The Salati Case by Tobias Jones

Author:Tobias Jones [Jones, Tobias]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller

Thursday

Thursday morning. I had been getting dressed when the phone went. It was Mauro. I found the news more confusing than surprising.

‘Salati’, I heard him say, ‘committed suicide.’

I thought it was him telling me his take on the Riccardo case. It sounded like a statement about what had happened to the young boy. But his voice was urgent and it was barely morning.

‘What?’ I said.

‘Umberto Salati. He’s committed suicide.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I heard it from a friend.’ Mauro told me the news. They had found Umberto outside his condominium early this morning. He had sky-dived from the top floor.

I kept hearing myself say I couldn’t believe it.

‘I heard this morning’, Mauro said, ‘when I was out buying the paper. Someone at the edicola told me.’

‘Is it public yet? Is it on the news?’

‘The radio said at six that a dead body had been found. They haven’t formally identified it.’

‘So how do you know it’s him?’

‘Because this guy seemed to know the details. He said Salati had jumped.’

‘I can’t believe it. You’re sure it’s Umberto Salati?’

‘Like I say, it hasn’t been confirmed. What are you going to do?’

‘He lives in Via Pestalozzi, doesn’t he?’

‘By the cittadella.’

‘I’ve got to go. Thanks Mauro.’

I threw the phone on the bed and finished getting dressed. It was freezing. I pulled on a jumper and went to put on the coffee.

Salati had committed suicide. Umberto Salati had jumped and I was the one who had pushed him to the edge. I had tried to break him and I had succeeded nicely. I don’t normally feel guilt because I live, if I may say so, a pretty clean life. But now I felt guilt like an ice-cube in the heart. If it was true that Umberto was dead, I knew I was to blame.

It was still early and after last night’s rain the sky was a slightly lighter grey than yesterday. I slugged the coffee and headed out towards the cittadella. The city was still asleep, just the odd bike or moped heading off to work.

As I got closer, though, there were people running towards Via Pestalozzi. It made me impatient to get there first and I started walking more quickly. There were carabinieri at either end of the street holding back people with microphones.

‘Is it true?’ I asked a man with a camera on his shoulder.

‘Don’t know.’

‘What’s the official line?’

‘They’ve found a body.’

‘Has someone tried to call him?’ I didn’t even need to mention Salati’s name.

‘No reply.’

I moved towards the carabinieri.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked.

‘There’s been a suicide.’

‘Have they identified the body?’

‘No.’

The carabinieri didn’t like privates muscling in, but I had to try. I showed them my licence but it didn’t make any difference. I got the usual, dead-pan brush-off.

There was nothing to do. I went and sat in the bar at the corner of Via Solferino. Other journalists started turning up. Someone from La Gazzetta, one of the staff reporters from the local radio station, the local Rai guy.

Carabinieri kept coming and going. The first reliable confirmation we got was when one of the neighbours emerged from the condominium.

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