“He lived on the mezzanine. The apartment doesn’t face the street but has a window and a balcony overlooking the courtyard, which you can gain access to through a little gate at the far end of the entrance hall. The gate was open when I was there. If someone had come in that way, it wouldn’t 95have been too difficult to surprise Gaglione. The prosecution case was that the killer came in through the front door. And if he did, then the argument that the victim knew him would be correct. But what if the killer, or killers, had come in from behind, from the courtyard?”

“I have to reread the papers to see if anyone thought of that. If they didn’t, that’s another thing we can try to bring up in court. Are there any security cameras in the area?”

“I didn’t see any. There might be some that I didn’t notice. I don’t think there are any in the block where Gaglione’s apartment is, but, I repeat, I might have missed them.”

“Anyway,” Tancredi said, “the prosecutor at the original trial was good.”

“Cotturri,” I said. “I’ve never been in a major trial with him, but he strikes me as a sound person.”

“He is. He arrived in Bari just as I was retiring, but my former colleagues are keen on him. He puts them at their ease, makes them feel their backs are covered. Not that he lets them do whatever they like. But he’s someone who does his job properly.”

I sighed. Another piece of news that wasn’t positive for us. If the assistant prosecutor who had been all through the investigation and the trial was so good, that reduced the likelihood that there were any significant gaps in the prosecution case.

Soon afterwards, having finished the fennel liqueur, we said goodbye to Orazio and left the restaurant. The air was mild, already almost springlike.

“Anybody want a lift?” Tancredi said.

“I have my bike,” Annapaola replied. “Guerrieri came on foot because he’s keeping fit. I’ll take him home.”96

Tancredi looked at us in turn. He nodded, said all right, goodnight, and set off for his car.

“Was I brazen, Avvocato?” Annapaola said, with her most dangerous of smiles, when we were alone.

“You couldn’t be brazen even if you tried. You’re beyond brazenness.”

“Then will you invite me over to your place for a drink, Uncle?”

“I’m elderly, you said. Or so I thought.”

“You are elderly, but you’re in good shape. As far as I recall, you keep fit. Are we going to start arguing about it, or shall we go?”

“Let’s go,” I said, taking the helmet she handed me and thinking that she was still having the same effect on me after several years. A rare stroke of luck.

97

Lorenza