during the period following the flood. You don't believe me? I can show you.'

'No, no, if you say so . . .'

'I do say so, and I also say that our Clementina was already severely unbalanced to have reacted like she did, though I can't prove that to you, I'm just surmising.'

'You're right,' the Marshal said. 'I happen to know she was.'

'There's nothing like a physical disaster to bring people to their senses. There was a doctor used to work here who always said, "Drop any one of these patients in the middle of a desert or a jungle and leave them to it and they'll come to their senses within minutes and start fighting to stay alive." He was talking about short-term patients, of course, not the sort of people who are left in here now. No, it would never have crossed my mind to connect her with the flood once somebody had been good enough to remove the evidence. What I should have thought of was her legal rights —but not knowing there was any money to speak of. . . That sister of hers was a foolish woman to trust her husband like that, by the sound of it.'

'I don't know. I somehow think he was more weak than evil. He did Clementina no harm until this new wife came on the scene. That's a hard one.'

'You've talked to her? It said in the papers she's made herself scarce.'

'So she has. That's how I came to collect my friend here . . .' And his big eyes strayed to his companion who was now crouched on the floor by his side, his equally large eyes looking from the Marshal to Mannucci and back. 'That's what I came for, to bring him.'

Mannucci laughed and then stared. 'He looks sane enough to me—and even if he's not, we don't admit patients here now.'

'You're admitting this one.'

'You're not serious, are you?'

'I was never more serious in my life. His name's Giulio. And before you say anything else, just think of what the Press will make of it. You said you could never get much attention from them and you never will, either, unless you start thinking like they think. You'll never get them to care about the poor creatures you look after here.'

'But—'

'Giulio has just witnessed the suicide of his master and been abandoned by his mistress. His master was responsible for the murder of one of your ex-patients and would you believe, just by chance, Giulio's turned up here. Can't you see the headlines? "Dog Seeks Asylum!" There's murder, suicide, a money scandal and lots of sentimental interest with the dog. What's more, Giulio's not going to be a patient, he's going to work here, so I hope you're ready with your facts and figures on how short-staffed you are.'

'I'm ready, all right. No problem there, but—'

'You'd better come with me.'

The sun was very low. The tops of the trees were already darkening against the sky but the lawn was still touched with a rosy golden light and Angelo's bare feet below his too-short trousers were curled in the last warmth of the grass. His head was down on his knees but turned to one side so that he could look up at them, and his eyes were alight with pleasure.

Giulio shifted along the bench and put his big head down to lick Angelo's face.

'Stroke him,' suggested the Marshal.

'Can I? Can I stroke him? Can . . .' He rocked upwards and then down again, burying his face. Then he sat bolt upright and put his arm round the huge dog without looking at him. Giulio squashed right up against him, panting happily.

Angelo kept his shining eyes fixed on the Marshal.

'Is he sitting with me? Is he . . .'

'Yes. He'll sit with you all the time if you feed him. Will you remember to feed him? We'll tell the sister to give you food for him but you must give it to him yourself. You can take him for walks, as well. I'll leave you his lead.'

'I ... I ... I just want him to sit with me, to sit—is he frightened?'

'No, no. He's a big dog. He's not frightened of anything.'

'He's not frightened.'

The dog put a heavy paw on Angelo's knee.

'Look! Look ... he . . .'

Angelo could no longer speak. The Marshal thought he might be going to cry, his eyes were so bright. He turned and walked away to where Mannucci stood waiting for him in the long shadow of a cypress tree.

THE END