The Mammoth Book Best International Crime

by Maxim Jakubowski

  Later, at work, she meets a co-worker in the elevator. He seems worried.

  “Have you heard?” he asks her.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you concerned?”

  “Why should I be?”

  “Why? Because we’re the ones who operated on that guy.”

  “So? We can hardly be expected to know a patient’s life story, Alfredo.”

  “I know. But it’s the suspicion aimed at us that I can’t stand. Already two journalists called this morning.”

  “They were quick.”

  “But how could such a thing happen?”

  “Search me . . . Who knows how many felons, maybe not as dangerous as this one, we’ve treated without knowing it.”

  Alfredo sighs as the elevator reaches their floor and stops.

  “You know what bothers me the most? That if I were someone reading about this in the newspaper, I would feel justified in doubting the entire department, maybe the whole hospital. It’s awful to be a suspect, when you yourself wouldn’t believe in your innocence.”

  Sara’s gaze is lost in space.

  “That’s . . . true.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I was just thinking about what you said.”

  “Doctor Dalisi?”

  The man who has just addressed Daniele, getting up from a chair in the waiting room of the ward where he had been waiting until that moment, is young, though graying; his manner is courteous, his attire tasteful, and his gaze direct.

  “Yes.”

  The man holds out his hand.

  “Forgive me for appearing without having made an appointment: I am Commissioner Vanini.”

  “A pleasure to meet you.”

  “I need to talk to you. But if you’re busy now, I can come back another time.”

  “No. I was expecting a visit like this at any moment.”

  “I see.”

  “I have to go downstairs for a consultation. Do you mind if we talk along the way?”

  “Of course not. My fault that I came unexpectedly.”

  They take the stairs.

  “I had no idea who that man was,” Daniele says point-blank.

  “I see you get straight to the point.”

  “I operated on him just as I would have on any other patient.”

  “What did he tell you his name was?”

  “He didn’t tell me. But on his medical record it’s listed as Carmine Rotunno.”

  “You even remember his first name.”

  Daniele slows up. Looks him in the eye.

  “I even remember the pattern on his dressing gown, for that matter. Do you want me to describe it to you?”

  “I didn’t mean to be ironic.”

  “I certainly hope not. Because when you read in the paper one morning that your team has saved the life of a mafia boss, witty remarks are the last thing you want to hear, believe me.”

  “Of course, I can imagine. What was this gentleman suffering from exactly?”

  “Adenocarcinoma.”

  “That would be a malignant lung tumor, correct?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Was the operation successful?”

  “Better than any of us had hoped.”

  “So then, you didn’t know the real identity of this fortunate patient.”

  “I already answered that question.”

  “I was just summing up. And do you by chance have any reason to believe that one of your assistants, those who participated in the operation I mean, might have been aware of his identity?”

  They reach the entrance to the ward where Daniele is headed.

  “Absolutely not. Here we are, Commissioner. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Oh, but of course, thank you, Doctor, you’ve been very helpful. One last thing.”

  “If it doesn’t take too long.”

  “Very brief: do you know the attorney Saggese?”

  Daniele sighs.

  “Am I a suspect, Commissioner? Because if I am, I would prefer you tell me without beating around the bush.”

  “It generally takes me at least half a day to suspect someone, Doctor. And I’ve known you for barely a quarter of an hour.”

  “Keep in mind that the newspapers say that Saggese is one of Smeraldo’s lawyers.”

  “Do you know him or not?”

  “If I say yes, you’ll feel justified in thinking that I may have arranged with him to have Smeraldo admitted to my unit, right?”

  “Oh, I think a lot of things, you see. And if you knew how quickly I change my mind. So don’t be too sure about what I’m thinking and don’t worry about answering me.”

  “Yes, I know him. And I also think he can’t stand me.”

  “Seriously? Why is that?”

  “Because I was his adversary in a trial, about a year ago.”

  “His adversary?”

  “I was an expert witness for the Public Prosecutor.”

  “I see.”

  “Saggese lost the case.”

  “Still.”

  “My testimony weighed rather heavily toward his defeat, if you get my point.”

  “I think your point is very well put.”

  “Saggese’s client was a wealthy contractor. I think that sentence made him take a huge loss. Go and check the proceedings, if you want.”

  “Yes, maybe I will. Thanks for the tip. And for your time.”

  “No problem.”

  “I might be back to bother you again. I have to tell you that, unfortunately.”

  “Whenever you want.”

  “Doctor Vallicelli?” Vanini asks Sara when he runs into her on the stairs shortly thereafter.

  “Do you think I go around wearing someone else’s name badge?” she’s quick to retort.

  Vanini accepts the clever rejoinder and can barely keep from laughing. “Good one,” he says.

  “Thanks.”

  They look at one another.

  Maybe it’s his awkward start that leaves Vanini at a loss for a witty comeback.

