Never More Than Twice
Claudio Ruggeri
Translated by John James O'Donnell
“Never More Than Twice”
Written By Claudio Ruggeri
Copyright © 2016 Claudio Ruggeri, Cover Image: ©Tony7 (http://mrg.bz/rloDod)
All rights reserved
Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.
www.babelcube.com
Translated by John James O'Donnell
“Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
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Author’s Note
This book is fictional.
Any reference to actual events and/or real people that appear within it is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
The warm air, typical of mornings in late May, had convinced the chief not to waste too much time with breakfast and to spend part of the day working in his garden.
In fact, those three hundred square meters, purchased only a few months earlier from an old man who was no longer up to the work, could not yet be described as a cornucopia of fruit and vegetables that would make your mouth water just looking at it.
Germano had therefore decided that he would work in it at least one day a week until his garden was knocked into shape.
For the time being, however, the chief had devoted several days of his vacation time in order to make that mass of uncultivated land, filled with rocks and stones, to at least begin to look like a garden.
He dedicated that particular May morning to planting tomatoes in that part of the ground that was already fit for use. This, Germano accomplished with very little difficulty but with such satisfaction that, when done, he sat down on the ground to admire his work.
What was so artistic and worthy of admiration in a hundred bamboo canes sticking up from the ground was unclear, and probably could only be understood by the chief himself.
After he finished his cigarette he decided that perhaps it was time to get up and finish watering since it was well past noon and the heat was beginning to take its toll.
He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, and while he was trying to make sure that each of his tomato plants got watered, the chief noticed someone approaching the gate that separated the small plot of land from the road.
Seeing that the person gave no sign of wishing to leave, Germano decided to put down the hose and walk over to the entrance.
When he got closer he recognized a familiar face.
“Hey Vincent ...”
“Hi Mario...”
“Dressed like that I didn’t recognize you right away ... I thought I’d wait without yelling out your name.”
“No problem ... come on in.”
Mario Pezza was an old friend of the chief. A few years previously there had been an investigation into the theft of some art stolen from Pezza’s antique shop. Once the case was closed, and the thieves arrested, the two had remained friends.
“What brings you here ...?”
“Nothing special Vincent ... I was passing by your house so I thought I’d try your entryphone, your wife told me that I could find you here, so ...”
Germano frowned suddenly. This caused his friend to modify his approach.
.”.. sometimes I forget that you're a cop Vincent ... that way I can convince myself that you might believe my bullshit ...”
“OK, that’s better Mario. However, let's sit down first.”
Germano went over to an old bench, while his friend sat in the chair previously occupied by the chief.
“To tell the truth, Vincent, something a bit strange happened to me a few days ago ...”
“Tell me about it.”
“This guy came into my store, Giovanni De Lillo. I don’t know if you know him but he’s an old retired teacher and ...”
“Ok, yes, of course I know him. I often see him in the morning at the café.”
“Well ... I don’t know if you're aware of the fact that some time ago he had a mild heart attack, so ...”
“No, I didn’t know that, but that explains why I hadn’t seen him for a while, but go on.”
“The doctor told him he should take walks from time to time, in order to improve his condition. He began taking these walks early in the morning. He’d take his dog and go out to those parts of the woods above Grottaferrata where there’s that little stream.”
“I don’t know that area very well but don’t worry, keep going.”
“He said he’d found a bottle a few days ago with a message inside, a regular letter-size piece of paper on which someone had written some lines. Giovanni, believing it to be something coming from who knows where, like in the movies, came to me right away and asked me to fix it up for him.”
“Fix it up for him?”
“Yes . . . a bit of water and moisture must have gotten into the bottle so that the message was almost completely faded. Our friend Giovanni must have believed that he had found who knows what and asked me to make it legible again and to prepare a small frame for it...”
“And I suppose that you don’t share his views ...”
“You guessed right, Vincent ... I tried to be honest with the old teacher, but in the end he just didn’t want to know, I think he’s convinced ...”
“Excuse me if I interrupt ... but could you read what was written?”
“The point is precisely that, Vincent ... Giovanni is convinced it’s a love letter from who knows what time, while I on the other hand ...”
“Okay, fill me in.”
“There is really little to add, the words that I could make out, or rather some parts of them, a maximum of six or seven, seem to be “help” and “death.” Actually only the h and part of the e of the first word are legible, but I could not work out any other meaning.”
“What can you tell me about the rest?”
“Not much, there may be another half word like “deat,” which in fact should mean “death” but ... I don’t know, maybe it's all bullshit but I thought I should let you know anyway.”
