“Where did he get his money?” she asked. “Exchange trading? Is that even real? It sounds sketchy to me.”
Valerio didn’t know. It was a mystery what the rich did with their money.
“The financial police have checked him out,” he said. “They cleared him—but I guess that’s different than saying he’s legitimate.”
Valerio realized that he’d been eating with his hands, rolling up the slices of hot and spicy meat pizza and shoveling them into his mouth, talking with his mouth full. He chewed, harvesting a handful of napkins to wipe his lips and fingers.
“What makes you think he’s crooked?” Ravenna asked.
“I don’t,” said Valerio. “I just wanted to know who he was—since Ines had a picture on her fridge. It isn’t a lead, really. Just a question. Gaetano gave me his name.”
“Shall I ask her?”
Valerio shook his head. “Don’t ask her any questions. Errichiello may have been responsible for Gaetano’s death—but you heard her. She’s in denial about him—what he is. I don’t want her tipping him off about my investigation.”
“Would you like to talk to Natale—Gaetano’s girlfriend?” Ravenna offered.
—
Gaetano’s girlfriend, Natale, worked in a leather goods store on Via dei Tribunali—close to Pio Monte della Misericordia, a chapel that drew tourists to its famous Caravaggio paintings.
The small shop burst with purses and satchels—stacked andsquashed on floor-to-ceiling shelves, hanging in colorful bouquets. A full-figured girl stood at a cash register. As they entered the shop, she stood rapidly as if she’d been caught.
“Hallo, Natale,” Ravenna said warmly. “I’m Ravenna. We met a few months ago—with Gaetano at the McDonald’s on Via Medina. Do you remember?”
“Oh.” Natale glanced between Ravenna and Valerio, looking slightly stunned. She had a square face and heavy forehead and small eyes, long dark hair in a tight high ponytail. Beneath thick makeup, her face was splotchy, eyelids puffy.
“Yeah. I think so. Yeah.”
She blinked several times very fast and then said, “Gaetano’s dead.”
“I know,” said Ravenna. “I’m so sorry for you.”
Natale squeezed her eyes shut and frowned. Her next words came out awkwardly loud: “Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t do me any good. What do you want?”
“This is my friend, Valerio,” said Ravenna. “He’s looking into what happened to Gaetano. Can we ask you some questions?”
“Will it get me money?” Natale asked, eyes wide open now. “They don’t believe I was his girlfriend so they won’t pay me. They’re going to pay his mother instead. And she hates me. If I was pregnant or had his kid, they’d believe me.”
Ravenna looked at Valerio.
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “But I believe you. I want to find out who killed your boyfriend.”
Valerio’s phone rang. He glanced down and saw Luca Errichiello’s number before switching it off.
Natale gave him a disparaging look. “Isn’t it obvious? You gotta be stupid if you don’t know.”
“Who do you think killed him?” asked Valerio.
“No,” said Natale, suddenly aggressive. “You can’t trick me. I keep my mouth shut. I don’t need to be dead, too.”
“Well, I’d like to find out why he died. Wouldn’t you?”
She hesitated, then sniffed. “You the cops?”
“No,” Ravenna lied without hesitation. “I used to babysit Gaetano—when he was little. He was a really sweet kid. He had a tender heart. I can see you cared about him, too.”
“Of course I care!” Natale said.
