'Don't worry,' Leone said. 'I'll be quick.'
'It won't take long,' Ferrara said. 'Just a few questions.'
D'Incisa sighed. 'All right.'
'This is for you, to pass the time,' Leone said to Ferrara as he walked him to the door, and handed him a small plastic bag. 'The dead girl's personal effects.'
Once he was out in the corridor, Ferrara was assailed with doubts. What if he was barking up the wrong tree? What if this was nothing but the drug-related death of a young girl forced into prostitution, like millions of others her age all over the world?
He sat down on a bench, opened the bag, and took out a pair of dirty, faded blue jeans, without any label, a cheap lavender cotton ‘I-shirt with a label he didn't recognise, a pair of tacky earrings - too flashy for a child - and a small imitation gold ring set with a piece of purple glass trying to imitate an amethyst.
That was all.
Apart from three sticks of mint chewing gum in the pockets of the jeans, that, sadly, was the sum total of the dead girl's personal effects.
He wondered if Leone had been trying to tell him something by giving him the bag. Had he, too, noticed the curious lack of shoes and underwear? There was no bra, though the girl could have done without it. But there were no knickers either, and it was harder to believe she didn't wear them, whether she was a convent girl or a whore, someone with her papers in order or an illegal immigrant.
As he put the things back in the bag - he'd pass it on to Forensics - the ring fell to the ground. He watched it rolling, feeling strangely disturbed.
The personal effects of the dead are always disturbing. It is as if they have suddenly lost their value along with their owner. They appear as what they are, piles of objects more or less worn down by a use to which they will no longer be put. Some will find other owners and live again, acquire other meaning, other memories. Others - the majority - will fade.
Objects full of melancholy, in any case. But that wasn't what disturbed Ferrara as he bent to pick up the wretched market-stall ring. It was the image of the girl reaching out her little hand to choose it from among others, the childish illusions she may have had in her mind as she slipped it on her finger.
And there was something else, too, something he couldn't put his finger on, but which gave him the incentive he needed.
He phoned Headquarters and asked to speak to Ascalchi.
'I was just about to report to you ..." Ascalchi began.
'Never mind, you can tell me later. Now listen. Check with the emergency services and find out the exact spot where they found the girl, let me know, then go out there with a few people from Forensics. Get Sergi to help you out, if he's not busy with Violante, and anyone else who's available. Cordon off the area and give it a thorough going over. I'll join you there as soon as I can.'
'Do you think it's murder?' Ascalchi asked in surprise.
'I don't know, but act as if it is.'
'Is this all above board?'
'Don't worry about that. I'll take responsibility'
'Are we looking for anything in particular?'
'The usual things. But shoes, bra and knickers in particular. And condoms.'
All right, chief,' Ascalchi said, unenthusiastically. He hadn't joined the police to be a street cleaner, and if those wooded hills were the way he imagined, the harvest of used condoms would be plentiful.
Disgustingly plentiful, he thought with horror.
Immediately after, Ferrara called Fanti.
'Yes, chief?'
'Find out everything you can about a make of T-shirt called "Steaua Rosie".' He spelled it for him. 'Have you written that down?'
'Yes, chief.'
He rang off and settled down to wait, wondering if he wasn't wasting precious time. But at this stage of an investigation, all leads were equally vague and equally important. Many would turn out to be inconclusive, but none could be ruled out.
The one interruption while he waited was a call that Fanti put through. It was Ascalchi, with details of the place where the body had been discovered.
Ferrara did not have to wait as long as he had anticipated. At the first opportunity, as if to prove that he really was in a hurry, Professor d'Incisa emerged from the autopsy room.
Ferrara leapt to his feet and joined him. 'As I promised, this won't take long.'
'Can we talk as we're walking? I have to meet my wife. We're off to Viareggio today and we're already late. We were hoping to leave early to avoid the traffic.'
'I understand,' Ferrara said, walking beside him. The doctor had a rapid, energetic gait. 'I also have to go somewhere. Marina di Pietrasanta. I'm leaving tomorrow. So I'm in a hurry, too, if I want to get through everything today. It's only for the weekend, though. Are you going on holiday?'
'If only! No, I'm taking my wife to our villa, but I'm coming back on Sunday. Our work here is never done
'Tell me about it.'
'What did you want to ask me?'
'Was the girl in a coma all the time she was here? Didn't she ever come to, even for a moment? Did she ever speak in her sleep? Did she moan?'
After we administered Narcan, she started breathing again normally, but that was the only reaction I observed. As far as I know she never regained consciousness, and I never heard her moan.'
'Could a nurse have heard something?'
'It's possible. But you'd have to ask them.'
'Is there anyone in particular I can talk to?'
'The head nurse, Signora Finzi.'
Ferrara wrote the name in a notebook. 'One more thing.' They had left the building and were descending the steps which led to the reserved parking spaces. 'Go on.'
