Temporary Perfections by Gianrico Carofiglio

just makes you want to slap him silly. But according to the phone records he was actually in Croatia when Manuela disappeared, and he didn’t come back to Italy until four or five days later. In other words, unless we’re willing to consider the possibility of teleportation, there was no way he could have been in contact with the girl when she went missing.”
    “The fact that Cantalupi was in Croatia is proven only by the cell phone records.”
    He looked at me with a smile.
    “Believe me, I wasn’t happy to give up the idea that this guy was somehow involved in the girl’s disappearance. And I thought the same thing you’re thinking—though I hope you don’t mind my saying that it’s kind of crazy: Someone else could have used the phone. But the cell phone records show calls made to his phone from his home, so they must have been made by his parents. Anyway, since I didn’t likethe guy, I went ahead and did some informal checking on my own. I talked to the captain of the boat that he took. I’m afraid there’s no doubt about it. On the days in question, that little shit was on the other side of the Adriatic Sea.”
    While he was talking, I decided the theory that Cantalupi had given his cell phone to someone else in Croatia so that he could establish an alibi in advance before hurrying back to Italy to kidnap or murder his ex-girlfriend was silly. Why would he bother? I felt foolish having thought of it, even though a seasoned professional investigator like Navarra had entertained the same thought.
    “But you were saying about her two friends?”
    “Right, her two friends. Let me start by saying that I always try to be very cautious about my instincts on whether a witness or a suspect is reliable or sincere. You know a good way to tell if an investigator is a fool?”
    “No, tell me. It might come in handy.”
    “Ask him if he can tell when someone’s lying. The ones who say they can tell, who think it’s impossible to trick them with a lie, are the biggest fools around. They’re the ones a skilled liar can wrap around his little finger with the greatest ease and enjoyment.”
    “I know a couple of prosecutors who claim that they know immediately if a defendant or a witness is lying. And in fact they’re the biggest idiots in the district attorney’s office.”
    “They’re probably the same ones I’m thinking of. Anyway, that was a bit of a digression, but I’m trying to say that I take my impressions about the truthfulness of someone I’m interviewing with a grain of salt. That doesn’t mean that I ignore my instincts entirely. I think of the interview as an opening and try to explore more deeply.”
    At that point I asked him if he would like a coffee oranything else. He said, yes, please, he had just been thinking how much he’d enjoy a cappuccino. I called the café downstairs, ordered two cappuccinos, then looked over at Navarra.
    “So?”
    “So, I had the impression that something wasn’t quite right when I talked to the two young women.”
    “What wasn’t right, in particular?”
    “That there were things they didn’t tell me. Let me give you an example. At a certain point, I asked Nicoletta, Manuela’s roommate in Rome, and then the other one, if Manuela used narcotics.”
    “Yes, I read that in the statement. Both of them said no, as far as they were aware, except for the occasional joint.”
    “Right, but the thing was
how
they said it. There was something about the answers both of them gave to that question that didn’t convince me entirely. I followed up on that line of questioning a little bit, and both of them shut down. I had nothing concrete to work with, so I had to drop the matter. But I was left with a very distinct impression that they hadn’t told me everything they knew. And the one who seemed most uncomfortable was Nicoletta Abbrescia.”
    “So did you talk to your superiors or to the prosecutor about your concerns?”
    “Sure I did. And by the way,” he