Natalia nodded. “As am I, sir.”
“I didn’t have a choice once you two got involved. I had to transfer one of you. You had seniority and outranked him. And, frankly, fond as I am of Pino, I could not afford to lose you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know, as you’re no longer partnered at work, headquarters might be persuaded to look the other way concerning your domestic arrangements.”
“Thank you, but no, Colonel. I knew the chance we were taking. I should have known better. Matters of the heart … they don’t belong here.”
“All right, Captain.” Colonel Donati leaned on his desk with both hands. “Find those responsible.”
Natalia rang the doorbell. A dog barked.
“Momento!” As Lola Nuovaletta opened it, a fierce ball of fur charged past her, jumped up Natalia’s legs and scratched. It was a small designer dog, all the rage: gray and white, shampooed and clipped with a bow in its hair.
“Since when do you have a watch dog?” Natalia asked.
“Down, Micu! Isn’t she cute? Come to mama!” She snatched her into her arms and nuzzled her. “Present from the boyfriend. In case I get lonely when he’s not here.”
“Sounds like Dominick’s getting serious.”
“Maybe.” She kissed Natalia. “Come with me into the kitchen. I gotta feed the princess.”
Natalia followed her back. They were two sides of a coin, she and Lola. They had grown up together, pampered by each other’s grandmothers. As teens, they’d practiced staying upright in high heels, discussed the finer points of kissing and confided their dreams and ambitions. Lola wanted a man. Natalia wanted an academic life but wound up a Carabiniere. Lola had grown up in the Camorra—her family and her husband’s family both went back for generations. She’d never thought to be anything else but a camorrista.
Lola took a plastic container from the refrigerator.
“I’m heating her some meatballs. She only eats people food, cooked. You want something to eat? Some lunch?”
“Thanks, Lola. I only have a few minutes.”
“These fucking containers are hell to open. Down, Micu! Want me to break a nail?”
“Can we be serious here a minute?”
“Aye, aye, Capitano! What is it?”
“We found two bodies this morning.”
“The faggots on the horse?”
“How the hell could you have heard already?”
“Bianca Strozzi didn’t have anything to do with it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Relax. Your boss isn’t a suspect—yet.”
“All I’ve heard is gossip,” Lola said.
“God’s truth?”
“Aren’t we suspicious today,” she baby-talked, as she cuddled her new dog. The dog mewled. Lola looked up. “What about the museum guy’s boss?”
“Director Garducci?”
“Word is he and the deceased Vincente were an item.”
“For real? How do you know this?”
“Frankie’s cousin, Beatrice—Bibi, remember her? She was their maid for a while. According to Bibi, Director Garducci is a very particular guy. Everything aligned and in its proper place, exact—or you’d hear about it. You know the type: pencil up his ass. Screamed at her a couple of times. He and the wife had separate bedrooms. Must have fucked once, though. Their daughter’s thirteen. Bibi says she’s shy, nose always in a book. Like our Mariel. Anyway, her father had male ‘friends’ stay over sometimes. The wife tolerated it. She’s from Milan. No tits, if you know what I mean. So Bibi walks into the bedroom one morning, and one of Garducci’s ‘friends’ is bleeding like crazy all over the Milanese sheets. Bibi and the wife rush him over to Cardelli Hospital. The happy couple paid Bibi a lot of money to keep her mouth shut. Imagine what they paid to keep it out of the papers.”
“When was this?”
“Six, seven months ago. The wife took the kid and left. Went back to Milan. According to Bibi, Vincente Lattaruzzo was a regular guest of Director Garducci’s. There’s your killer. You think?”
“Could be, I suppose.”
“Who’s the other dead guy?” Lola asked.
“Carlo Bagnatti.” Natalia picked up a gold and turquoise cushion. “Nice.”
“A cousin of Frankie’s opened a new shop on Duomo. Everything’s one-of-a-kind. Bagnatti? You’re talking about the dirt diva?”
“One and the same.”
“I wonder who did him,” Lola mused.
Natalia stood and started toward the door. “Are we on for Saturday?”
“Of course.” Lola picked up the dog, and they slobbered over each other for a moment. Then she pointed the creature toward Natalia.
“That’s okay.” Natalia said. “I appreciate the thought.”
“She doesn’t love us, Micu.” Lola kissed the dog’s ear.
“I love you. I don’t love your drooling friend.”
Lola made a face. “You didn’t notice.”
“What?”
“My new earrings.” She fingered one of the dangling jewels.
“Pretty.”
“Diamonds, Nat.”
“A new admirer?”
“Nah. Madam Strozzi. In appreciation for the job I done.”
“Blood diamonds,” Natalia said sarcastically. “Nice.”
“Hey, it’s called working for a living. You know all about that.”
“I do, and I better get back to it,” Natalia said and made for the door.
Rundown apartment buildings and car repair businesses dominated the neighborhood around her Via Casanova station—no delight for eye or soul. Natalia reached her workplace, the blue CARABINIERE sign in the box above the door lighting the way to the front door. Entering, Natalia climbed the stairs. Every chair in the waiting room was taken. A small, shriveled man stood at the reception desk.
