“An unexceptionable response,” Vanini remarks, not at all convinced.
Sara starts to leave when he throws her a curve.
“However, you told me you didn’t know Saggese.”
She hesitates again, but quickly recovers.
“I knew him by name, as I already told you. Today I had the chance to introduce myself.”
“Uh-huh,” he nods, less and less convinced.
“Now may I go, Commissioner?”
The following day, at the hospital, Sara realizes how unpopular she is by the strained greeting of the first colleague she runs into. You can immediately sense the barbed wire that others put up, you feel it surrounding you in the morning. They erect it at night, while you’re sleeping. No one lingers to chat with her, they stop her only to ask how she is, or simply greet her as if nothing had happened. Exasperated, she goes in search of Alfredo. She finds him in the ward, headed for the operating room.
“Do you have a minute?”
“Actually, we’re about to operate.”
“What, are you too ganging up on me now?”
“What do you mean, Sara?”
“What do I mean? Everyone in here is treating me as if I had acted scandalously! May I ask what the hell has come over everybody? What harm did I do?”
Alfredo looks around, a little embarrassed; then he replies with a certain gravity, almost as if he partially agreed with the reasons for the exclusion that Sara is experiencing.
“They saw you talking with Saggese, at the funeral.”
“So?”
“Surely you must understand, Sara. It’s a difficult time. A judgment heavy as a boulder has come down on us. We operated on a mafioso: go and explain to those who read the newspapers that we knew nothing about it.”
“I too am paying a price for this situation, what do you think?”
“And you think you improved matters by going off for a private talk with the Mafia boss’ attorney at the funeral of the doctor who operated on him?”
“So that’s it . . .”
“No one has anything against you, Sara. Understand?”
“Yes, I see. I see that none of you gives a damn about the fact that we were all accomplices to a crime, even though we didn’t know it. That you don’t give a damn about the truth. On the contrary, the more it remains concealed, the more comfortable you all feel.”
“Fine, and even if that were so? We’re not all courageous and passionate about justice like you. We’re miserable cowards, so what? What do you want to do, stand up on the altar and preach to us?”
“And if I told you it was Saggese who planned everything?”
“Him or somebody else, what difference does it make? I did my job, like Daniele. Like you. We operated on a patient, that’s all. We’re not policemen, Sara, we’re doctors!”
“So then, we just look away and pretend that nothing happened: is that what you’re telling me?”
“I have to operate now,” Alfredo replies curtly. And leaves her standing there, alone and confused.
Toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, paper towels, exfoliating sponge, two light bulbs, a package of assorted band-aids. Sara looks at the items she’s tossed into the metal basket and smiles. She has virtually no need of any of the things she’s buying. Not just now, at any rate.
Although she’s no stranger to spending time in supermarkets for reasons that have nothing to do with a need for supplies, she can’t help but feel ridiculous. She’s never understood why, ever since she was a little girl, walking around among canned goods and detergents has always had this odd, sedating effect on her, almost as if her thoughts slowed down and stopped scuffling for first place. It could be that modular parade of colors, shapes and sizes, the artificial climate, or the concentrated odor of foodstuffs, which partly attracts and partly nauseates her: what’s certain is that all she has to do is cross the threshold of a supermarket and her thoughts are left parked outside like bicycles.
She’s just started down the wine aisle when she realizes she’s being watched. At first it’s just a suspicion, a vague indication which becomes more persistent the more she tries to ignore it. Then the man with the vest gives himself away somehow, between the gaps of the shelving that separates the wines from the household articles. She stores away the detail, hurries to the checkout stand and gets out of there.
It’s evening, the sky has let loose a neurotic, biting rain, which empties the streets and ruins people’s plans. Sara walks quickly under the overhangs, her eyes fixed on the sidewalk, her fear increased by the downpour. Leaving the supermarket she had relied on the presence of passersby, who are now seeking shelter, pulling out their cell phones to cancel, thinking up an alternative to the errand they had gone out for, too busy to come to her aid should her pursuer attack her.
The rain comes down heavier. Sara can see less and less but continues to walk rapidly. She knows she made a mistake by straying so far away, but by now she’s gone too far to correct it. That’s how fear works, it attacks you midway. All she had to do was stop in any populated place, call the police or Vanini directly (she has his number, she didn’t throw it away), but now she’s become a disoriented, accessible prey. There’s no one around, nobody will see a thing, no one will intervene. Which moment will the man in the vest choose? Will he grab her from behind or bar her way? Will the harm he wants to do her be quick or slow?
She won’t give him the benefit. She’s in good running condition. Let him run too, if he wants to catch her.
The sidewalk under her feet feels like burning asphalt.
She gets home in a time of which she has no awareness or memory. She’s so tired, and at the same time so excited to be safe, that for a while it seems plausible to her that the man in the vest was a figment of her imagination.
She doesn’t go to the window on purpose. When she passes in front of it, and sees him down below, a few feet from the front door, it’s comforting in some sense to realize that he exists.
