A Few Drops of Blood (17 page)

Natalia hoped the municipal police would get the call outs. She finished drying the dishes, bade her colleagues good night and went to make up her cot in the storage room that had been converted to accommodate the station’s two females. Boxes of paper records were stacked up in one corner alongside a broken chair no one had bothered to throw out. Her civilian clothes hung on a hook, preserved under filmy plastic.

As she slipped off her shoes, the duty clerk appeared in the doorway. “There’s been an incident.”

* **

The club reeked of beer and greasy food from the Chinese restaurant next door. The victim reclined on a banquette. Someone must have draped a crocheted afghan over him. It had slipped to the floor. Blood speckled his blue jeans and yellow T-shirt. His black hair was gelled into a peak, the front of it askew. A skinny youth, though muscular, pretty, even with his mouth swollen and bruised. As they approached, one eye opened. The other remained sealed by the swelling. He sat up and braced himself on the round cocktail table.

“Would you like us to take you to the hospital?” Natalia asked. “You need to see a doctor.”

He shook his head. She signaled the second officer to call for an ambulance anyway.

“What’s your name?” Natalia said.

“Antonio.”

“Do you have some identification, Antonio?”

“It’s at home.”

“Where do you live?”

“Santa Lucia.”

“How old are you, Antonio?”

“Twenty.”

Right. If he was eighteen, Natalia would be surprised, but she didn’t challenge him.

She showed him a picture. “This is the man you named?”

“Yeah. He came in all the time, yeah.”

“No one warned you about him?”

“They did, yeah. But he paid extra.”

“Would you be willing to testify?” Natalia said. “When you’re feeling better?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is there someone we can call for you?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?” Angelina said.

“Yeah.”

The emergency medics arrived. The boy’s anxiety rose.

“I don’t want to go to a hospital,” he said, holding his side. “I’ll be all right here.”

“Let them check you out. See if you’re really okay on your own.” She touched his shoulder. “All right?”

He nodded his consent. The first tech knelt down in front of him. Natalia whispered to his partner that she wanted photos of the wounds and the hospital report and the name of the attending physician. He nodded and took her card.

She left the boy and went to the bartender to show him the picture. He made the same identification.

It was a quarter to eight in the morning. Natalia gathered up Angelina and her morning coffee, and they set out for the museum. They hadn’t slept a wink. Sirens wailing, lights flashing, they pulled up front and marched through unchallenged. A docent took them to where he was: a completely white gallery room with vast ceilings and walls of the palest marble designed to highlight. Mesh shades dimmed the harsh Mediterranean sun, filtering it into cool ambient light.

Garducci was alone with a giant black stone sculpture of Artemis, the Queen of Nature, Mistress of Beasts. It dwarfed him. Using his Blackberry to make notes, he paused to snap pictures of details. Carved goats, scorpions, griffins, bees. Her crown, shaped like a city wall.

The figure was covered with
pendulina
, what looked like myriad breasts but up close were actually the scrota of bulls.
Around her neck, the goddess wore a necklace bearing the signs of the zodiac. Natalia came up alongside him.

“What now?” He exclaimed. He seemed flustered, eyes flitting like he was losing it or already had.

“We’ve come for you,” Natalia said.

“This is outrageous. I have a museum to run. I have gone out of my way to be cooperative, but you are trying my patience.”

“You’re quite a busy man, Mr. Garducci. And a violent one.”

She raised her chin to Angelina, who held forth a phone picture.

“You recognize Antonio?” Natalia said. “Or is it difficult, given his injuries?”

Garducci flushed with fear and indignation. “He wouldn’t dare press charges.”

“Perhaps not, but we don’t need him to. There were witnesses to the assault.”

“I’m calling my lawyer.” Garducci tapped the tiny keyboard of his Blackberry.

“There will be plenty of time for lawyers,” Natalia said. “And lots of time to ponder your actions. But first we need to arrest you.”

Angelina stepped forward and handcuffed the director’s hands in front.

“The little shit,” Garducci spat.

They weren’t back at Casanova a second before Colonel Fabio’s office summoned Captain Monte.

