Day of the Dead (12 page)

Maione scraped his foot on the floor. Ricciardi replied:

“I decided that it was the best course of action. Precisely the fact that there were no visible marks of violence left considerable doubts about the cause of the child's death.”

“Doubts? What about you, Maione, did you have these same doubts?”

Maione opened his mouth, shut it, and then opened it again.

“I'm with the commissario, Dotto'; and when the commissario makes a decision, it's not my job to question it.”

Garzo snickered.

“That says it all, it seems to me. Not even the brigadier is willing to state unequivocally that he agrees with you: and that's a new one on me. And not even Dr. Modo, in his report on the autopsy results, makes even the vaguest reference to anything intentional about the ingestion of the poison. Nothing at all. This time, Ricciardi, there's a simple answer, and it's backed up by the documents. The answer is no. You may no longer investigate this regrettable accident, because that's what this was: an accident. I forbid you to waste any more time on it, especially at such a crucial time for our city and for the police department. You'd just be digging in vain.”

Maione looked at the floor. Ricciardi slowly shook his head; he'd taken into account the possibility of the official's refusing his request outright.

“You're right, Dottore. I probably just need a little rest, if you want to know the truth. To that end, I wonder if I could have your permission to take some time off, say a week or so. That way I won't bother you at this crucial moment with my bad mood.”

Garzo was stunned by the request: as far back as he could remember, Ricciardi had never missed a day of work, either due to sickness or for a vacation, not even in the summer. It was just another one of the mysteries that made him dislike that man so heartily. In his uncertainty, he decided to do what he did best: he tiptoed gingerly around the question.

“Why on earth this request? It wouldn't be because you're planning something, would it? Ricciardi, let me remind you: even when you're on vacation you remain a commissario of the royal Italian police of Naples, and anything you might do while not in the office will be subject to disciplinary sanctions, which could be serious; no, let me correct that: which could be dire. I'm inclined not to grant you this time off. It might be better to have you where I can keep an eye on you.”

But Ricciardi had foreseen this as well, and he knew what strings to pluck in Garzo's soul.

“As you think best, Dottore. It's too bad, because that means I'll have to tell Signora Vezzi that I won't be available to help her out. She'd asked if I would do some shopping with her and help draw up the guest list for some reception or other that she's planning a few days from now. It seems to be something important.”

The deputy chief of police instantly sat up straight in his chair. His tone of voice altered, but remained cautious.

“Ah, I've heard about this reception. And just how is dear Signora Vezzi? Have you seen her recently?”

Maione disguised a chuckle with a loud cough.

Ricciardi replied:

“Yes, quite recently. Well then, Dottore? What do you say, about this time off I'm asking for?”

Garzo tapped his pen on the blank sheet of paper.

“All right, Ricciardi. But just one week; and I expect you to keep me . . . informed, concerning Signora Vezzi's reception. You know how it is: we need to always be aware of everything that goes on in this city. Especially when it comes to certain events that might involve prominent individuals. We have to guarantee the utmost security.”

Maione took a step forward.

“Dottore, since we're on the subject, could I have a few days off, too? That would give me time to take care of a few minor matters of my own.”

Garzo snorted in annoyance:

“No, Maione, not you. I need all the manpower available to me in the next few days. Moreover, you've already taken your holidays. And it seems to me that Ricciardi, here, won't really need your help with whatever he'll be doing on his days off. Am I right, Ricciardi?”

The commissario didn't bother to respond to the broad hint.

“All right then, Dottore. I'll see you in a week, here in the office—or perhaps sometime before that, on some other occasion. Have a pleasant day.”

Garzo smiled broadly.

“That's right, perhaps on some other occasion.
Arrivederci
, Ricciardi. And listen closely: I don't want to hear any news about you while you're away; especially in connection with this poor dead little boy.”

Maione followed Ricciardi into his office, walking in directly behind him. He stood there, cap in hand, motionless as the commissario shuffled the papers on his desk together into a single pile to create the appearance of order.

