Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

themselves.
    The “action in the case” was mostly defined by the police questioning of suspects. Guided by the public minister,
Prima Voce
had made its selection of prime suspect. The other newspapers were going along, and the hapless Carlo Casparia was finally where Piero Fanucci wanted someone—anyone—to be: under the journalistic microscope.
Prima Voce
was going as far as to ask the telling question: When will someone step forward as witness and name a certain drug addict in this case of the disappeared
bella bambina
?
    Soon enough someone did just that. An Albanian scarf vendor in the
mercato
experienced a jog to his memory, effected by both the television appeal with its photographs of the missing child and by Fanucci’s fiery sermon during that television appeal. This individual had, thus, phoned the
questura
with what he hoped was information relevant to the child’s disappearance: He had seen her pass by on her way out of the
mercato
, and he was certain that he had seen Carlo Casparia rise from his kneeling
Ho fame
position and follow the girl.
    Salvatore Lo Bianco was completely unconvinced that the scarf vendor had seen anything at all, but after thinking about it for a moment, he did see how this new piece of information might be useful. So he dutifully reported it to Fanucci.
Il Pubblico Ministero
declared his intention to interview Carlo Casparia personally, as Salvatore had hoped he would. By the time several officers had rounded up the young man and herded him into the
questura
, Fanucci was waiting to grill him like the martyred St. Lawrence, and representatives from seven newspapers and three television channels were gathered in the street. They already knew Casparia was inside the
questura
, which told Salvatore that someone was feeding them information. He was fairly sure it was Fanucci himself since massaging his reputation for quickly bringing criminal matters to a conclusion was dear to the
magistrato
’s heart.
    Salvatore almost hated to put the drug-addled Casparia through another interrogation. But it bought him time by keeping Fanucci occupied. And
il Pubblico Ministero
was very well occupied handling this new interrogation of the addict, as things turned out. He roared, he paced, he breathed garlic into Casparia’s face, he announced that the young man had been seen following this child from the
mercato
and it was time he told the police what he’d done with her.
    Carlo, of course, denied everything. He looked at Fanucci with eyes so bright that he seemed to have light bulbs inside his head. They gave the instantaneous impression that Casparia was extraordinarily alert. The truth was he was high. It was anyone’s guess if he even remembered what child Fanucci was talking about. He asked the
magistrato
what he would possibly want with a little girl? Fanucci pointed out that it was not what he might have wanted with her but what he actually did with her that was the question they wanted answered.
    “You handed her over to someone for money. Where? Who was this person? How was this arrangement made?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about” brought a slap on the back of the head from Fanucci as he paced behind Casparia’s chair.
    “You’ve stopped begging in the
mercato
. Why?” was where he went next.
    “Because I can’t make a move without the police pouncing on me” was Casparia’s explanation, after which he put his head in his arms and said, “Let me sleep, man. I was trying to sleep when you—”
    Fanucci pulled the youth upright by his filthy bronze-coloured hair and said, “
Bugiardo!
Bugiardo!
You no longer go to the
mercato
because you have no need of money. You got what you needed when you passed the girl on to another. Where is she? It’s in your interests to tell me now because the police will be going over every inch of those stables where you live. You didn’t know that, did you? Let me tell you this, you miserable
stronzo
, when we come up with evidence that she was held there—one of her hairs, one of her fingerprints, a shred of a garment, a hair ribbon, anything—your trouble will be bigger than anything you’ve ever imagined in that thick head of yours.”
    “I didn’t take her.”
    “Then why did you follow her?”
    “I didn’t. I don’t know. Maybe I was just leaving the
mercato
.”
    “Earlier than usual? Why would you do that?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t even remember if I left at all. Maybe I was going to take a