“I want to report a crime,” he said. He looked like he lived in the street.
Some of the homeless eccentrics were merely lonely, a few were mad. Each was seen and heard. Every so often they provided a lucid narrative and pertinent information about a crime that led to arrests, so each was treated respectfully. The officer at the desk dutifully recorded the details of the assault on him.
Someone was sitting at Pino’s desk, a black windbreaker draped over the back. For a second, Natalia thought it was a man. But when the person stood, Natalia faced a young woman not much over five feet, thin and muscular, her black hair cut punk style in uneven chunks. No one would ever take her for a Carabiniere, yet she wore the black utility uniform with red piping, slightly bulged by the armored vest underneath. Her wine-red beret lay on the out tray. The red chevrons of a corporal adorned her sleeves.
Natalia hoped she hadn’t inherited a partner even more naïve than the one she’d lost, though this girl was from Sicily and a station in Palermo—no easy duty. Naples was not free of serieta, the ancient code of behavior expected of Italian women, but it was more seriously adhered to in Sicily. Women were expected to follow its precepts: marry young, bear many children and remain faithful to your husband. In which case she had the respect and protection of the men. Ignoring it, she forfeited even her small freedoms and couldn’t so much as enter a café by herself or wear short sleeves even if the day was brutal.
A woman who defied these conventions would be accosted in the streets, harassed, ridiculed. To join an all-male organization like the Carabiniere was unthinkable. So the girl had some guts.
The kid had cleared up Pino’s desk and was going through a stack of reports.
Natalia extended her hand. “Natalia Monte. Welcome to the Tenth Carabinieri Battalion.”
“Cavatelli, ma’am. Angelina Cavatelli.”
“Have you had the tour?”
“A Maresciallo dei Carabiniere showed me around.”
“Yeah, the marshal is named Cervino. What did he say?” Natalia got up and closed the door.
“Aside from the pleasantries?”
“Yeah.”
“I got the feeling he was fishing. Who did I know in Naples? Who did I report to in Palermo? Then something about loyalty. That I should come to him if anyone at the station compromised that oath. Like he wanted to recruit me to spy. Weird, huh? But maybe he figured a newbie … he could get me under his thumb right away.”
“Stay clear of him. He’s dangerous. Passed up for promotion more than once. Always looking for dirt. Can’t stand the idea that a woman is higher ranked than he is.”
“I’m familiar with that one. Don’t worry. I’ll steer clear. I did get an overview from our boss, the colonel. Seems like a decent guy.”
“He is,” Natalia said, “for the most part. So who’d you piss off in Palermo?”
Angelina laughed. “How did you figure that? You’re right, though. My superiors wanted to try out the confinato on me. You know how that goes.”
“Confinato?”
“If someone bothered Mussolini by their mere existence, the person got charged. No evidence required. Il Duce merely declared, ‘Quest’ ‘uomo mi da fastidio.’ This person annoys me. Most of them ended up on the island of Lipari. Most didn’t survive.”
“You won’t miss home?”
“No. It was time to go. Should I be watching my back here, too?”
“No. But only because they’re lazy chauvinist sons of bitches.”
“They?”
“You find a place to live?”
“I’m staying with a cousin until I get settled. She has a terrific place up in the Vomero.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Yeah, I’m going to be spoiled. My love is coming in three weeks. We’ll never be able to afford anything as nice.”
“What does he do?”
“She,” Angelina said in a lowered voice.
“Sorry. She.”
“She’s a veterinary assistant. Lucky there’s work here. What about you?”
“Love life?”
“Yeah.”
“A recent casualty,” Natalia said.
“Oh.”
“Occupational hazard.” Natalia glanced at the resume on her desk. “You’ve spent time in Naples, I see. Know your way around?”
“Pretty well—from visiting my cousin, the gynecologist. Now, hers is a nice job—delivering babies. You have kids?” Natalia shook her head.
“Me, either. Giuletta—my girl—she loves them. If things work out, maybe we’ll adopt.”
Natalia tapped the resume. “I see you speak French and some English. How’s that?”
“The French I took in school. I got good in English because of my mom’s sister and her husband. They own a café in New Orleans. The summer I finished college, I lived with them and waitressed in their place.”
“How was that?”
“A little difficult. They couldn’t understand why I made such lousy cappuccinos, being from here. I couldn’t understand what was so great about America.”
“You didn’t like the US?”
“Loved it. But the same mob lowlifes ran their neighborhood, just like in Palermo. My aunt told me to shut it. I was to bring the local gentlemen their coffee when they came by to collect and ignore their sexist remarks … and that they never paid. This is what they’d left Italy for, worked so hard for?”
“Pity.”
“My cousin in New York went into nursing and did all right. But her brother? The hoodlums recruited him when he was sixteen. He gave up his schooling. Turned drug dealer and got addicted himself.”
“That why you ended up in law enforcement?”
“Partly, yeah.” She paused. “By the way, I want to thank you.”
“What for?”
“I’m no good when I don’t work. They were going to shelve me.”
Natalia held up a hand. “Don’t thank me yet.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“I’d like you to familiarize yourself with the cases we’ll be handling.”