  “Were you trying to hit on me or what?” says Sara, when he doesn’t say anything. “Now, now, don’t be cruel,” he holds out his hand. “Stefano Vanini. I’m with the police.” Sara takes her hand out of her pocket and shakes his hand.

  “A pleasure to meet you.”

  “What, are you making fun of me?”

  Sara smiles. “What shall we do, continue with the comedy routine, or is there something you want to tell me? I have an operation in half an hour.”

  “Even less will do.”

  “Then go on.”

  “Have you heard about the mafioso who was arrested in France?”

  “I heard on television that he was a mafia boss. For me, he was a patient whom I had to anesthetize.”

  “Oh, I see, you too get straight to the point. You people in here really can’t wait to talk.”

  “We make your life easier, aren’t you glad?”

  “How come I inspire such humor in you, doctor?”

  “I apologize.”

  “Can you tell me if anything happened during the time he was hospitalized, even the smallest detail, that might have made you remotely suspicious?”

  “I don’t understand your question.”

  “What don’t you understand?”

  “If I had had any suspicion about that man I would have gone to the police, don’t you think?”

  “Of course. So he was a patient like any other: no special treatment, no special privileges.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you remember anyone looking after him, anyone who was close to him, who came to visit him?”

  “I don’t know about visiting him. But whenever I passed by I always saw two young men, standing between the waiting area and his room. I thought they were his sons.”

  “What were they like?”

  “Let’s see . . . Young. Twenty-five or thirty. Dark hair, medium height, dressed casually . . . I repeat, very normal-looking. In fa
ct, I’d even say anonymous-looking.”

  “No one else?”

  “I’m an anesthetist. My contacts with the patients are very few, Commissioner.”

  “And with your colleagues?”

  “Daily.”

  “May I ask what your relationship is with Doctor Dalisi?”

  “I’m the anesthetist he relies on the most.”

  “And aside from the professional aspect?”

  Sara gives him a chilly look.

  “You’re not obliged to answer me, doctor.”

  “Because you already know, right? You just want to find out how honest I feel like being with you.”

  “Bull’s eye.”

  “We’re lovers.”

  “For how long?”

  “You want to know if we’re a motel couple or the kind that holds hands at sunset?”

  “It’s an original distinction, but yes, let’s say that’s what I want to know.”

  “Then let’s say that when we go to a motel we choose a room from which you can watch the sunset.”

  “This makes matters more difficult for me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because people who are in love protect one another. And asking questions becomes pointless. But I’ll ask you one just the same: do you think Dalisi knew about Smeraldo, prior to his arrest?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Because if that were the case he would have spoken to you about him, right?”

  “He wouldn’t have kept such a thing from me.”

  “Not even if he thought that you would go to the police and report him?” Sara takes a while to answer.

  “Did I put you on the spot?” asks Vanini.

  Sara replies to his previous question.

  “Not even in that case.”

  “You don’t seem too convinced.”

  “It’s just that I needed a moment to think.”

  “A moment to think.”

  “Precisely.”

  “In other words, you needed to reflect on his trust before confirming it.”

  “No, no, you’re the one who caused my hesitation. Asking me that question point-blank made me imagine, if only for a moment, that Daniele might have concealed the truth from me on purpose. It was a necessary step, in order to respond to you. You just wanted to see how I would react faced with that hypothesis.”

  “You’re an intelligent woman, doctor.”

  “Just because I realized the game you were playing? Don’t be so presumptuous, Commissioner.”

  “You’re right. Maybe it’s me who’s less intelligent than you. One last thing.”

  “There’s more?”

  “Do you know the attorney Saggese?”

  “By name.”

  “Then you’ve never met him.”

  “I’ve never needed any legal assistance, fortunately.”

  “All right then. Thank you for the talk.”

  “Sure.”

  “In any case,” Vanini concludes offering her his business card, “if you happen to think of anything . . .” Sara takes the card, looks at it, then looks at him.

  “I have a good memory, Commissioner. If I had something to tell you, I would already have told you.”

  “Sometimes memory surprises us, Doctor. Haven’t you ever had a memory crop up suddenly?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then go ahead and toss my card, if you want.”

  And without another word, he walks off.

  Sara looks at the card again. She heads for a wastebasket nearby. She hesitates, then slips the card into the pocket of her lab coat, unaware that Commissioner Vanini has been watching her from the stairs below. He now continues on his way down, a crafty smile stamped on his face.

  Daniele is keeping an eye on the entrance to the otorhino-laryngology ward. He’s keeping tabs on me, Sara thinks.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “I need to talk with you, can we?”

  “I have an adenoid procedure.”

  “I know, in forty minutes.”

  “I don’t like you sticking your nose in my affairs.”

  “I miss you, Sara.”

  “Look, now isn’t the time.”

  “Why not? What’s happened?”

  “I don’t feel like talking about it.”

  “I get it, he came to you too, that policeman, what’s his name . . .”

  “. . . Vanini.”

  “So he came looking for you?”

  “No, he read my name on my badge and stopped me on the stairs.”