'The girl was in a coma for five days. Do you think she was given the care she needed during all that time?'
Professor d'Incisa stopped dead, but did not explode as Ferrara had feared he might. On the contrary, the inflexibility and hostility he had shown him from the start appeared suddenly to thaw - at least as much as a consultant in a large Florentine hospital could thaw. It was as if he'd been relieved of a burden.
'Now I understand . . .' He looked Ferrara straight in the eyes and after a moment's reflection, continued. 'I give you my word of honour that, while she was under my personal observation, she was treated with the greatest care and attention. Can I guarantee that no errors were committed, not even a small one? No. Obviously, I hope there weren't, but this is a large hospital and we have a lot of patients. And it is August, Chief Superintendent. You know what that means, you work in a public institution yourself. And you also know how important prestige and reputation are to such an institution. So I'll leave it to you to do as you see fit. For my part, I'll make sure there's an internal inquiry and let you know the results. Have a good weekend.'
And with that, he unlocked the door of his gunmetal grey Maserati coupe by remote control.
Ferrara once again wondered if there had been malpractice. Was that why d'Incisa had asked to attend the autopsy, despite being in a hurry to get away to the seaside? And was that why he had pressed for Violante's report to be completed quickly?
He stood there, watching as the doctor pulled out of the parking space and drove away. With him went that sandalwood scent, to be replaced by a vague, pungent, evil odour.
Ferrara had put his finger in shit this morning.
He was sure of it now.
4
The road snaked its way around the flank of the hill, which bristled with beeches and brambles on either side. Occasionally, through gaps in the wild undergrowth, he caught a glimpse of the expanse of vineyards and olive groves, with their neat, man-made rows.
The officers were at work on a spur of beaten earth to the right of the road, which at that point veered sharply to the left, leaving an area of open ground where there was room for four or five cars. Their cars, though, were not parked there, but to the side, taking up part of the narrow provincial road, and two officers with signal paddles stood on either side of the bend, making sure t
hat the local traffic got through safely.
Ferrara got out of his car and walked over to where Ascalchi and Sergi were giving rather tentative instructions to two forensic technicians equipped with cameras, both still and video.
'Found anything?' he asked.
'Nothing, chief,' Ascalchi replied. 'Just a few empty bottles of water, a lot of cigarette stubs, empty crisp packets, beer and coke cans. No knickers, shoes or bras. This isn't a place for couples, I can tell you that.'
'How about syringes?'
'Are you kidding, chief? We're at least half a mile from anywhere remotely civilised, and there are at least a hundred better places to shoot up between there and here.'
Ferrara looked at Sergi - known as Serpico because of his resemblance to the main character in the Al Pacino film - and found conformation in his eyes, as well as a certain puzzlement. He seemed to be wondering what he was doing here.
'Where was the body found?'
'Over there,' Ascalchi said, leading him to a point immediately beyond the edge of the open space, where the ground started to fall away. Here, an area of flattened vegetation marked the spot where the body had lain.
Ferrara stopped close enough to see, and stopped Ascalchi, too. Any sign of the body being dragged along the ground?'
Ascalchi hadn't thought of it, perhaps because he hadn't specifically ordered him to. With Rizzo it wouldn't have been necessary.
'But, chief, the paramedics were here . . . they took her on a stretcher to the ambulance, so . . .'
'So you didn't think of looking? Is that what you're trying to say?'
Sergi intervened. 'No, chief. The team have done their job well, they've been very careful, as always, but as you can see—'
As I can see, the area needs to be checked thoroughly'
'Yes, chief,' Sergi replied, obviously sceptical.
In his heart Ferrara couldn't really fault him. This didn't look like a crime scene, if indeed there had been a crime.
There were many tyre tracks, some quite close to the place where the body had been found, and lots of shoe prints, often one on top of the other. Ferrara ordered the technicians to photograph both the tracks and the prints, and they obeyed so as not to contradict him and to keep themselves busy, even though they had already taken quite a lot, and as far as they were concerned they had already finished.
'The one thing we can be sure of is that the body wasn't dragged along the ground,' Ferrara said eventually. 'Do we agree on that?'
'Absolutely' Sergi said.
And that if kids come here they don't get out of their cars, not even to pee,' Ascalchi commented. 'In my opinion, these are all adult prints, chief.'
Perhaps it was only meant as a joke, but it showed that Ascalchi had good observational skills.
'I'll wait till I've seen the photos, but I'd say you were right. So if she was barefoot, and that's something we'll be able to check on, she certainly didn't walk anywhere around here. Leone didn't find any traces of mould or hard particles under the toenails.'
'Which would mean . . .?' Sergi said, his interest suddenly aroused.
'That most likely the girl didn't get here by herself, somebody else brought her here,' Ferrara said, already thinking ahead. And that in any case she wasn't an addict who came to a deserted spot to shoot up, given the kind of area this is and the absence of syringes or any prints suggesting that people were walking near where she was found. That seems to be the first thing we've definitely established.'