She opens the window trying to see his face, and with arrogant deliberation he turns aside, just enough to keep her from identifying him. An act of such insolent criminal presumption that Sara has to restrain herself to keep from going down to the street and confronting him physically. She retrieves Vanini’s business card from her purse and dials the number. He answers at the second ring.
“Commissioner? Sara Vallicelli, I must speak with you.”
“Good evening to you too, doctor.”
“Forgive me, I don’t have time for formalities. I think a man followed me. He’s still here, in front of my door.”
It takes Vanini a few seconds to absorb this information.
“Are you sure?”
“I think so . . . yes, I’m sure. I was at the supermarket, then it started to rain, and there was a man in a vest who . . .”
“All right, you can tell me about it later. Don’t get upset, I’m sending a car for you.”
“All right.”
“If you can, go to a neighbor’s house right away. Or lock the door securely.” Sara glances down at the street. The man is gone. She opens the window, leans out. There’s nobody.
“Maybe there’s no need, Commissioner. I think he went away.”
“What?”
“He’s gone.”
For a moment Vanini is silent.
“Doctor.”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure someone followed you?”
“Are you saying you don’t believe me, Commissioner? Fine then,” Sara reacts, piqued, “if that’s what you think, excuse me for calling you. It won’t happen again, don’t worry.”
“Just a minute, doctor,” Vanini loses his patience, surprising her, “I’m not an old friend, you know, whom you can summon and dismiss whenever you want. You called me saying that a man followed you? Okay: then I want you to file an official report, here, in my office, tomorrow morning. Because I also have some further questions to ask you. And I advise you to come, do you understand?”
<
br /> Sara accepts the scolding and after a few seconds replies. “I understand.”
“Good. Tomorrow, then. Before twelve thirty,” the Commissioner concludes, backing down a little.
They remain silent.
“Are you still there?”
It’s he who asks.
“Yes.”
“What are you smiling about?”
“And how do you know I’m smiling?” Sara asks, intrigued.
“Am I mistaken, by any chance?”
Sara lets a few seconds tick by.
“No.”
“You see.”
“See what?”
“That I was right.”
“Yes, you were,” she admits. “But not about the man who followed me.”
“Even more reason to come in and file a complaint.”
“I already told you I’ll be there.”
“Mind you, it was hardly an invitation.”
“Right, I didn’t think it was.”
“I’m not at all proud of my authority when I exert it. But at times I have to do it.”
“I realize that.”
“So then, I’ll expect you tomorrow. And if you should need me, call me. At any hour.”
“All right.”
They hang up, then Sara undresses, gets into the shower, and closes her eyes under the warm water. Later, she goes back to the window.
The man in the vest.
He seems to be smiling.
The following morning, Sara barges into the courthouse like a fury. She knows exactly where to find him. She called his office that morning, and the secretary reported that he had a hearing and then asked her who she was. She told her her name and hung up on her. Saggese sees her coming as he’s walking near a courtroom, surrounded by a pack of obsequious interns, like trained monkeys. Sara’s stride is so determined, so military, that the attorney feels a momentary uncertainty about the outcome of the battle that he can clearly expect in a second or two. Just time for his natural arrogance to regain the upper hand.
Sara stops a step away from him and points her finger at him.
“Do you think you can scare me? I’m not afraid of you.”
Saggese takes her in from head to toe, and even in such an embarrassing situation, he can’t manage to restrain the attraction he’s always had for her good looks.
“Gentlemen,” he says, ironically addressing his young assistants, who stare at one another uneasily, “Doctor Vallicelli; Doctor Vallicelli, my interns.”
“Don’t clown around, Saggese. You know exactly what I’m talking about, and why I’m here.” The interns look on, appalled, and continue to exchange sideways looks.
Saggese looks first at them, then at her.
“Come again?”
“Who is that thug you sent after me? One of your clients?”
“Are you sure you’re feeling well, doctor?” Saggese replies with a sardonic grin.
Sara skirts the question, and comes at him from another direction.
“You know, all in all I expected it. It’s typical of people like you to have others do their dirty work. Tell me: have you ever dirtied your own hands?”
One of the interns starts to say something. Saggese checks him with a look. Then he confronts her again.
“Now you’re really going too far, doctor. Do you realize the gravity of what you’re saying? The risk you’re taking?”
“No, why don’t you tell me what risk I’m taking. What type of rubout is the bastard you sent after me most skilled at?”
For a moment, the attorney reddens.
“You’re nervous system is off-balance, Doctor. Are the hospital administrators aware of it?”
Sara rolls her head from side to side before replying, as if to ridicule the threat she’s received.
“Watch out for the mentally ill, Saggese. Sometimes they send people to jail.” Saggese rears his head back. He would like to respond, say something, but he can’t think of anything to say.
Nothing at all. The interns seem like dummies, their mouths hanging open. Sara spins on her heels and leaves. She doesn’t turn around to look at him, but she’s confident that if she did she’d find him exactly the way she left him, with the same dazed expression on his face.
