Eva doesn't answer and instead looks at Miew, who's sleeping on her lap.
Giulia isn't happy here. In this flat, which is too small and lacks creature comforts, she doesn't get the attention she needs in order to survive.
'You know, I met a man… a strange guy,' she says, determined to get all the attention she deserves.
'What do you mean, strange?'
'Oh, just totally different. A tough guy, a bit of a misfit.'
Eva doesn't ask her anything else.
It's no fun talking to her, thinks Giulia, now fed up. But then she continues. 'But this one turns me on - quite a lot in fact.'
'Yes?'
'Yes. I'm used to going out with boys, but he's a real man. He knows what he wants, and it just so happen: that what he wants now is me.'
Giulia pulls taut the hem of her skirt. She closes her eyes tight for a moment.
'The first evening we met, he was sitting at the bar, on his own, and he was staring at me. We were in Capannina. I don't know what someone like him was doing at Capannina, but that doesn't matter. Then I walked past him to go to the loo.'
She pauses. She raises her eyes from her flowery skirt and glances at her friend, who is playing with the burnt crust of the pizza - just as she was doing five minutes ago when they were talking about the gym.
'I took at least a quarter of an hour to fix my hair and make-up, then I went out - and guess what?'
'I've no idea,' Eva finds a piece of the pizza that's not quite so burnt and puts it in her mouth.
'You've got no imagination. He was there. Leaning against the wall. There wasn't anyone else around. Not a soul. The corridor's long and narrow, and he was there waiting for me, in the dark.'
Eva shivers, and Giulia starts to feel pleased.
'He started to move towards me and I took a step back.'
Eva swallows the pizza.
'He kept on coming towards me. I went back into the bathroom but he came in after me.'
'So what did you do? Didn't you shout for help?'
Giulia is happy now and carries on speaking even more quietly. 'No.'
By now even the cat seems transfixed. Giulia is triumphant.
'I was about to lock myself in the bathroom but he grabbed hold of the door. He came in.'
Eva can't bear it any longer. 'What did you do?' she asks in a whisper.
'He leapt on me, like an animal.'
Eva gives a start and the cat jumps to the floor, astonished, remaining at her feet, with paws outstretched as if she's trying to regain her balance.
Giulia can't stop now. She's enjoying watching Eva's reaction, and wants it to continue watching.
'He put his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet. He had enormous hands.
'Workman's hands?'
'Hands that can't afford to touch a classy woman like me.'
Eva stares.
'He put his tongue in my mouth while he touched my breast with one hand.'
'And you screamed?'
'No, I couldn't. I was in his power.'
Eva has got up, and she starts to pace backwards and forwards. This pacing consumes her. 'What did he do to you, Giulia?' she finally asks.
Giulia decides that she's gone far enough..
'He just looked at me and said "It doesn't end here". He opened the door and he left.'
'But you should have called the bouncers!' Eva cries out, hugging her.
'I can't stop thinking about it,' says Giulia, with a faint smile.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
She looks up at him and, for a moment, lights up the room.
With a muted light, it's true, but she lights it up nonetheless. There is no doubt about it.
The identification photographs on the walls.
The mountains of papers dumped on the desk.
The scruffy fake-leather sofa with the faint impression of someone's tired back, like a faded memory.
'Good evening,' she says shyly.
'But it's you!' he answers.
'Do we know each other?'
'No… I don't think so. Sorry, I was mistaken. Tell me why you're here.'
It's the girl I saw in the waiting room. She's not someone I could ever forget. She looks like….
Marconi loses himself for a moment in a memory from long ago and feels that he's back at his school desk.
'I thought about it a lot before coming here,' the girl starts.
She's really beautiful, but not in a flashy way.
'I don't want you to laugh at me - it isn't a joke. I'm saying this now, before I tell you anything, because I know how these things work. I've been through this before.'
I love red hair and hers is naturally red. You can tell by the little freckles on her nose.
'I don't know where to start. I've had a dream, a dream that haunts me,' she explains and waits for the policeman to interrupt her, And you're here wasting our time because you had a dream? If he did say that, it would be even more difficult for her to talk.
He doesn't say anything; he just looks at her. Then the girl lowers her gaze and continues with her story.
'I've had these sorts of dreams since I was a child. They're only dreams, but then… then they come true.' She looks up to assess the policeman's reaction. His expression is still hard to read, curious but at the same time lost in who knows what other thoughts.
She isn't wearing any make-up. I don't like girls wearing too much make-up. It's as if they have a veil in front of them. She's beautiful like that, with no make-up - just a very light touch above her eyes. How blue they are. I've never seen such clear blue eyes.
'It feels strange having someone listen to me, like this. Without being interrupted by stupid questions, or by people laughing.'
'Carry on, please.' Now Marconi is now eyeing her breasts; they are hidden under a large black sweater, but you can still see them.
'I feel frightened. Once the dream stops usually…'
Her voice trembles. He would so like to not have to talk.
