Vipers (12 page)

Maione sighed in resignation.

“Yes, in fact, I do know. But my question is this: how on earth do you know?”

Bambinella smacked her lips.

“I know because a girlfriend of mine who works there every so often told me, though she works as a housekeeper, not a whore, but she still hopes to become a whore because she's very pretty as a picture, if a little bit rough when it comes to her manners, because she just moved to Naples from Frattamaggiore; I told her: don't give up hope, because the important thing is to be passionate about what you want to do, that and to have a nice big pair of tits and she . . . Oh, all right, all right, Brigadie', what's the good of you getting pissed off? In any case, the fact remains that Peppe, who was Viper's boyfriend when they were just kids, is head over heels in love with her and asked her to give up the working life and marry him. But she wasn't sure about it. She said within earshot of my girlfriend, when she was tidying up: If I marry him, I'll have a home of my own, and I can keep my son close. Because, you know, she has a son . . . Ah, you do know that already. But if I marry him, she said, I'll lose everything I have and that I earn, and I might even wind up with a guy who gets drunk or gets himself killed on some unfamiliar street. In other words, she wasn't at all sure what to do, and she said that she wanted to think it over. And just as she was thinking it over, someone killed her.”

“Did you know Viper?”

“Only by sight, Brigadie'. She was beautiful but she did put on airs a little bit, she wasn't the most likeable girl in the business, in other words. Beautiful women are just like that, they believe that the thing they have, between their legs, will let them rule the world but let me tell you, you can do plenty without.”

“I don't doubt it. But the proposal of marriage, how could it have led to murder?”

Bambinella explained with a cunning look:

“Ah, that leads to the other person you mentioned, the other whore, Lily. And that's where her position comes into play.”

“What do you mean?”

“You ought to know, in fact, you probably already do know, that Viper had only two clients, even if there were plenty of people who went to see her at the bordello out of curiosity. One client was Peppe 'a Frusta, who was terribly jealous of her but who had to reconcile himself to her profession, at least until she married him and he took her away from there. The other, whom you've certainly already met, was Cavalier Ventrone, the merchant of saints and madonnas from Via Chiaia. You know who I mean, no?”

Maione smirked.

“Of course I do, I went to pick him up because he was the one who found the body in the first place.”

“Exactly. Now, you need to know that before Viper came to work at Il Paradiso, Ventrone's favorite whore, and he spends every penny he has in the place, was none other than Lily. When a man has the bad habits that Ventrone has, then he has to have a perfect understanding with the whore if he wants to be happy: and Lily, who's a strong, no-nonsense woman, was perfect for doling out a beating. But then Viper came along, pretty as she was and clever too, and she took him away from her. But Lily told my girlfriend she hadn't given up hope, and she still planned to get him back under her power: the man was like a trust fund!”

Maione's face lit up.

“That hadn't occurred to me. That's why she claimed that she, not he, had found the body.”

The
femminiello
clapped her hands.

“Bravo, Brigadier! And that's why, if you ask me, the real motive for Viper's murder was Peppe 'a Frusta's marriage proposal.”

“And why is that, pray tell?”

Bambinella got comfortable and said:

“Easy. If she decided to marry him, she'd be putting Madame into a world of trouble, leaving the bordello without its main attraction just when she most needed the money; and Ventrone would also be left without his favorite whore, and perhaps in the rage at losing her, he might have got some ugly ideas. But if she made up her mind to tell him no, then Peppe 'a Frusta, jealous as he was, might have lost control and killed her; or else Lily, who was hoping to get rid of her once and for all, hadn't been able to resign herself to the fact that she was going to stick around and deprive her of her meal ticket.”

Maione looked at Bambinella with a renewed sense of admiration.

“Where did you get all these deductive powers? What are you planning to do, take my job?”

Bambinella tittered coquettishly, one hand covering her mouth.

