“If she really had said it to him in the tone of voice that he described, gazing into his eyes . . . You heard him, he admitted himself that he had fallen under the spell of this young woman. And at the same time, he hardly strikes me as the kind of guy who would have taken it upon himself to protect her. He’s not a man of action.”
“I don’t understand why you’re standing up for him. He’s just a damned sex maniac, even though he puts on all those airs like some two-bit aesthete. I’d dig a little deeper on him.”
“Di Nardo, excuse me if I say it, but it strikes me that you’re a little biased against that man. When all is said and done, he’s been very useful to us. Let’s focus on the facts, instead. As of now, the only person we know has actually raised his hands against the Varricchio girl is her boyfriend, our good old friend Nick Trash, or whatever he tells people to call him. Then there’s the matter of their father. We need to figure out whether it was really him arguing with Biagio the night before.”
As they got into the car, Alex shivered, and wondered why it was colder in the car than outside in the open air.
“It’s probably the way you say, but I insist, Cava isn’t telling it straight. For that matter, he’s admitted it: he had the goose that laid the golden egg in his grip, and he didn’t want to let her get away. Plus, what do you think of that strange sum? Thirty-seven hundred euros. Why was the young woman in such a hurry? Why did she need that money?”
Lojacono slowly pulled out of the parking spot.
“Yes, that’s something we need to get to the bottom of. But if you’re thinking of some financial motive, it seems inadequate as a motive for the murder of two people. Instead we need to figure out whether her brother had talked with anyone about anything and whether he was aware of Grazia’s personal situation and her boyfriend and all. Tomorrow, let’s go to the university. And let’s hope that we get some results from the forensic squad.”
That last observation brought Alex’s mind back to her date with Rosaria the next day. She coughed, trying to cover up her embarrassment.
“About tomorrow, by the way, congratulations on having parked your daughter so adroitly at the trattoria. I don’t think there are any meetings or depositions planned for that evening. So you have plans of some other sort, eh, Lojacono?”
Lojacono was clearly uncomfortable.
“No, it’s just that I have certain friends coming into town: just going out for a pizza with the guys. But I don’t want to leave Marinella at home all alone.”
Alex snickered.
“Sure, of course. Anyway, you do understand that the Signora Letizia is sweet on you, right?”
“Oh, come on, we’re just friends! You’re not one of those people who don’t believe in friendship between a man and a woman, are you? Letizia and I have known each other since I moved here. Don’t be silly, there’s never been anything between us.”
“I don’t say there can’t be such thing as a friendship. I’m just saying she has a big fat crush on you. Believe me, a woman understands certain things in a flash. So look out, that’s all I’m telling you: she strikes me as a decent person, it would be a pity to make her suffer.”
“Thanks a lot. It’s a full-service police station, I’ll say that for the Pizzofalcone precinct: it even supplies advice to the lovelorn. Saints, poets, and navigators, forget about the Bastards.”
The young woman laughed.
“For sure, Aragona ought to be here for this. He thinks of himself as a satanic policeman, you can just imagine how angry he’d be to be described as a saint. By the way, I wonder what he and Romano are getting up to with that case of the young girl. I plan to ask him.”
XXIX
Romano resurfaced from the silence in which he’d been shrouded for close to a half hour.
“We’re in a different film now. We’ve moved from an American cop show from the Seventies to a poor imitation of Wings of Desire.”
Aragona stared at him, baffled.
“What’s that? I’ve never seen it or even heard or it. Is it about airplanes or birds? Or angels? If it’s about angels, what does desire have to do with it? Or with us, for that matter?”
Romano shook his head and went back to staring at the shop where Martina’s mother Antonella Parise worked. It wouldn’t be long to closing time now, and the few shoppers who were leaving the shops lining the exclusive downtown street were hurrying away to get out of the cold.
This time the woman had brought her daughter with her. Romano and Aragona had been following them since the afternoon, when they had left their building and caught the bus. Through the shopwindows, which offered a good, if partial, view of the interior, they had seen the girl pull her textbooks out of her backpack and head to the back of the store. There hadn’t been much business that day, so her mother had been able to go back and check in on her repeatedly. The manager was always at the cash register, unfurling smiles for the benefit of all those who entered.
“What a fucked-up job, being a shopkeeper,” said Aragona. “You lick ass until your tongue dries out, hoping people will buy something, and then for all you know the customer will make you get out everything in the shop, and then say thanks, I’ll think it over, and leave without buying a thing.”
Romano, who felt exactly the same way about that profession, wondered why Antonella would bring Martina with her. The girl seemed old enough to look after herself for an hour or two, until one of her parents returned home.
Unless, he had then answered his own unstated question, it was precisely the return of her husband that the mother feared most.
Martina reemerged from the back. She looked tired. There were no more customers and the four salesclerks, Antonella included, were tidying up the apparel. Romano focused his attention on mother and daughter, who were deep in a confab. It seemed as if the girl was trying to convince the woman to do something, and that the woman was resisting. After a while, Antonella, with a defeated attitude, went over to her employer, who was counting cash. There was a brief exchange of words between the two of them, and Romano thought he picked up on a knowing glance among the other shopgirls around them.