'Tell me about the dream. Let's start at the beginning.'
'I'm walking. The sun is shining - and it's very bright. Too bright.
'Cars are speeding by me, very fast. I'm aware of being afraid and I start walking quicker.
'Then, all of a sudden, I find myself in an open grey space and I realise. I realise I don't have a shadow any more. But a moment before it was there; it was following me. 'It's disappeared.
'There's a closed door in front of me. It appears suddenly, and I have to open it - because I'm afraid. My shadow has gone and I'm afraid. There's an uneasiness growing inside me.'
Marconi now stops studying the young woman in front of him; he stops tracing her silhouette with his eyes. He just listens to that impassioned, frightened voice. He doesn't yet know exactly what this is about, but a slight shiver runs through him, starting at his feet and spreading upwards until it chokes in his throat. As if he were suddenly standing on ice, with bare feet. Red-hot ice.
'In the end, I open it, that door, and I see it. Blood - blood everywhere. On the walls, on the ground. Everything is stained with blood. And the eyes. Those staring eyes that watch me, looking like they're made out of the blood.'
The girl runs her hands over her legs. Like she's trying to warm up. She is shaking.
Marconi approaches her chair, leans towards her, adopts a softer tone of voice to comfort her, to encourage her. 'How long have you been having these dreams?' he asks her.
'For about a month. But now they've stopped, and that's the problem.' 'The problem?' he repeats.
Yes. When the dreams stop it means that it's happened. I'm never wrong. That's how it works. It's not like any normal dream. I don't know how to explain, but it's different.' She looks up, her eyes full of hope, and again she lights up the room for a moment.
The identification photographs on the walls.
The mountains of papers dumped on the desk.
The shabby fake-leather sofa with the faint i
mpression of someone's tired back, like a faded memory.
'It's as if it's real. I feel everything - the warmth of the sun, and the cars, I feel the movement of the air as the cars speed by. But, more than anything else, I feel a hell inside me.
'It's like I'm dying. And then I shake, and sweat, and… I recognise the feeling, because I've had it before. I'd like to be able to pretend these dreams don't mean anything, but I know that's not true. When I have dreams like this, I can see through a door.'
'Don't worry.' Without being aware of it, Marconi starts behaving as if she's a friend.
He would like to touch her. But he doesn't.
'You were right to come here. Leave me your telephone number, then, if I need to ask anything else, I can call you. Everything will be fine, you'll see. Nothing bad's going to happen.'
Marconi hasn't really understood, but he doesn't think that matters. At least he'll have her number.
'But someone's going to die,' she says, raising her voice.
'Lots of people die.' Now he's just a policeman, and he has ruined everything.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lunch hour at the gym. Just like the trendy people - I'll be able to tell my sister. Eva puts on her trainers under her wide black trousers.
She looks around. She would never have thought it would be so busy at this time of day. The changing room is really noisy, with everyone talking loudly, using their microphones. This is another of her inventions, since she imagines that anyone who talks too loudly has a large, invisible microphone, an accessory they always carry with them to whip out whenever they need it.
'Have you seen my new outfit?' Giulia stands on tiptoe and swivels to look at her own arse. Pink, microfibre jogging pants and a matching top.
The girl next to her has a similar outfit in light blue and is pushing up her breasts with her hands inside her bra and pulling down the neckline of her top in order to show off her cleavage. She glances at the pink version of her outfit with a wry smirk.
'You're. really sure? The aerobics teacher is great, and you don't know what you're missing.' Giulia looks at her friend, waiting for an answer - for a change.
'Yes, I'm sure.'
'He really is good. I've lost two kilos in a month with him,' says the girl in blue, who doesn't miss a chance to join in the conversation. 'I'm signed up for two hours a week of aerobics, and one of spinning,' she adds, for the record.
'I don't go to spinning classes any more. It gives you big calves.' Giulia eyes the girl in blue from the knees down.
The girl flounces off, swaying her hips; having apparently not appreciated this intervention from her pink-clad twin. Even Eva heads out of the changing room feeling demoralised. She hates these surroundings. She doesn't feel at ease.
On the raised floor above, a group of Barbie-like girls skip in time. She strides ahead under the gaze of the bodybuilder boys - each one thinking Look at me. I'm the best-looking. You want me, don't you? - and there it is, at the end of a maze of muscles and vanity, the kickboxing room.
Black leather bags hanging from the ceiling, with people kicking and punching them. They're mainly men - just two girls: one extremely thin with a wispy ponytail, the other glowing with health and with two long plaits down her back. All that one needs is a horned helmet, and she could be Obelix's wife.
Eva immediately spots the group of new recruits. Frightened eyes and cartoon expressions.
She's fond of a slender young boy with flapping ears. She's sure that he gets a beating from everyone and would like to learn to defend himself, but, looking at him, she reckons that's going to be hard.
They're already starting, warming up.
The coach looks just like the cartoon character Tigerman, but without the mask.