“You’ve done a good job, are you free for lunch?”
“Yes, I closed the shop half an hour ago and I came to see you. I’m free until three.”
“Perfect, now let’s go to my house and my wife will prepare us a nice plate of fettuccine. Then you’ll show me that note, ok?”
“I'm in...”
After a couple of hours the two friends decided that it was time to go. They made some coffee and, after drinking it, they left the chief’s home.
The workshop was only a few hundred meters away, so they walked there. Germano had always believed that those antique objects possessed a certain charm, just like the world in which, thanks to their restoration, they managed to bring back to life.
He never expressed this directly to his friend, but in the end he didn’t need to. Mario Pezza had already understood this for some time.
They reached the back workroom where the craftsman used to keep those items still in progress, before heading toward a small desk.
The chief was given a chair and was shown the letter. He read it, or rather, for a few minutes he tried in vain to read it before he handed it back to his friend.
“The fact is, there isn’t much there
, Mario ...”
“So I only wasted your time then ...”
“No, not at all. I came here to try to discover something that would help me to avoid an investigation . . . I don’t know if I am making myself clear ...”
“You mean something that showed that this was irrefutably just a love letter, and nothing more?”
“Exactly, but I haven’t found any trace of such evidence, so therefore...”
“Therefore?”
“Nothing really, but I would like to send this letter to our calligraphy expert and things like that. Let's see if he can give us some more information.”
“Can I do anything, Vincent?”
“Yeah, try to meet up with Giovanni, the one who brought you the letter. Have him tell you exactly where he found it and in what type of bottle.”
“Got it. I’ll stop by your place over the next few days with the information.”
“Great. You can also come to the police station, given that tomorrow I go back to work. My vacation is over ...”
The two friends stayed in the workshop for another half hour, then Germano warmly shook the antiquarian’s hand goodbye.
Chapter 2
The first alarm from the alarm clock, after more than two weeks of vacation was, as might be expected, a bit of a shock to the chief.
With the kids getting ready for school, his wife getting ready for work and from that day forward he as well, the Germano home at eight in the morning seemed more like a train station than a regular household.
After everyone managed, finally, to get out of the house, the chief began his classic morning route that included two stops, the first at the nursery school for his twin daughters and the second at the elementary school for Luca, his son.
After finishing that, he drove to his office. Waiting for him at the door was inspector Parisi, who the chief immediately invited for a coffee at the café.
After the proverbial post-vacation exchange, Germano wanted to discuss with his colleague the strange situation that he had run across the day before. He gave him an overview of the meeting with the antiquarian and of the letter that he soon would send to the police expert for analysis.
The chief paid for the coffee and headed for the exit, signalling inspector Parisi to do the same.
Waiting for him in his office was nothing more than a pile of papers, some of them needing his signature, others only to be reviewed. After browsing through a few, Germano decided to stop everything and to call his team into his office; he wanted to get oral updates from them.
Once everyone had found places, the chief asked them to report on their investigations.
To be honest, during those two weeks nothing much had happened, with the exception of the usual fences, some car theft and some “night-time antics” by a couple of drunks, much to the delight of certain elderly ladies who were light sleepers.
The only noteworthy case, but already almost certain to be a suicide, was an attempt, unfortunately successful, by Mrs. Laura Rocca to take her own life by jumping off one of the balconies of her villa.
When each of his men and women had finally finished, Germano felt justified to also tell them about the oddities of the previous day, of which he had already told Parisi at the café. He knew he would not overwork them by asking them to do a bit of checking around on that story.
Just as he was about to issue some orders, the phone rang.
“Germano...”
“Good morning, chief, this is Quintili at reception. There is a certain Pezza on the phone who would like to talk to you, shall I put him through?”
“Sure, sure, I’ll take it.”
After a few moments, the chief was put through to the antique dealer.
“Hello ... yes ... Vincent?”
“Yes, Mario, it's me, tell me everything.”
“It’s nothing, I just wanted to say that I spoke with Giovanni, you remember about the old teacher and his letter?”
“Yeah, yeah...”
“Well, he says that the bottle that contained it is still at his house, and you can go get it whenever you wish.”
“Perfect, where exactly does he live? Do you remember? .”
“Yes, he lives on Via del Convento, it’s that dirt road between Marino and Grottaferrata. You can’t miss it because his is the only house you'll see on it.”
“Okay, you were right to call me right away, I'll keep you in the loop.”
