soon after a homicide, we are forced to ask ourselves what the reason is.’
‘Forced, huh?’
‘Forced. It’s our job. May I ask what you did on Sunday afternoon?’
I opened and closed my mouth like a fish.
Ferolli was grinning again. ‘It’s a simple question. It’s only been a few hours.’
A simple question for everyone else but me.
‘I … ’
‘You?’ Brambilla said, ready to write.
‘I … ’
They both hung there, staring at me, waiting. Ferolli’s jaws opened, ready for a piece. The piece was my arse. They had put me in a squeeze and were doing it rather well. If I wanted to save myself, now was the time to get out. Fast. I was forced to take a harsher tone.
‘Am I under investigation?’
‘Excuse me?’ Ferolli grew rigid.
‘You heard me.’ Under investigation. You’re treating me like … a criminal.’
I got to my feet and pointed an accusing finger at the Sicilian, the bastard. I was a big fish now, a pillar of the community. People like me made the cops run around. I imagined a scene from Dallas and J.R. Ewing with his back against the wall. ‘Are you insinuating that I could be implicated in the murder of Signor Roveda, a man who was … almost like a father to me? I have to ask you to leave.
Ferolli looked like he couldn’t believe his ears. The bug had rebelled before being squashed. ‘Are you serious?’ he asked.
I crossed my arms so that they couldn’t see that my hands were shaking. ‘What do you think? You know the way out.’
‘As you wish. Brambilla, let’s go.’ They got up. ‘I’m afraid that the next time it’ll be your turn to pay us a visit.’
‘Is that a threat? My lawyers will eat you alive.’
‘It’s just a warning.’
I stayed posing until they went out, then I collapsed on the sofa, soaked in sweat.
I knocked back two whiskies and ran out, looking for Monica.
5
Beagle & Manetti took up an entire five-floor building with an enormous logo painted on the main entrance. It looked like a pig with a flower on its nose. I waited at the corner, freezing under the drizzle. Every now and then a young, unseasonably tanned and well-dressed professional would come out of the front door. When they came in my direction I would slip back into the doorway, stepping over a snoring homeless guy covered in a tattered blanket. The stench of urine kept me company for a good two hours.
Eventually Monica came out, covering her head with a newspaper. I followed her until we were at least a hundred metres from the office, then I tapped her on the back. ‘Hey.’
She stumbled and almost hit her head against a lamppost. ‘Santo!’
I brought my fingers to my lips, ‘Shhh, they can hear you. We have to talk.’
She turned around, stomping on her heels. ‘Get the hell away from me.’
I followed her. ‘Please.’
‘ Go screw yourself. ’
‘I wasn’t serious.’
‘ Go kill yourself. ’
‘I was stressed.’
‘Really.’
‘Please darling, baby, my love, my life … ’
She turned around. ‘How dare you mess with me? You bastard. You … ’
‘You’re right. But you have to understand. I … I only wanted to push you away, to protect you.’
She began walking again. Tick tack tick tack on the pavement. ‘Bullshit.’
I stood in front of her, forcing her to stop. ‘OK, I was a bastard, but if you leave me now, I’ll wind up in jail.’
‘Why should I care?’
‘Because I’m your boyfriend, I’m sick and I need help.’
She stayed there, thinking.
‘Santo … ’
*
I was ready to kneel in a puddle in the rain, but it wasn’t necessary. Half an hour later we were sitting on the sofa in my apartment again, in exactly the same place as the night before. The same place where I had realised what kind of situation I was in. We had got back there in Monica’s car. It was a microscopic two-seater called a Smart Car that looked like it needed a toy crank. I was surprised that we didn’t flip over at each curve.
I told Monica about the
‘Forced, huh?’
‘Forced. It’s our job. May I ask what you did on Sunday afternoon?’
I opened and closed my mouth like a fish.
Ferolli was grinning again. ‘It’s a simple question. It’s only been a few hours.’
A simple question for everyone else but me.
‘I … ’
‘You?’ Brambilla said, ready to write.
‘I … ’
They both hung there, staring at me, waiting. Ferolli’s jaws opened, ready for a piece. The piece was my arse. They had put me in a squeeze and were doing it rather well. If I wanted to save myself, now was the time to get out. Fast. I was forced to take a harsher tone.
‘Am I under investigation?’
‘Excuse me?’ Ferolli grew rigid.
‘You heard me.’ Under investigation. You’re treating me like … a criminal.’
I got to my feet and pointed an accusing finger at the Sicilian, the bastard. I was a big fish now, a pillar of the community. People like me made the cops run around. I imagined a scene from Dallas and J.R. Ewing with his back against the wall. ‘Are you insinuating that I could be implicated in the murder of Signor Roveda, a man who was … almost like a father to me? I have to ask you to leave.
Ferolli looked like he couldn’t believe his ears. The bug had rebelled before being squashed. ‘Are you serious?’ he asked.
I crossed my arms so that they couldn’t see that my hands were shaking. ‘What do you think? You know the way out.’
‘As you wish. Brambilla, let’s go.’ They got up. ‘I’m afraid that the next time it’ll be your turn to pay us a visit.’
‘Is that a threat? My lawyers will eat you alive.’
‘It’s just a warning.’
I stayed posing until they went out, then I collapsed on the sofa, soaked in sweat.
I knocked back two whiskies and ran out, looking for Monica.
5
Beagle & Manetti took up an entire five-floor building with an enormous logo painted on the main entrance. It looked like a pig with a flower on its nose. I waited at the corner, freezing under the drizzle. Every now and then a young, unseasonably tanned and well-dressed professional would come out of the front door. When they came in my direction I would slip back into the doorway, stepping over a snoring homeless guy covered in a tattered blanket. The stench of urine kept me company for a good two hours.
Eventually Monica came out, covering her head with a newspaper. I followed her until we were at least a hundred metres from the office, then I tapped her on the back. ‘Hey.’
She stumbled and almost hit her head against a lamppost. ‘Santo!’
I brought my fingers to my lips, ‘Shhh, they can hear you. We have to talk.’
She turned around, stomping on her heels. ‘Get the hell away from me.’
I followed her. ‘Please.’
‘ Go screw yourself. ’
‘I wasn’t serious.’
‘ Go kill yourself. ’
‘I was stressed.’
‘Really.’
‘Please darling, baby, my love, my life … ’
She turned around. ‘How dare you mess with me? You bastard. You … ’
‘You’re right. But you have to understand. I … I only wanted to push you away, to protect you.’
She began walking again. Tick tack tick tack on the pavement. ‘Bullshit.’
I stood in front of her, forcing her to stop. ‘OK, I was a bastard, but if you leave me now, I’ll wind up in jail.’
‘Why should I care?’
‘Because I’m your boyfriend, I’m sick and I need help.’
She stayed there, thinking.
‘Santo … ’
*
I was ready to kneel in a puddle in the rain, but it wasn’t necessary. Half an hour later we were sitting on the sofa in my apartment again, in exactly the same place as the night before. The same place where I had realised what kind of situation I was in. We had got back there in Monica’s car. It was a microscopic two-seater called a Smart Car that looked like it needed a toy crank. I was surprised that we didn’t flip over at each curve.
I told Monica about the
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