Eva is soon sweating. She's not at all fit and she's already exhausted after a few minutes. He shouts, to encourage them all to keep going.
Instead of the music now playing throughout the gym - all the rooms are tuned in to a commercial radio station - she would like a nice piece of heavy rock as a soundtrack, perhaps something like that track by Faith No More that she adores, 'The Gentle Art of Making Enemies'. It has always really turned her on, that song.
She would like to start punching and kicking straight away, but she can't. Warm-up, abdominals, exercises on the spot to learn the basic moves: it's not what she wants to do.
She remembers that she was about average in gym classes at school. But even when she was just about average she was fitter than she is now. Perhaps thanks to all those times she had to run so she didn't miss the last bus. Now she's out of breath, every muscle strains and she's thirsty, and, what's more, what is all this effort for? Not even a kick at the bag, and the bag seems to invite it.
The group of old hands nearby do exercises in pairs. They throw punches. One, wearing boxing gloves, lets the punches fly, while as a shield the other uses a big padded cushion, covered in leather.
She can hear the muffled sound, and she's distracted. For a moment she imagines herself in a yellow tracksuit, like Bruce Lee, as the heroine in a fight scene that ends up in a bloodbath, like in Kill Bill.
But then the coach makes them lie on the floor as she starts to count out their exercises for the lower abdominals, and Eva, as she does a scissor movement with her legs, is plunged back into a reality of muscles that hurt, and of sweat that runs down her spine and forms beads on her forehead. At the end of the hour she is in pieces, and utterly disappointed.
The showers are all occupied. Steam and chatter that sounds like the buzz of mosquitoes in her ears. Added to everything else, Giulia has just come in, smiling annoyingly.
'We kissed.' She walks towards Eva, singing quietly.
Eva jumps into the first shower that becomes free. She has forgotten her shampoo, as well.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tommasi is driving. He always puts the seat too far forward when he drives. Although his legs aren't all that long, they form a ridiculous triangle, with his knees almost touching his elbows. His arms, too, are bent unnaturally and seem exceptionally long. He is wearing sunglasses, a pair of fake Ray-Bans.
He is chatting to Marconi, who is gazing out of the window and, because he has pushed his seat back, looks like he is lounging in an armchair at home. Marconi stretches out his legs as far as he can, and with one hand he holds the seatbelt slightly away from his body, as he usually does, because otherwise it's too tight and he feels like he can't breathe properly.
'I don't go out much in the evening. I don't have all that many friends in Bologna,' confesses Tommasi, driving down Viale Masini. 'Work's pretty stressful, and then, what with everything we see every day, you don't much feel like going out, isn't that true?'
'Yes, yes.'
'So, the forensics people have said that it's definitely a woman.'
'Yes.'
A dark-haired boy at the traffic lights at Via Mascarella tries to clean the windscreen. There's no respect any more for the police. Marconi waves him away with a gesture of irritation.
'A woman… I don't understand how she did it. It's a real mystery, this case.'
Bologna has changed.
Bologna. The city seems tired, greyer, not as lively.
'Now we know the two murders are linked, your idea's starting to make sense. What was it you called her? The murderer who should've been the victim - something like that?'
'That was it.'
'In fact, that would explain why the two men didn't put up a fight, why there was no sign of a struggle. Yes… it could've happened like you said.'
'It's not just because the victims didn't seem to suspect anything before they were attacked, and therefore didn't try to defend themselves. The most disturbing thing is that the autopsy showed… Keep this quiet, OK? It mustn't go any further.'
'Of course, Inspector.'
'Well, both men had an erection just before they died.'
'What?' Tommasi turns for a second.
Shocked, he stares at his superior.
'Careful!' Marconi automatically moves as if to put on the brakes. A young lad on a skateboard has dashed in front of them.
Tommasi brakes hard and the engine cuts out with a thump. 'Fuck it!' He doesn't move: still clutching the steering wheel, with his foot still pressed down on the brake.
They stay motionless for a moment while the boy disappears down a narrow street on their right, without apologising or even looking back at them.
'I don't believe it. Look at that moron!'
'And if some poor sod knocks one of them over, they even have to pay them compensation.'
'These kids have no respect for anything or anyone. They have everything they want right from when they're born, and look how they end up. They just don't know how to behave any more.'
A car behind them sounds its horn, not realising that the stationary vehicle is a police car.
'There's no respect any more for the police. Did I already say that?'
Tommasi starts off again but soon they stop for a coffee. The barista at Settimo Cielo is a short man with a friendly face, a true local accent, and an overwhelming desire to grumble.
'Two coffees.'
'Another robbery in broad daylight in the centre of the city the other day. Where's it all going to end?' he grumbles, reaching for the cups.
'Come on, don't start. We do our job. But there aren't enough of us - and we're not paid enough,' Tommasi responds. He already knows the barista's views.
'I'm not saying you don't do your job. I'm just saying that, with all these immigrants, you aren't safe leaving the house.'
The Girl with the Crystal Eyes Page 6
