That day there were no individuals like Canestrari, no pests to get rid of, but I had with me a book I’d been wanting to read for ever, which I’d bought the week before from my bookseller friend Ottavio and which I found really fascinating: The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman.

One of the greatest novels ever written, according to Schopenhauer.

To be precise: a very great novel of digressions, according to me. Digressions are my passion, in every field, and reading that book was a giddy pleasure.

After a quarter of an hour the clerk of the court appeared, and a few minutes later the assistant prosecutor.142

Having put Tristram Shandy aside, I approached the latter, greeted him and informed him that I would be requesting an extension. I was about to explain the reasons, but he relieved me of that task with the gesture of someone who has important things to think about and doesn’t want to waste time on pointless words.

“Thank you, Avvocato Guerrieri. Judge Marinelli has already informed me and I won’t make any objection. Apart from anything else, this isn’t my case. I’m only here today to replace the colleague who’ll be dealing with it. In fact, if we get it over with quickly I’m more than happy.”

“Thank you. May I ask who will be dealing with the case?”

It was Assistant Prosecutor Gastoni. She had spent a long time in the Prosecutor’s Department in Trani before joining the Public Prosecutor’s Office. A lot of stories were told about her, none of them especially flattering – among them, that she’d once had the telephone number of her husband’s supposed lover inserted in a list of numbers to be tapped in a police drug investigation. There had been a criminal investigation as well as a disciplinary one, but nothing had come of either. That hadn’t put an end to the rumour.

Gastoni was a beautiful woman, with a certain compulsion to flaunt her charms – I don’t know if with a particular aim in mind or just to boost her self-esteem. I’d never liked her, but professionally she was perfectly competent. All things considered, it could have been a worse choice.

The court entered.

“Good morning, everyone,” Marinelli said, adjusting his robe, which was falling from one shoulder. So, today we have just the Cardace case. Is the accused in court?”

“Your Honour,” I said, “the accused has forgone his 143appearance, just for this hearing. There should have been a message from the prison.”

Marinelli turned to the associate judge, Valentini, who nodded to confirm what I had said.

In two minutes they got through the preliminaries while I looked at the jurors, trying to get a few pointers. With their sashes in the colours of the Italian flag, they looked, as jurors always do, slightly out of place.