“He used to sit at that table on the corner, the one on the left. It was weird because he never looked outside. He pretended to read. This I know for sure as it had all the time the same two old newspaper pages in front of him. He never turned those due pages, never raised or dropped his stare.
Either he kept reading the same article day after day or he just spaced out. Perhaps, he was waiting …? I don’t know. He had that way of cupping his chin in a doctoral way. No doubt he was precise to the point of being obsessive.”
“So, how long did he stay here?”
“Two hours, sometimes two and a half.”
“Did he order anything?”
“I wouldn’t have been so patient, if he hadn’t. The same, every single day. Cerasuolo di Vittoria**, my best one. Three generous glasses, one after the other.”
“Serve us the same Cerasuolo, like you did to him.”
“Immediately, Signor Ispettore*.”
Badassi nodded imperceptibly to Cangemini and they sat to the adjacent marble table waiting. Two almost full glasses of fruity Cerasuolo shaked pleasantly on top of a Liberty-style tray. The bar owner was a skilled one and incredibly swift. In in his golden youth he had been a famous weightlifter.
“Odd case. The guy seems a lonely poor soul ruminating who knows what drama.”
“It has been killed, Cange’ and we need to find out why and by whom.”
“By the way, how old was he?”
“Thirty-five, thirty-eight. They found hefty rolls of pounds, euros and dollars in his pockets.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, a piece of paper with the alphabet scribbled on it.”
“The… what?”
“A, B, C, D… the alphabet Tristano. A for apple, B..”
“C for Cange’… I got it.”
“S for sorry, Tristano. I push my humour too far sometimes.”
“Let make a toast to our “last minute repentance.”
Two glasses clicked eagerly and the two friends enjoyed their old camaraderie.
*Italian for ‘detective’
**Sicilian red wine
Translated from original Italian
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