The man, careful to avoid notice, slipped a few banknotes out of the wad he was counting and furtively placed the cash in the woman’s hand.
Disappearing from Romano and Aragona’s line of sight for a moment, Antonella crossed the space between the two shopwindows, went back to her daughter, and leaned down toward her. Martina threw her arms around her mother’s neck, hurried to grab her overcoat, and left the shop.
Aragona elbowed his partner in the ribs.
“Follow her,” Romano told him. “I’ll stay here to see what else happens.”
The girl headed for a large building not far away, a well-known shopping center that stayed open till all hours, and featured hi-tech products, books, and records.
She was walking along, sticking close to the walls, in search of shelter from the driving cold. At a certain point she pulled out her cell phone and started talking. Aragona was tailing her from about thirty feet back. Absorbed as she was by her conversation, she was unlikely to notice him even if she happened to see him, but all the same it was best not to run risks.
Martina stopped in front of a shopwindow where a number of mobile tablets were on display; the conversation on her cell phone grew increasingly animated. Aragona looked over at the bus stop shelter, where he’d be able to get close enough to listen in without being observed. He slipped over to the shelter and listened closely.
“ . . . and I said to her: you’re a monster. What kind of a fucking mother are you, if you won’t take your own daughter’s wishes into account? Already you married a penniless bum, a guy who works all day for a few bucks in that shitty bank of his, and now you can’t even . . . eh, sure I said it to her! In these exact words, I swear it! What did she do? She made the usual face of a beaten dog, that miserable expre
ssion as if I’d beaten her black and blue, and then she went to him . . . No, he gave in, right away. What is it people say? You can get more with a kiss than a . . . exactly. He coughed up the money, it’s just that it’s not enough for a 64G. That sex maniac isn’t earning the way he used to; between the financial crisis and the cold, no one’s buying a fucking thing. What do you think, should I settle for the 32G, or put the money aside and wait? After all, I got the phone last week, right? . . . Well, I can always go and take a look at it, if the handsome salesclerk is there. After all, you know it, I can’t go back before an hour is up, because—”
The young woman burst into vulgar laughter. Aragona was disconcerted by this metamorphosis from the intimidated and diffident young girl he’d met at the school. Now, if he had been asked to compare this scene to a film, he would have mentioned The Exorcist.
“ . . . can you imagine if I walked in while they were doing it? Not a chance, I’d lose everything. What? Are you crazy? Why would I think of asking him? He doesn’t have two pennies to rub together . . . Oh, no, he knows perfectly well that his salary is barely enough to cover the rent. She has to take care of everything, from the electric bill to clothing, and the fees for the tennis club, no, seriously. So he’s fine with letting us . . . Okay, okay, let’s talk later. I get no signal inside and I’m freezing my ass off out here. Ciao, bitch.”
Aragona let almost a minute go by, then followed her inside. He had no trouble finding her again, he knew where she was going now. And sure enough he found her chatting happily with a young man in a salesclerk’s uniform, who had a pink tablet in one hand.
He felt a surge of nausea, as if he’d overeaten.
Seated in the car, parked in a strategic location, Romano continued scanning the interior of the shop, which had closed by now. Antonella’s three fellow salesclerks had almost finished cleaning up, cracking jokes and laughing together. Every so often they’d shoot a glance toward the part of the shop where Romano guessed Antonella must be now.
After a few minutes, they got their overcoats and called a hasty goodnight, heading off toward the funicular railroad. Taking turns, like in a game of Chinese whispers, they shared hushed observations about something that must have been quite amusing, considering the reactions.
The lights switched off in the boutique, all except the light that could be seen through the open door to the back of the shop. From what Aragona had been able to observe the day before, when he had asked Martina’s mother to come with him to the café, it must be a sort of storage area, but with a table and a sofa.
In the dim light, Romano glimpsed Antonella leaning back on the doorframe, as if to rest her back. He could just make out her silhouette, tall, elegant, her hair hanging over her shoulders, her breasts. Then the shop owner heaved into the policeman’s line of sight. He walked slowly over to the woman. Romano thought they must be talking, but the posture of her body betrayed an intimacy that hadn’t emerged in the presence of the other shopgirls.
Antonella Parise lazily raised one arm and laid it on the man’s shoulder, as if to dance. He pressed closer. Their bodies were one against the other. They kissed.
Romano looked around, as if it would be a problem for him if someone else saw them, or if the girl came back. But there was no one on the street. Just the wind, howling relentlessly.
The man and woman went into the rear of the shop, shutting the door behind them.
Romano remained seated in the car, trying to make sense of that scene while awaiting Aragona’s return.
XXX
Hello, Laura? Ciao, it’s me. Are you busy?”
“Ciao! No, no. I’m not doing anything important. I was just going over Palma’s notes about the progress you’re making.”