If she had been brought here, there were two possibilities: either she had been transported in a car, or she had been carried in someone's arms across the countryside from one of the villas or houses in the area. The nearest were at least six or seven hundred yards away. If she had been carried, it would have had to have been by more than one person, because if there was only one person carrying her, she would have had to have been dragged for long stretches. If on the other hand she had been dumped from a car, then she could have come from anywhere and only one person might have been involved.
Both possibilities had holes in them, but they couldn't be ruled out. That meant they would have to search the whole of the surrounding area.
Tm sorry, boys, but we haven't finished here yet. We have to comb the area over a radius of at least a mile, and check out all the nearby buildings, discreetly if possible. Send for reinforcements if you need them. I have to get back to the hospital'
It had occurred to him that he had left without even saying goodbye to Leone, and that a chat with Signora Finzi and some of the other nurses might not go amiss.
It also occurred to him that it was already afternoon and he hadn't had lunch, but he wasn't hungry. Usually when he was on an important case, he skipped meals without even noticing. Perhaps all the cigars he smoked took away his appetite. This time, he was sure it had nothing to do with his cigars, and everything to do with the macabre spectacle he had chosen to observe that morning.
The prospect of going back to the hospital didn't appeal to him, but when had he ever been able to afford the luxury of choice?
Leone had already left: he would have to call him later to apologise. He had better luck with Signora Finzi, who as it turned out was on duty that afternoon.
She was about fifty, tall and thin, with copper-coloured hair and a thin, hooked nose. She wore glasses with thick blue-tinted lenses. She looked like the kind of woman who never smiled, but in the event she was neither hostile nor crabby.
She led him to an empty office, away from the chaos of the waiting rooms. The room was full of metal tables piled high with files and boxes of medication, and several electronic devices were stacked on shelves.
'I'm here about the young girl who overdosed,' Ferrara began.
The woman nodded. If she was surprised, she didn't show it.
'Were you on duty when they brought her in?' 'Yes.'
'When was she transferred to intensive care?'
'Almost immediately. Doctor Carli in emergency immediately realised it must be an overdose and that the girl was in a serious condition. He informed Professor d'Incisa, who had her transferred to intensive care immediately'
'So it was the professor who admitted her?'
'The professor and his team, yes.'
'It was Sunday, is that right?'
'Yes, but there's nothing unusual about that. He's always working. He works too much. I remember he looked especially tired and drawn that morning, and he got quite angry when he saw the girl. He probably hadn't slept a wink all night, and it can sometimes be discouraging when you have urgent cases needing attention and they bring in these people who've been shooting up on a Saturday night.'
'Do you think he should have been working if he was as tired as that?'
The woman pulled a face: the closest thing to a smile Ferrara saw from her. 'Professor d'Incisa has energy to spare, and he's famous for keeping a clear head. And anyway, this wasn't surgery'
'When they brought the girl in, was she still dressed?'
'I don't understand.'
'I'm sorry, I don't really know how these things work. Perhaps they'd already undressed her in emergency. I assume patients are given gowns to make things easier for the doctors.'
'No. There was no time to change her. We had to intervene urgently. They must have done it later, when she was admitted to the ward.'
Who would have done that?'
'The nurses on the ward.'
'Do you remember how she was dressed?'
'Of course. Like all young girls - jeans and T-shirt. Cheap stuff, though, the kind you find in a street market. Cheap jewellery, too. She must have been quite poor. A runaway, probably. No one ever came looking for her.'
'Do you get a lot like her?'
'More than we'd like to, and more than you'd imagine.'
'A nuisance, would you say?' he asked, thinking of Professor d'Incisa's anger.
'No, Superintendent. I'd never say that. When they come into hospital they're patients, and we're here to
take care of them. That's our job.'
'Of course. I only meant that if they take you away from other urgent cases—'
'Even junkies are human beings, and not all of them are the same. It can be discouraging, but they're never a nuisance. That's not just a question of professional ethics, it's a question of conscience.'
Among these junkies, are there many minors?'
'Yes, quite a few'
'Even children?'
'I beg your pardon?'
'She wasn't an adult, am I right?'
'Well, not really, but
'According to the pathologist she might have been fourteen, perhaps even thirteen.'
The woman seemed quite struck by this, and thought about it for a few moments. 'Oh my God, I suppose that's possible. But I thought she was older than that. Being a junkie . . .'
And that doesn't seem strange to you?'
'To be honest, yes, now that you've told me.'
'So you can understand why I have to ask you all these questions?'
'Oh, don't worry about that. If I can help you in any way
'Thank you. I have one more question. I didn't find any shoes among the girl's personal effects.'
She thought for a moment. 'That's right, she was barefoot.' And did that seem normal to you?'
'To be honest, I don't think anyone was bothered about it. The paramedics might have taken them off.'
Death in Tuscany Page 4