After a few moments, seeing that the brigadier was still hesitating, Ricciardi said:

“Well? Do you have something to tell me?”

Maione, who had been examining the tips of his boots, looked up.

“Commissa', you saw for yourself, I tried to wangle a little vacation time for myself, too; I wanted to give you a hand. But what I don't understand is, doing what? What is it you want to look for, what is it you're trying to understand? I'm still on your side, no matter what, and you know that. It's just that I can't help you if you won't tell me what you're looking for.”

Ricciardi looked at the man, so big and strapping and confused, and felt a surge of tenderness. He sat down and did his best to explain, at least in part:

“Well, you see, Raffaele, Modo asked me the same questions. I don't have a satisfactory answer, and I didn't have one for Garzo just now, either. All I can tell you is that I sensed something when I saw them carrying away that corpse yesterday morning. There was something about that poor little dangling head being discarded like that, like a lamb on Easter. I realized that the boy'd been so alone that there wasn't a soul who cared whether he was dead or alive. I just thought that that was wrong. That the same way we ought to look after children when they're alive, we shouldn't let them pass out of this life without leaving a trace behind. And so, on instinct, I requested the autopsy. Then, once we'd established the presence of strychnine, it seemed to me that we ought to find out where he got it so that it wouldn't happen again. That's all there is to it.”

Maione looked him in the eye as he spoke, not missing a word. He had no illusions about himself: he knew that he was ignorant. But he'd developed his instincts over the years, and how; and his instinct told him that there was something else making Ricciardi dig into Matteo's death and refuse to give up.

He also knew that he'd be unable to drag any more information out of the commissario, so he nodded seriously and said:

“I understand. All right, Commissa', let's see if we can take advantage of the fact that that stinker Garzo wants to keep me here. As you do your investigating, let me know what you've found out and what you need. From here, making use of our facilities, I can still give you a hand, right?”

Ricciardi almost smiled.

“All right, Raffaele. I assure you that if I need anything, and I almost certainly will, I'll call on you. There is one thing you can do for me starting right now, though: try to intercept any complaints that may come in from the curia. I have the impression that our friend, Don Antonio, as soon he sees my silhouette appear on the horizon, will run straight to the cathedral to talk to the bishop.”

“Don't worry, Commissa'. But I want you to promise me something in return: if you see a dangerous situation, don't go charging into it. Wait for Brigadier Maione to show up: he's lucky and as long as he's there, nothing bad can happen to you.”

Before Ricciardi had a chance to reply, there was a knock at the door and, after the sentry announced her, Livia Lucani, the widow Vezzi, entered the room, accompanied by her usual cloud of dizzying cinnamon-spice perfume.

On her gray cloche hat, decorated with a large cloth flower on one side, one could see the pearly drops of rain that had penetrated the coy cloth umbrella now dangling from her wrist. She wore a long black overcoat with a wide silver fox fur collar, a gray that matched her hat. She looked happy.

“Hello, hello, one and all!
Caro
Brigadier, how are you? Just as charming as ever!”

Maione felt as if he were hoeing dirt right there and then, a feeling that always seemed to come over him in Livia's presence.

“
Cara
Signora,
buona sera
. What a nice surprise, we're not accustomed to such beauty around here.”

Livia laughed a silvery laugh.

“What gallantry. What a pity that you're already taken, otherwise I'd court you shamelessly.
Ciao
, Ricciardi. I understand that you're happy to see me too, but keep your excitement under wraps, or else what will the brigadier think?”

Ricciardi had remained seated, caught off guard by this unexpected visit. Now he got to his feet.

“
Ciao
, Livia. A surprise, to be sure: we weren't expecting you. Has something happened?”

Livia was taking off her long black gloves.

“Why do you ask? Does something need to have happened for me to come pay a call on you? No, nothing's happened. I've been out doing some shopping, and the poor chauffeur is parked downstairs in a car overflowing with packages and bags. But I'm helpless to resist, you see, because your city is so full of such
charmant
shops. And on my way back it just occurred to me, yes, what I've been missing is a bit of the doleful and the grim: I'll just go see Ricciardi, who must certainly be sitting in his office at police headquarters, mulling over the details of some horrid crime. And here I am!”