She found him in his favorite position: chair tilted back, glasses on the tip of his nose. His desk, a mess of papers, crumpled candy wrappers and several mugs of half-drunk coffee.

“Sir?” Natalia stood at the door.

Fabio asked after her health and ushered her in.

“You’ve arrested Garducci,” he said.

“Yes, sir. For assault and battery of a minor.”

“Does this sway your thinking concerning his possible guilt in the double murder?”

“It reinforces my suspicions about his temper and lack of control.”

“Well, I will look for your arrest report.”

“Yes, sir.”

“
La Mattina
, by the way, has named us the new capital of homoerotic violence. Wonderful, eh?”

“That’s unfortunate, sir.”

“I’d like to talk to you about the
contessa
.”

Natalia waited.

“As you may be aware, she is being hounded by the media.
Rivelare
has two reporters staked out around the clock outside her home. Paparazzi are practically camped at her gate, cameras trained on the house. She goes out, they rush her, shouting questions and provocative remarks, recording every second. It’s unconscionable to harass someone of her age and standing.”

“I’m sorry to hear of this, sir.”

“Yes. Unfortunately there’s nothing we can do. The
contessa
’s many prominent friends are quite upset. Until we close the case, there will be no end of prurient interest. It is as if she is the chief suspect, for Christ’s sake. My dear wife suggested she stay with us until things settled down. Contessa Antonella refused, of course. It would take more than a few reporters to intimidate the woman. I had to remind my wife that it would be seen as a conflict of interest to have someone involved in a murder investigation as a guest in our home. So, you see my problem.”

“I do, sir, and we are working with all speed.”

“Subjecting her to our scrutiny is making life with my Elisabetta, shall we say, less than pleasant. Speaking of which, she wants to offer you a ticket to
Lucia di Lamamor
at the San Carlo. It’s on Saturday.”

“That’s terribly considerate of her.”

“She claims her sister was supposed to come but can’t. I suspect it’s subterfuge. She asked for you particularly. If you come, don’t be surprised if my darling wife engages in some lobbying on behalf of her beloved Nell.”

“Thank you, sir. For the warning and the kind offer. And thank her for me. It may be difficult to get away at the moment, even for an evening. Can I get back to you about that?”

“Of course.”

Back in her office, Natalia changed into civilian garb: a cream-colored silk wrap she hadn’t worn in years and hoped would keep Lola from complaining that she always looked like a slob. Off duty for the next twenty-four hours, she slipped out shortly before ten to meet Lola.

The woman who cleaned the Sanzari Funeral Emporium dumped a bucket of soapy water into the gutter. Natalia crossed to the other side of the street, navigating past locals and tourists peering through the stubby iron bars outside Santa Maria ad Arco di Purgatorio waiting to get in.

She passed between the torpedo-shaped concrete posts that divided motorbikers from pedestrians and barely avoided a bicycle with a palm tree on the back standing upright in a milk crate. A silver van followed, driven by two nuns.

A fat
nonna
slid off a tomato-colored motorbike. Natalia had never been able to coax her
nonna
to go near one.
Even when she took her for a drive in the car, Nonna made the sign of the cross and kissed her fingertips before they started out and as soon as they’d arrived at their destination.

At the end of the block, a couple embraced in the middle of a narrow sidewalk, the woman wearing purple satin pants and black boots. She reached under her blouse and adjusted her brassiere, then ran her hand over his bald head as if she were petting a cat. He took both of her hands and kissed them.

The gypsy who approached them held open a flat box with assorted key chains. She offered them to the woman first, who shook her head.

“Please,” the gypsy pleaded.

“She told you,
no
,” the man snapped.

The gypsy woman took a few steps away and circled back. That’s when he shoved her. She stumbled. Key rings went flying. As Natalia rushed over, she rose to her feet, shaking, knees bruised and bleeding.

Natalia confronted the man. “Let me see your papers.”

“Who are you?”

“Captain Natalia Monte. Casanova Station.” She held up her identification.

“So, they’re swearing in broads now. Better all around if everyone minded their business.”

He winked at his girlfriend, who laughed.

“The public order is my business,” Natalia said. “If you don’t comply, I’ll bring you in.”