“Great, Vincent. At this point I’m just too curious.”
After he’d hung up the phone, with a slight smile, Germano ordered inspector Piazza to send that letter, that was almost illegible, to the police specialist. In addition, while getting up from his chair he asked Angelo Parisi to accompany him to the elderly teacher’s house, reminding him to bring along some of those plastic bags that are used to gather evidence.
Their trip to that uninhabited area indicated by the antiquarian was easier than expected since the recent asphalting had rendered most of those little roads quite smooth.
Having arrived in front of a gate, the two policemen began to wonder, but without saying a word to each other, if they had really gotten to the address they were looking for. A quick glance at one another convinced them to stop the squad car. In the end, their sighting of a man walking with a dog was the final confirmation.
The old teacher, seeing them coming towards him, was dumbfounded for a moment. Realizing he was about to speak, Germano spoke first.
“Hi Giovanni ...”
“Hello chief, but ...”
“Take it easy, we're not here for anything serious.”
“Oh Lord ... I'm used to meeting you at the café ... I mean ...”
“I know, I know, but don’t worry.”
“What’s the matter ...?”
“Just one thing Giovanni, I’m here for ...”
“It’s something about the letter, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I need the bottle, I have to analyze it.”
“I understand ... okay, follow me, let's go inside.”
The old teacher lived alone since his wife had died three years before, and even though he had no one to look after the house, the chief noticed how everything was in perfect order. There actually was a bit of dust here and there in the cottage that he had let build up, but not enough to scandalize the two policemen. They were used to coming across all kinds of things when it came time for them to do a search.
Their host led them up to the second floor to a small room that the old man was using as a reading room, as revealed by the books scattered around.
From a drawer he took out a half-liter plastic bottle that he showed to the chief, who, after a quick look, took it between his fingers to put it into one of the plastic bags that Parisi was already holding open in front of him.
Upon seeing that, the teacher couldn’t help smiling and just could not keep from saying . . .
“Then it's something serious ...”
“Let’s just say that it is probable that those are not the lines of a lover that we would have read if the water hadn’t erased almost everything, Giovanni ...”
“Wow, that’s just what I had thought as well, chief ...”
“I know what you thought when you discovered it, Giovanni, but I think the truth might be something else again.”
“So, all of it wasn’t erased then ...”
“Well ... let's just say we're working on it ...”
Germano, now eager to change the topic, spoke immediately, trying to deflect things a bit.
“Exactly where did you find this bottle, Giovanni?”
“Actually I didn’t find it, it was resting on the shore of a nearby river, it was Spillo who found it.”
“Spillo?”
“My dog, he stopped to sniff it so I decided to have a look myself and ...”
“The rest is history ... but how exactly do we get to this river?”
“It's not really a river, actually it's more like a stream. It begins where there was once a spring a
nd it doesn’t flow further than a kilometer.”
“I understand.”
“However, chief, if you want, I can easily take you there, so you don’t waste time looking for it.”
“That would be perfect. . . . Well, then ...”
“If you wish, we can leave right away.”
The two policemen exchanged glances and, finding no hesitation in the eyes of the other, almost simultaneously nodded to the old teacher, who immediately showed he was surprisingly excited by the plan.
Spillo the dog, for obvious reasons, had to be part of the expedition; once inside the squad car Giovanni, for the second time, could not resist joking.
“Can I turn on the siren?”
Dumbfounded, Germano looked first at Giovanni and then at Parisi, who, in order to save the chief from embarrassment, responded in kind.
“Look, we're not making a movie ... and then ... why are you sitting in front?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just that seeing me in the back seat someone might think that I had been arrested or something ...”
“I get it, that’s enough!” interjected Germano, and then concluded by asking his colleague to get started on their way.
Luckily for the two policemen the trip was rather short. Three or four kilometers from the teacher’s house, they found a convenient spot to park the squad car and to venture into the woods.
After about twenty meters, they exited the woods, which gave way to gravel and rubble. There was the stream in front of them, no more than a meter away.
“Okay,” said Germano, .”.. now Giovanni, show me exactly where you found it.”
The old man pointed to an undifferentiated spot about ten meters from where the three were standing at that moment, adding, after several glances, that he was unable to be any more precise than that.
Germano, at that point, began to look around. Immersed in that surreal silence, he tried to imagine how that message could have ended up there. Then he turned back to the former primary school teacher.
“That spring you told me about ... how far is it?”
“That would be about five or six hundred meters, chief.”
Never More Than Twice Page 1