‘Have you any evidence to support this assertion?’
‘I was there when it happened.’
The police chief said nothing, just sat there staring at her with those fascinating, implacable eyes. Not a priest, she thought, an inquisitor.
‘It was just before the war ended. I was then in service at la bastiglia in the old town. Only in a lowly position, you understand. Washing and ironing the bed linen, dusting, sweeping and cleaning. The Calopezzati’s personal attendants were all unmarried sons and daughters of impoverished local gentry, another class of people altogether. They treated us even worse than the baron, to speak the truth. Anyway, my family put me out to service, like I said, and it was hard, particularly at first. I knew they had to do it, because there were too many of us at home, but it was still hard.’
Zen laid his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes.
‘ Mi scusate, signore,’ said Maria, scared. ‘Here I am rambling on…’
Zen looked up at her with a bleary smile and then said something that utterly melted her heart.
‘No, you must excuse me. It’s just that I’m very tired. Talk as much as you want. If I may say so, you have a lovely voice. Like fish.’
‘Fish?’
‘Succulent, but with a strong backbone. I’m Venetian, and it was intended as a compliment. My time is no longer of any account. Just tell me, in your own words, whatever it is that you have come to say.’
Dear God, she thought, where were you when I wanted babies? It took a moment to compose herself and remember the story that she had decided to tell.
‘I was lonely and frightened. I made friends with one of the other skivvies in that cold sepulchre, where in the first few months I sometimes got lost amongst all the corridors and stairs. Her name was Caterina Intrieri. I was fifteen years old, she was eighteen. After that we looked after each other. It made life a little easier for both of us. And then one day in the week after Pentecost, Caterina told me that she was with child. She wouldn’t say who the father was. As far as I know, she told no one else but a levatrice, a wise woman who said that she would be brought to bed about Christmas. And so she would have, except for what happened.’
Maria clasped the battered bag she held on her knees like a chicken she was bringing to market and now feared might escape.
‘What did happen?’ prompted Zen.
‘Caterina died, but the child survived and was taken by la baronessa as her own. What with the war and the constant changes of government, life was chaotic in those days. No one knew who was in charge, no one cared for anything but their own survival. With an unknown father and a dead mother, it was easy for Signora Ottavia to claim Caterina’s child as her own and have it registered with the authorities as Pietro Ottavio Calopezzati.’
‘How did the boy’s mother die?’
‘In the usual way.’
‘In childbirth?’
Maria did not respond to this question.
‘The baby was given to a wet-nurse in Camigliatello,’ she said. ‘He was with her when the fire broke out.’
Zen coughed and then lit a cigarette.
‘Tell me, what was it like, la bastiglia? I’ve never seen a photograph or a sketch. What did it look like? How did it strike the eye?’
Maria tried to remember. This was not a question she had expected to be asked, or even the same kind of question. But she was talking to the chief of police for the entire province. She wasn’t sure of the answer, but she couldn’t just sit there and say nothing. It was like being back in school.
‘There were many storeys,’ she began. ‘Four in all, not counting the underground. But we were only allowed to visit three of them. The piano nobile on the first floor was only for the family and their personal attendants.’
‘What else do you remember about it?’ asked Zen sleepily.
There was a long silence.
‘I remember the way the facade changed, depending on the time of day.’
‘Go on.’
‘It looked like something that had come from the heavens and been stuck down here like the heel of a boot. It faced west, so in the morning it was a blank wall, only with all those windows, like some insect’s eyes! During the day, it was just there. At sunset all the windows gleamed and glinted red, and at night under the full moon it looked like a ghost with its arms raised up to scare you.’
Zen smiled faintly.
‘What a pity it burned down. How did that come about, by the way?’
Maria preferred to lie as little as possible, but she had to see the matter through.
‘It was a dark and stormy night. The most violent thunderstorm that’s ever been seen in these parts. La bastiglia was by far the tallest building up in the old town. It was struck several times. Many fires broke out all at once. We servants did what we could, but all water had to be fetched one bucket at a time from the deep well that supplied the palace. It was a hopeless task.’
‘And Ottavia Calopezzati was unable to escape in time?’
Maria nodded. Stunned by a blow from a fire-iron whilst she was sleeping and then trussed like a chicken with baling twine, the murderess had indeed been unable to escape the flames.
‘So what became of her adopted child?’
‘I have no idea. After the fire, the household broke up and returned to their families, if they could find them. As I said, everyone was looking out for themselves.’
Now the police chief seemed to be suffering from a headache, no doubt brought on by overwork. He leant forward, scowling, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
‘I wonder how relevant all this is, signora. The motive for this murder is still unclear. Kidnappings go wrong for all kinds of reasons. For example, the victim may see or overhear something which would make his release perilous for the gang at any price. The question of whether or not he was the son of someone called Caterina Intrieri seems moot, to say the least.’
‘No,’ said Maria firmly. ‘He was killed because they thought he was a Calopezzati, but they were wrong.’
‘Who are “they”?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then how can you know what they may or may not have thought?’
‘I’m just telling you what everyone says.’
‘Everyone is of no use to me. What I need is someone, a specific individual prepared to come forward and identify those responsible for this crime and for the atrocities that happened in your own town shortly afterwards. I had hoped that you might be that someone, signora. Why else would you have come here yesterday, and again today, and spent hours on end waiting to see me?’
‘I wanted justice for Caterina. Her only child has been killed because it was tainted with the name of the family that made her life a misery, and the lives of everyone who lived around here then, if you could call it living.’
Zen glanced at his watch.
‘Is that all you have to say?’
‘It’s all I know,’ Maria replied stubbornly.