“By yourself?”

“I think I can manage, but I can always call in reserves.”

“Oh. A hardass. You’re making me sweat.” He took out his wallet and stuck a driver’s license in front of Natalia’s face.

“You are Mr. Rizzi.”

“You have a problem with that?”

“No. The problem is all yours.”

Natalia wrote something in her notebook, handed the license back to him and proceeded to get the gypsy’s particulars.

“You’ll be receiving a summons in a few days. Fail to appear and a warrant will be issued, which I will personally see is executed.”

She and Pino had dealt with violence against Roma on more than one occasion when they’d partnered together. Colonel Donati was only somewhat sympathetic to their plight, but most in law enforcement mirrored the hostile attitude of the public who saw gypsies as untrustworthy scum undeserving of protection.

Natalia found a cabbie a block later, parked on Via Duomo and had him drive her to a small street a few blocks from the waterfront in the Chiaia quarter where she and Lola had chosen to meet.

Arriving at her destination, Natalia nonchalantly scanned the street. A boy delivering bread wobbled past on his bicycle, fresh loaves in plastic bags hanging vertically on either side behind him. A circle of tourists listened attentively to their tour guide lecture in animated French, as she stepped off the sidewalk to pass by. No one seemed out of place, suspicious. But anyone shadowing her would see to being inconspicuous.

The heat hadn’t let up. A cooling wind off the sea was needed. Instead, a blistering
vento
from inland pressed down from the hills onto the city. It made Natalia happy to take refuge in the darkened restaurant, its heavy stone walls cool even in the oppressive heat. Lola was hiding in the back behind a vine of bougainvillea growing out of the
edge of the open patio, its flat stones shaded by an ancient chestnut tree and a red-and-white striped awning.

Their table overlooked the harbor. They weren’t far from where as kids they’d once leapt into the cool of the bay. Lola had on a white blouse, white slacks, and white shoes, and a pair of enormous dark sunglasses. A navy blue blazer with gold buttons lay draped across the back of an extra chair.

Natalia joined her, saying, “Are you in seclusion, or do you not want to be seen with your unfashionable friend?”

“Just being discreet, Captain.”

Natalia sat and tilted her friend’s head, peeking past the chandelier earrings at a large bruise on Lola’s cheek. “Hey, somebody hit you?”

“Nobody would dare,” Lola said. “No, I had a little work done on my eyes, is all.”

“What for?”

“Just updating myself.”

“Last time I checked, your face didn’t need updating.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t involved with a man ten years younger then.”

“If your romance needs a surgeon to stitch it together—”

“Please, no lectures. Spare me. When you were bedding Pino, you rushed off to a retreat, took a vow of silence, ate lentils for days and slept on a dirt floor.”

“He wanted me to understand Buddhism.”

“From the ground up. Yeah, girl. That’s what you said then, too—all moony-eyed and sexed up.”

“Lola, it’s just that I’m worried about him.”

“You’re worried about him?” Lola said. “Look, you’re my best friend and I love you, okay? But was he thinking about you when he was fucking teeny Tina a while back?”

“Let’s not go there.”

“Okay, okay.” Lola opened the top button of her blouse. “Look.”

A ruby heart hung on a gold chain around her neck.

“Dominick. What do you think?”

“Extravagant,” Natalia said.

“Right. Boy knows how to behave … so far.”

The waiter brought them bread and took their drink orders.

“This is nice—just the two of us,” Lola said. “Which reminds me: I had a visit from Suzanna after the get-together.”

“Oh.”

“She wanted to know if it’s a problem for me—your being a Carabiniere.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her no. That we didn’t make a public show of our friendship, but when we were together it was just us, same as when we were growing up.”

Natalia smiled. “And what did she say?”

“Nothing more about that. She switched the subject to her ex.”

“Ernesto Scavullo?”

“The one and only.”

“I wonder why she’d be interested at this late date? Isn’t she over him?”

“Look who’s talking. Obviously, she’s still carrying a torch for him,” Lola said. “You know, first love and all. I mean, she never remarried, did she?”

“True, but I’m not sure her curiosity about Ernesto translates as love. Though they were pretty smitten back then.”