“Oh, Madonna, Brigadie', what are you saying, you're so dear to me. For me, you're like a grandfather. I'd never do such a terrible thing to you!”

“A grandfather, eh? Now you just watch how this old grandfather tosses you into a jail cell and throws away the key. And in any case, if you hear anything else of interest about this crime, please send for me. And I'm warning you: stay on the straight and narrow, because I'll be keeping my eye on you.”

The
femminiello
stood up to accompany Maione to the door.

“Brigadie', I'd be happy to stay on the straight and narrow, but I've never even been able to figure out where it is.”

A
s if cued by a particularly theatrical director, the sun broke through the clouds just as Livia emerged from the car, appearing before passing strollers in all her glory.

Ricciardi tucked his head down between his shoulders, turning his back toward the woman and hoping he wouldn't be seen; Modo, for his part, didn't even make the effort to wrench his gaze away from the woman's magnificent figure.

“Say, Ricciardi, isn't that wonder of nature the widow of the tenor, the one who was murdered just a year ago?”

The commissario didn't have time to stitch together an answer of any kind, because Livia headed straight for their table. She'd only stepped out of her vehicle a few seconds ago and already at least three men were converging on her from different points on the piazza, all anxious to offer her their company: that too was an effect of the spring.

The woman wore an unmatched suit, with a lightweight wool skirt and jacket in two different shades of grey, clinging softly to her body, and a dark-blue silk blouse with raspberry-pink trim. Topping her short hair was a woolen beret, cunningly perched just off to the right side; a string of pearls and a pair of platinum and diamond earrings completed a stunningly elegant ensemble.

But it certainly wasn't on account of her beautiful clothing that everyone there, male and female, couldn't take their eyes off her: there was something feline about the way she moved, the way she looked around her, stirring both attraction and fear. It was immediately obvious that this was a woman capable of deciding what was going to happen to her, with only the slightest margin of error.

Livia took only an instant to recognize the back of Ricciardi's head, for the simple reason that she'd been looking for him. She looked for him everywhere she went, wherever she found herself in that city: she'd moved there specifically for that purpose.

She came over and spoke, addressing Modo:

“Do you mind if I disturb you, Doctor? I don't know if you remember me, we met a year ago in tragic circumstances. I see that you have company, and in fact I've been introduced to your luncheon companion as well.”

Modo had leapt to his feet, knocking napkin and fork to the floor and making the table wobble.

“Signora, how could I ever forget you? What an immense pleasure to see you again. Please, do us the honor of sitting down with us.”

She turned to look at Ricciardi.

“If it wouldn't bother your fellow diner, I'd be delighted to sit with you. In fact I'm here for lunch.”

The commissario got to his feet, with a partial bow.

“I doubt I have much say in the matter, given the doctor's enthusiasm. Please, Livia, sit right down. I'm happy to see you.”

The impeccably garbed waiter glided over with a chair and Livia sat down.

“Really?” she said. “You don't seem very happy at all, but I'll choose to give more credence to your words than to the expression on your face. For that matter, our man Ricciardi doesn't give his emotions much play, does he, Doctor?”

The three men who had hoped to squire her did nothing to conceal their chagrin, but quickly found new objects for their attentions. Modo, who would have agreed with Livia even if she had told him that the sun rose in the west, hastened to agree:

“I couldn't have put it any better myself, Signora: there's nobody like Ricciardi, when it comes to suffering. We were just saying, in fact, that . . .”

“. . . that, in fact, this is—or was—a working lunch,” Ricciardi interrupted. “And we were talking about a matter we're working on, at police headquarters, that the doctor examined just yesterday.”

Livia batted her long lashes.

“Ah, I see. And I'm sure it's the not kind of thing a bored young woman should hear about, right?”

Ricciardi made a vague gesture with one hand.

“No, I rather doubt it. These are official matters, you see, and . . .”

Modo, on the other hand, couldn't believe his luck; he was delighted to be holding the woman's interest, no matter the subject:

“Actually, it's a very interesting case indeed, Signora. A murder, and of a beautiful woman.”

