his alarm clock woke him up unceremoniously. He turned it off and stood up, staggering, went into the bathroom, stuck his head in the sink and ran cold water over it. Then he sat down in the kitchen and, one cup after another, ended up drinking a whole pot of coffee. He thought of Odoardo, of course, and immediately felt like smoking. Unable to resist, he lit a cigarette. Odoardo was the one. He did it … He killed Badalamenti. The inspector was increasingly convinced of it. But the realisation gave him no satisfaction. He sat a while longer, ruminating, then got up and went into the bathroom to take a hot shower. The day passed slowly, and at no point was Bordelli able to get in the right mood to go and have his little chat with Odoardo. He kept on putting it off, even if he didn’t quite know why. The national news programme that evening broadcast the photograph of Agostino Pintus, as Piras had promised. All they could do now was wait, hoping that someone would recognise him. His comrades from Salò certainly wouldn’t talk, and nobody he’d paid a visit to was still on this earth … But perhaps there was someone who might remember him just the same.