“Well, it’s not as if we’d made any giant strides, truth be told. We’re working like crazy and—”
“Sure, I get it. I’m doing my best to give Palma a hand, you know, but at police headquarters there are lots of people who—”
“Palma told us. Believe me, there’s no one who could do better than he’s doing. That might seem presumptuous, but I’m sure it’s the truth. These things take time. We need to dig into the lives of two people, it’s no simple matter.”
“I understand that. Still, do your best to narrow the field just as soon as you can, we need someone to arrest, at least. Certainly, if we were to find the father, who’s an ex-convict—”
“I don’t like this story. We don’t have any solid leads, we don’t even have the findings of the forensic squad yet. Just because he’s an ex-convict doesn’t mean that—”
“I know that, but you have to admit that it’s the most logical lead. I read the accounts given by the two neighbors, what are their names again . . . Vincenzo Amoruso and Pasquale Mandurino, about this quarrel in Calabrian dialect between two men a few hours before the murder, and—”
“That’s not why I was calling you, to tell the truth. I wanted . . . I mean, I just wanted to ask you if—”
“Go on, tell me what.”
“I was just wondering if you wanted to go out tomorrow night for that pizza we’ve been talking about. I mean, it doesn’t have to be pizza, I mean, of course not, if I eat pizza my stomach is killing me later, maybe we could get seafood. Or meat, why not, you must have some incredible steakhouses over in your part of the city, I can look into it.”
“Wait a second, help me understand here: Are you asking me out to dinner? Is this a date you’re asking me out on?”
“Laura, please, don’t go out of your way to make everything harder for me.”
“Yes, the answer is yes. When are we meeting, and where?”
“I’ll swing by and pick you up. I have a car, I bought it so I can take Marinella when she wants to go study at a girlfriend’s house, for instance. Even though she prefers to walk, or take public transport, though I don’t know how she does it in a city like this. I mean to say, if you’re okay with it, it’s just a beat-up old compact, but it’s in pretty good condition, and—”
“It’ll be fine. And as for the restaurant, it’s your choice. I like everything, I’m not a picky eater. I eat plenty, too much maybe. I’ll expect you at the office, I can’t manage to get home in time. About nine o’clock?”
“Perfect, thanks. I’ll . . . I’ll be there right on time, I’ll call you when I get there. Maybe by then I’ll even be able to find a parking place.”
“Sure. Of course.”
“Because, you know, around the district attorney’s office, it’s impossible, unless you’re Aragona and you park on some sidewalk or other.”
“I remember how Aragona drives, he was my driver for a while, he’s a real lunatic.”
“Yes, he’s a lunatic. And he’s a southern bumpkin, too. But in the end, it turns out he’s a good cop. The others, too . . . ”
“I’ll bring a change of clothes, I can’t possibly go out dressed the way I look at the end of my work day. You’d run screaming at the sight.”
“I doubt that. When I see you, the last thing that occurs to me is to run away.”
“Thanks, too kind. See you tomorrow.”
“Till tomorrow. Ciao.”
“Lojacono?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure? I mean, you know that I’ve been waiting for this phone call for some time now. Are you sure? Because I’m not the kind of girl who’s just looking for someone to—”
“I’m sure.”
“All right then. Kisses.”
“Kisses to you.”
XXXI
I wonder why I’m thinking about kisses tonight.
We’ve been through so much, together. We’ve shared dreams and hopes. We’ve imagined, eyes wide open, every sort of future, even the wildest dreams.
And we’ve had so many victories against the slings and arrows of life, both you and I. Because not believing was hard, even
for me, more than once. But then there was you, so everything struck me as different; when there are two of you, battles becomes so much easier to fight.
It seems impossible that you’re gone now.
It seems impossible that I can’t call you, now that I hear the wind howl and I think of how cold it is outside. I wish I could talk to you, even without feeling you at my side. It would help me.
Tonight, I’m thinking about embraces.
When you miss someone’s flesh, you immediately imagine sex. But it’s in the embrace itself that you lose yourself, don’t you think? When two bodies are pressed one against the other, without defenses, without barrier. An embrace is such a reassuring thing.
I remember all the times that we reassured each other.
You knew me so well, so very well. Nothing of the sort had ever happened to me before. I know that I’m not easy to decipher, and yet you guessed my thoughts from nothing more than an expression.
It’s a priceless sensation, to be understood. It’s wonderful to feel like you’re important, to know that your state of mind, just a word from you, can change the temperature around someone.
That’s why I couldn’t tolerate your betrayal.
If it had come from some other direction, I could have tolerated it, these are things that happen in life. But not from you, that I couldn’t take, I never thought I would have to defend myself from you.
It was a knife in the back that murdered the finest part of me, the part that had finally opened up to a fellow human being.
Your betrayal meant that opening up, surrendering, taking off the armor that I’d worked so hard to construct, had been a mistake.
No, that I couldn’t take.
To see your name like that.
To see that photograph.
I couldn’t take it, do you understand that? I had to do what I did next.
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