Livia's jaw dropped, and she raised a gloved hand to her face.

“My God! And who is this murdered woman? I haven't read the paper this morning, and . . .”

Ricciardi shot Modo an angry glare.

“Because the investigation is still under way. The doctor was in fact just telling me about the autopsy, but it hardly seems appropriate to talk about it here.”

Livia was looking at Ricciardi, but she spoke to the physician.

“You see, Doctor? Ricciardi not only denies me his company, he even refuses to engage in normal conversation with me. What do you think, why does he behave this way?”

“Signora, only a madman could think of denying any request you might have, trust me. I'll tell you: someone killed a prostitute, in a fairly well-known cathouse not far from here, on the Via Chiaia. She was a woman well-known in her field, renowned under the name of Viper, like the character in the song, do you know it?” and in a low voice he sang a few bars: ‘
Vipera . . . vipera, sul braccio di colei c'oggi distrugge tutti i sogni miei sembravi un simbolo, l'atroce simbolo della sua malvagità
. . .'”

The words ran something like this: “Viper . . . viper, on the arm of the woman who today has destroyed all of my dreams, you seemed like an omen, the hideous omen of all her evil.”

Livia looked at him, captivated:

“What a lovely voice you have, Doctor! You know, I was an opera singer myself, and I'm a good judge of pitch: you're a very good singer!”

Modo blushed like a schoolboy.

“
Grazie
, really. In any case, this woman was suffocated with a pillow, and it's Ricciardi's job to figure out who did it. For my part, all I could do was determine the cause of death. That's all. We were done with our work and were enjoying a well deserved meal.”

The woman turned to Ricciardi.

“This kind of work could easily kill your appetite, couldn't it? And do you have any idea, of who it could have been?”

Ricciardi shook his head no.

“No, it's too soon to say, it only happened yesterday. We're following a number of leads. Certainly, around a woman like her there naturally swirled a great many passions, powerful emotions; it's hard to say which of these proved to be the most lethal.”

Modo was chewing again, having procured a clean fork. He pointed it at the commissario.

“There, you see? The blame must be put squarely on emotions. Our good Ricciardi would gladly go without emotions, he'd simply eliminate them. That's exactly what we were talking about when you arrived.”

Livia was hardly surprised:

“I'm well acquainted with Ricciardi's views on emotions; I know how convinced he is about the importance of eliminating them from one's life. Perhaps he's right, after all. Emotions can bring pain, so much pain. I know it very well: when you tally up the love and the suffering in any life, the balance is always in the red. But then again, it seems to me that it's impossible to avoid love. Don't you think?”

The commissario said nothing, staring off into the distance. Modo understood much more than what Livia had said.

“You're quite right, Signora. From dawn to dusk, every day, I see people in the hospital fighting disease and death just for love's sake. And so many people come to me in tears, begging me to save the life of the person they love, because that person's survival is essential to their own. Love can destroy, that's true: but it can save too.”

Ricciardi stared at his friend. Behind him, the elderly suicide was repeating, for his ears alone:
Our café, my love, our café, my love
, incessantly. The memory of love, he reflected, outlived him.

“What I do know is that maybe, if it hadn't been for love, Maria Rosaria Cennamo, known as Viper, might still be alive. And she'd feel the springtime on her skin, instead of the marble of your operating slab, Bruno. And in any case, it doesn't matter what I think about emotions: the important thing is to find out who felt they were so almighty that they had the right to take her life, a pillow pressed down on her face.”

His tone of voice had been hard and brusque. Livia shot Ricciardi a glance of infinite sadness: and she thought that she would be willing to give everything, that she would give anything, just to bring a little love into that man's life.

After a moment, trying to steer the conversation onto another track, Modo said:

“It seems like the weather is bound and determined to prove the madness of March, don't you think? Now it's actually hot out, and this morning it was like winter again.”