  “What did he want?”

  “The same thing he wanted from you, I imagine.”

  “We have to talk, Sara.”

  “I can’t, I have an operation, you know that.”

  “Why are you giving me the cold shoulder?”

  “I’m not giving you the cold shoulder. It’s just that I don’t want to get upset when I’m due in the operating room.”

  “Please, come inside a minute.”

  “I told you that . . .”

  Daniele moves closer to her. He takes her hand. Squeezes it lightly.

  “Please.”

  Sara feels her legs tremble. A symptom that she’s quite familiar with, that actually amuses her when she’s happy, but that now throws her off-balance. She had thought her feelings had matured a little, that they had stopped being unsettled over so little, but instead there they were, fun-loving and childish as ever.

  “All right,” she hears herself say.

  In a daze, she follows him into his office, and is unprepared for the urgency with which he pulls her against him as soon as he locks the door.

  “Hey.”

  “I can’t do it. I can’t be without you any more.” He seeks her lips. Finds them.

  “Daniele.”

  “Say my name. Say it to me again.”

  “Please, Daniele, not so fast . . .”

  He presses her tightly, a departure from the gentleness to which he has accustomed her, throwing her into confusion. Sara feels his arms, never this tense before, the breathlessness, the thud of his heart against her, and realizes how consenting this yearning hunger, this uncontainable candor, this emotional extortion finds her.

  He takes her face in his hands. He kisses her eyes, her lips again, then he crushes her against him once more, his body reclaiming the authority of his love.

  Sara strokes his hair.

  “Calm down now, all right?”

  He controls his excitement.

  “Okay.”

  “Give me a second to breathe.”

  He rubs his nose with a finger, chuckles and loosens his embrace.

  “Of course. Sorry.”

  “I thought you wanted to talk about the policeman.”

  “You know I don’t give a damn about the policeman.”

  “It’s a problem, Daniele. Or rather, it’s our problem. We have to talk about it.”

  “All right. Let’s talk about it.”

  “I have a surgery now, I told you.”

  “Tonight then?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Why, are you busy?”

  “It’s not that I’m busy, it’s just that . . .”

  “What?”

  “Daniele, please. If we’ve kept away from each other up till now, there’s a reason. We can’t just make up like a couple of teenagers.”

  “Why not?”

  Sara closes her eyes. Shakes her head. At first, she feels like laughing.

  “Look at you: you’re acting as though nothing has happened. As if we didn’t have a problem. You have no desire to deal with it. You just want things back the way they were.”

  “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

  “But there is. And if you don’t see it, there’s no point in starting to see each other again.”

  “All right, but let’s talk about it at least. I don’t understand what you hold me responsible for, exactly. Can we meet and talk about this goddamned problem th
at’s keeping us apart? Is it asking too much?”

  Sara is disarmed, his question is so reasonable. She replies following the level ground of logic, rather than the uneven surface of her thoughts.

  “No. It’s not asking too much.”

  “Wow, thank goodness. So, may I have the honor, tonight?”

  “Don’t be an idiot.”

  “I just want to know: yes or no.”

  Sara pauses briefly.

  “Yes.”

  Daniele brightens.

  Finding yourself pacing up and down the hallway in your house, dressed and all made up, to please your lover moreover who is about to come and pick you up, full of expectations and tricks which you know he’ll use to successfully demolish every last resistance of yours, convincing you that nothing serious happened, and who later will officially return to your bed, and in the sleepy tenderness that follows love-making will ask you if it was really necessary to drag it out so long, calling attention to your naked body coupled with his, which obliterate all the good reasons for the separation which had seemed so solid until the day before . . . well, finding yourself pacing up and down the hallway can be a far from happy state when you realize that you no longer feel like going out, you don’t like the dress you’ve chosen, and the makeup you’re wearing can’t disguise the bitterness you feel, because what you’d really like to do now is call the evening off, ruin his plans, say: “I’m not coming down”, just like that, “I’m not coming down” and that’s it, let him think whatever he wants; how nice it would be to change the course of things, on the spur of the moment, reinstate the conflict, decree it, it’s not like you think it is, things aren’t resolved by seizing me out of desire, I have to know who I have beside me, what you did, what I’m doing with you; how nice it would be to hear your outraged voice over the intercom, replying or rather demanding: “What do you mean?”, and I don’t explain, I don’t say a thing, I don’t feel like it: and that’s all there is to it. Instead, when Daniele rings, Sara merely replies: “Coming,” and half-annoyed, half-resigned, takes one last look in the mirror.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Daniele takes his eyes off the road and turns to look at her to ask what’s wrong.

  Sara shrugs. Outside it’s dark, the Nigerian women on the prowl are ghosts that appear at the side of the road, they lean their head down and sometimes laugh. Some stand still, nearly in the middle of the road, and only move at the last minute, like deer in the headlights.

  “I asked you what’s the matter.”

  “I heard you,” Sara says unresponsively.