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Lieutenant Antonio Rossetti arrived in Cortoglia later that evening, to be told that the council had decreed he should reside in the mayor’s home until the murderer had been apprehended.
“After all,” the chairman said, “let’s get this over with so the young man can return to Naples as quickly as possible.”
The following day, Antonio set up office in the local police station, which consisted of two small rooms, one unoccupied cell, and a lavatory. After reading Dr. Barone’s report once again, he decided to leave his office and roam around the town, in the hope that someone might approach him wanting to offer information. But even though he walked slowly, and smiled a lot, people crossed the road rather than have to speak to him. He was clearly not looked upon as the Good Samaritan.
After a fruitless morning, Antonio returned to his office and made a list of those people who had most to gain from Lombardi’s death. He came to the reluctant conclusion that he would have to start with the members of the town council. He wrote on his notepad, Wine, Oil, and Truffles. He decided to start with Truffles, and called il Signor De Rosa’s office to make an appointment to see the councilor later that afternoon.
* * *
“Would you care for a glass of wine?” said De Rosa, even before the policeman had sat down.
“No, thank you, sir, not while I’m on duty.”
“Quite right,” said De Rosa. Although it didn’t stop him from pouring himself a large glass of the local white.
“Could we begin,” said Antonio, opening his notepad and looking down at his prepared questions. “As your family have lived in Cortoglia for over two hundred years—”
“Three hundred,” corrected the truffle master.
“I was hoping you might have an opinion on who killed Dino Lombardi?”
De Rosa refilled his glass and took a large gulp, before saying, “I most certainly do, Lieutenant Rossetti, because I killed Lombardi.”
Antonio looked surprised. A confession on his second day. He was already thinking about returning to Naples in triumph, and getting back to locking up some serious criminals.
“Are you willing to sign a statement to that effect?”
“Most certainly I am.”
“And you do realize, Signor De Rosa, that you will have to come to Naples with me, stand trial, and you may well spend the rest of your life in jail?”
“I have thought of little else since the day I killed the bastard. But I can’t complain, I’ve had a good life.”
“Why did you murder Lombardi?” asked Antonio, who accepted that motive almost always accounted for any crime.
De Rosa filled his glass a third time. “He was an evil man, Lieutenant, who terrified everyone who came into contact with him.” He paused, and took a sip of his wine, before adding, “He made their lives unbearable, mine included.”
“How in particular?” Antonio persisted.
“He not only levied a crippling sales tax on my truffles, but then demanded backhanders from my oldest customers. If it had been allowed to go on for much longer, he would have put me out of business.” Antonio kept on writing. “Last year the company made a loss for the first time since I took over from my late father,” said De Rosa. “The truth is, he got no more than he deserved.”
“I only have one more question,” the detective said. “How did you kill him?”
“Stabbed him with my truffle knife,” said De Rosa without hesitation. “It seemed appropriate.”
“And how many times did you stab him?”
“Six or seven,” he said, picking up a knife and giving a demonstration.
“I am sure you know, Signor De Rosa, it is a serious crime to waste police time.”
“Yes, of course I do,” said De Rosa, “but now I have confessed, you can arrest me and lock me up.”
“I would be delighted to do so,” said Antonio, “if only Lombardi had been stabbed.”
The truffle master shrugged his shoulders. “Does it really matter? Just tell me how Lombardi was killed, and I’ll confess to the crime.”
This was the first time Antonio had ever known someone admit to a crime they hadn’t committed.