She arrives at police headquarters twenty minutes late. Vanini is on the phone. Sara nods at him. He nods in return and motions for her to take a seat across the desk from him. Sara sits down as the phone conversation continues.
“Of course I heard you, I heard you perfectly well,” the Commissioner says in a grave tone, keeping his eyes fixed on Sara. She returns his gaze, somewhat puzzled, or maybe not.
“What can I say,” Vanini goes on, irritated, giving Sara a long look of disapproval, “I’m sorry I don’t share your concern, but no, it doesn’t surprise me. It must be the job I do that makes me so cynical, what do you expect.”
Sara tilts her head to one side and smiles deviously. Vanini raps her knuckles with a look. She recomposes her lips.
“All right. Whenever you like. It’s not necessary that I be the one to take the report, as you well know. What’s that? No, look, I’m not being argumentative. And I would appreciate it if we could stop talking about my tone, please. You’re welcome. Goodbye.”
He hangs up, plants his right elbow on the desk, makes a fist, rests his chin on it and resumes staring at Sara, as if she were a naughty little girl who has been up to some new mischief.
She’s almost smiling, and he is too.
“I was beginning to worry,” Vanini begins.
“After being barely twenty minutes late, Commissioner?”
“It not like we were going dancing.”
“You’re right. It’s just that there was something I had to do first.”
“I know.”
“What do you know?”
“Can you guess who I was talking to?”
Sara shakes her head, as if the reference doesn’t surprise her.
“He was quick, apparently.”
Vanini crosses his arms on the desk and leans forward.
“Do you realize what you’ve done, doctor?”
“Do you too want to call me mentally unbalanced, Commissioner?”
“Is that what he called you?”
“That’s right.”
“Well he’s not all wrong. You go and make a scene in the courthouse, and in front of the prosecutors, on top of it. Can you tell me what you hoped to gain?”
“Nothing. I was just angry. And I still am. Very.”
Vanini takes a deep breath and lets out a sympathetic sigh.
“Listen to me. I don’t think Saggese will file a complaint, for the time being. But what happened this morning could constitute a very serious problem for you. Do you know that?”
Sara stares at him, then lowers her eyes.
“This is all so ridiculous,” she remarks.
Vanini sighs again.
“Why don’t you try being sincere with me?”
“Because when I try, you don’t believe me.”
“You’re wrong.”
“If you have no reason to detain me, Commissioner, let me go, please.”
“First you have to file that report.”
“Oh, right, that’s true.”
“You can go to the front office.”
“Fine.”
Sara gets up and goes to the door. Vanini calls her as she’s about to go out.
“Doctor.”
“What is it?”
“Stay away from that guy.”
Sara nods. And for the first time since she met him, she feels that that police officer is on her side.
“Are you all right?”
Guido Marcelli, the surgeon who will soon be operating, asks Sara a rather alarming question, considering that she is the anesthetist on duty.
“Of course, why?” Sara replies, almost disdainfully.
Marcelli doesn’t mince words.
“Because your mind seems to be elsewhere today.”
/>
“That might be, so what?”
“I’m not interested in your thoughts,” the surgeon sticks to the point, “but if anything, in your concentration.”
“Thanks for your interest, but I’m in full control of myself, Guido; and I know exactly how to conduct myself in an operating room, don’t worry.”
“Fine, then,” he says, more skeptical than before.
They enter the operating room. The team begins its preparations while awaiting the patient’s arrival. Sara doesn’t say a word to anyone. She looks around curiously, as if she has entered a room she’s never seen before. Everything she sees attracts her attention, holds her spellbound. Now not only Marcelli, but his assistants as well and even the nurses register her distraction with some concern.
The surgeon asks the nurse to fasten his gown in back, then he takes up a position beside Sara.
“Can you tell me what time it is, please?”
Sara glances at the clock on the wall.
“Four twenty,” she replies.
Marcelli levels his eyes on those of the assistant facing him, reluctantly finding the confirmation he expected.
“That is, no, I’m sorry, three twenty,” Sara corrects herself. The surgeon turns slowly toward her.
“I would prefer that you not take part in the operation, Sara.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Come on, Guido,” she says, groping for an answer, “I was just distracted. Don’t you ever mistake one number for another?”
“Nothing personal, Sara. I have the highest regard for you, you know that. But today I don’t feel confident in you. I prefer not having you here, if your mind isn’t here.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my mind! How dare you judge me!” she explodes.
“Sara, please. We have an operation to perform. Will you calm down?”
“You can’t just throw me out! I was assigned to this operation! You’ll have to explain yourself to my chief!”
“I will, don’t worry, I’m well aware of procedure. But right now I’m asking you to leave this room,” Marcelli concludes firmly.
Sara looks around infuriated, hoping for some support from a colleague.
“Isn’t anyone going to say anything?” she raises her voice, addressing the entire team.
The Mammoth Book Best International Crime Page 64