She'd taken a seat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk, unbuttoning her overcoat to reveal an elegant knee-length skirt and jacket beneath. She crossed her legs and pulled a cigarette out of her purse. Maione hastened to offer a light.

“
Grazie
, Brigadier. You could give someone I know lessons in gallantry, he could learn quite a bit from you. Well, what are the two of you up to?”

Ricciardi, in turn, sat down.

“In effect, it's a good thing you dropped by. I have to tell you that I used your name without asking permission, a little while ago. I should tell you that we found a little boy dead, and I . . . ”

He was interrupted by the entrance of Garzo, his eyeglasses perched on his nose and a sheet of paper in his hand. Maione and even Ricciardi immediately realized that their superior officer had been informed of Livia's arrival and had come running; it didn't take an exceptional intuition to figure that out, since it had been years since the deputy chief of police had last ventured down into the offices of the floor below. The brigadier shot a blazing glance at Ponte, who was rubbernecking from out in the hall: Ponte immediately took to his heels.

“All right, Ricciardi, here's your authorization for that time off. Oh, what a fortunate coincidence! None other than the Signora Vezzi in person! Did you know, Signora, that we were just talking about you earlier?”

Livia extended her hand for Garzo to kiss it, launching a curious look at Ricciardi.

“Yes, Dottore, Ricciardi was just telling me about it. And concerning what, if it's not rude to ask?”

“Why, concerning the time off that the commissario has requested, so that he can help you with some party or other that you must be having. Or did he lie for some dark motive only he knows? Tell me, Signora, because if he was lying, I'll have him thrown into a cell!”

This attempt at wit was met with a grim silence from Maione and Ricciardi, while Livia shot him a smile and replied:

“In effect, I have to admit that Ricciardi is very useful to me, a latter-day Virgil guiding me through this chaotic and beautiful city of yours. Did you know that I chose my new apartment with his help? Not far from here, on Via Sant'Anna dei Lombardi: that way I can keep an eye on all of you without much trouble.”

Garzo smiled, running a finger over his new mustache and hoping that the Signora might notice it.

“Of all the many beauties that we have in our city, I can now include you. We have Ricciardi to thank, then. Also for helping you to plan this famous reception I've been hearing so much about.”

Livia looked first at Garzo and then at an embarrassed Ricciardi, and decided that this was just too tempting an opportunity.

“Yes, Dottore: it will be quite the event. It would be my pleasure if you could attend, with your wife, of course. For that matter, your lovely chief of police will be there, too, so you'll be among friends. The guest of honor will be my close friend Edda, the Duce's daughter. And perhaps, who can say, His Excellency himself might put in a surprise appearance. Please, help me out: issue a direct order for Ricciardi to assist me and to attend: you know how uncooperative he is, when it comes to social occasions.”

Garzo glowed as if illuminated by a shaft of bright sunlight. In a voice quavering with delight, he said:

“Signora, I can't tell you how grateful my wife and I are to you, for this marvelous invitation! Ricciardi,
caro
,
carissimo
Ricciardi, I order you to put yourself on permanent regulation duty at the service of Signora Vezzi. With no other distractions, let me make that clear!”

Livia stood up, smiling.

“Now I really must go. Will you see me down to my car, Dottore? I'm afraid to go downstairs in these heels, but on the arm of a man like you . . .
Buona sera
, Brigadier. Ciao, Ricciardi, now remember: obey the orders that you've been issued.”

And with that she was gone, leaving the office filled with cinnamon perfume and a feeling of apprehension.

Wednesday, October 28

 

Every day of the week, whatever the weather, Rosa woke up at five in the morning: a habit that she'd developed back home, when she'd been responsible for looking after the animals on the farm where she lived before going into service with the Malomonte family.