“Yes’m. I’ve been reading the case notes about the two victims on the horse.”
“Good. You ready to jump in?”
“Affirmative.”
“I want you to interview his colleagues at the Museo Archeologico. How does tomorrow sound?”
“How about today?”
“Even better, Carabiniere Cavatelli. Go to it. I also need you to look into some domestic violence at the museum director’s home about a year ago. A boyfriend the director beat up badly enough to require medical attention.”
“Should I request the hospital records?”
“Yes, but find him first.”
Angelina departed.
She found him at the café next to the auto repair shop. He appeared to be reading a report.
“Maresciallo.”
“Officer Monte. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I understand you were talking to my new partner. Not your role, is it?”
“Just trying to be helpful is all. Show her the ropes. Your partner isn’t from here.”
“There were certain innuendos. And apparently you suggested she should come to you—as a spy. It’s highly inappropriate, to say the least.”
“Not innuendos, Officer Monte. Concerns. I’m not so charmed by you as the colonel. I’ll say it to your face: Your friendships with certain people are in direct conflict with your role as a Carabiniere.”
“My personal life is not your business.”
“I will do whatever is necessary to safeguard the mission of the Carabinieri. Is that clear? Keep up with your social life and you could be putting your new partner in danger. She doesn’t know the players. Let me put it to you this way.” He took a sip of his coffee. “You’re the nature lover. It’s like throwing a baby bird into a street of cats.”
“Talk to her again about my business, I’ll have you up on charges of insubordination.”
“You took an oath.”
“Watch it, Cervino.”
“On the contrary, it’s you who should watch it.”
She went back to the office and stormed up the stairs. “Bastard,” she muttered. She tried to work, but it was difficult to concentrate. Cervino had been a thorn in her side for a long time. But he’d gotten bolder since Pino left. Jealous, of course.
Trouble was he had a right to be jealous. Slowly but surely she was being promoted, recognized. Whatever else she might think of him personally, Cervino was a dedicated officer. He lived and breathed his job. She doubted he had any interests outside of the office. And he hadn’t risen despite his dedication. What accounted for that, Natalia wasn’t entirely sure. She had some ideas. His personality was overbearing. He always assumed he was right. And he certainly wasn’t a team player. But then neither was she.
Natalia wasn’t making much headway. She completed a few reports, and it was only as she prepared to leave that she noticed the envelope slipped under her coffee mug. She opened it. Another poem from Pino copied out by hand. Mailed to the station. He was covering all bases.
The black and white line
Of swallows that rises and falls from the
Telegraph pole to the sea
Doesn’t console you, standing at
The water’s edge,
Nor take you back to where you no longer are.
My feelings for you remain,
He’d written and signed it P.
It was folded between sheets of gold foiled paper, the kind Buddhists take with them in death to assure good fortune in their next life. Natalia couldn’t tell if this meant that Pino accepted the end of their relationship and was preparing to move on or if he was yearning for what they’d lost. Natalia still had feelings for him as well—that she could not deny—but what path to take with regard to them, she had not a clue.
A young man interrupted her reverie. He was skinny, not yet thirty, wearing black jeans and rectangular eyeglass frames.
“Can I help you?” Natalia asked
He nodded in greeting and spoke rapidly. “I was downstairs. They sent me up here to see you, to report
a missing person.”
“A relation?”
“My boyfriend,” he said nervously, standing in the doorway.
“Please.” She indicated the chair facing her desk.
“Vincente Lattaruzzo. That’s his name.” He forced a smile. “He didn’t come home last night, the shit.”
“Sir, why don’t you have a seat?”
“It’s happened before. I’m pissed is all.” He shoved both hands in his pockets, still standing on the threshold. “I’m sure it’s a mistake, this. Sorry to waste your time.”
He turned abruptly to go.
“Mr. Grappi.” Natalia motioned him to come in. “Please, sir,” she said. “Have a seat.”
The young man sat down at the edge of the chair, eyes welling up. “He isn’t …?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“What … how?”
“We aren’t sure. Do you know Contessa Cavazza?”
He nodded. “She’s on the museum board. They have lunch every month or so.”
“He was found in her garden—shot.”
His face went extremely pale. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Put your head down,” Natalia said. “Between your legs.”
She got him a glass of water and moistened a handkerchief for his forehead.
“I need to see him.”
“If you feel up to it. He’s at the morgue. I’ll have you driven over. We’ll need a statement, too.”
“I’ll be all right. Oh, God.”
“Where is he from, Vincente?”
“Cantalupo, but they’re here—his parents. They own a grocery store … just ordinary working people. How can I tell them he’s dead, their only child?”
Natalia looked at him sympathetically. “We can do that or accompany you if that would help.”
“No, no. Thank you. I should tell them.”
“Let me know if you change your mind. We’ll be talking to them as well.” She came around the desk to see him out. “Oh, one more thing. Until we find Vincente’s killer, we would prefer you to stay in Naples.”
“Am I a suspect?”
“Lovers are always suspect, Stefano.”
A Few Drops of Blood Page 2
