The Deliverance of Evil by Roberto Costantini

I’ll have use this.”
    She unfastened my leather belt.
    “And if I refuse to cooperate with the police, you can use this to punish me.”
    It was going to be a hell of a night. I forgot all about Elisa Sordi.

Monday, July 12, 1982
    S PENDING THE NIGHT AT Paola’s also gave me a huge logistical gain. I was only two strides from the Vigna Clara police station and could therefore sleep in longer. And that morning I needed it. I ignored the alarm completely, having told the station I’d be late. Cristiana was sleeping at my side and from the bedroom next door there was no noise. In the end, what forced me to get up around eleven was hunger.
    I didn’t wash my face or brush my teeth. I just quietly slipped on jeans and a T-shirt and went down to the café in the piazza. A crowd was discussing the previous night’s win. The sidewalks were packed with people who should have been at work, just like me. In the general throng, I put myself right with a tall coffee and a pastry.
    “On the house,” declared the man behind the bar, obviously a soccer fan. “Only Germans pay today.”
    I bought the Corriere dello Sport and went back to Paola’s apartment. I wanted to read all the details of the big win in peace and quiet. I stretched out on the sofa in the living room with the paper and my cigarettes to enjoy reports on the game.
    After a while, I heard Cristiana and Paola talking in the kitchen and smelled coffee. They came in with a steaming cup for me, as well as some toast and jam. They were in slippers and robes, their eyes still puffy.
    “There you are, fit for a king,” Cristiana said. She leaned down and I gave her a quick kiss.
    “Paola,” I said, “Angelo won’t be happy if he wakes up and knows I’ve seen you in this state . . .”
    “Angelo went out at seven thirty. The big jerk woke me up.”
    I was a little surprised, but then I remembered that he had problems to sort out with the priests and nuns. I dove into my second breakfast, then went back to reading the paper. My head hurt, but my spirits were sky high.
    Angelo called a little after noon. Paola handed me the phone.
    “The police are here, Michele. From your precinct.” He sounded scared.
    “Who’s there?”
    “Your deputy, Capuzzo. Elisa’s mother reported her disappearance at midnight, and this area is in your precinct. I told Capuzzo I know you, but I didn’t say you were at Paola’s. They were looking for you at your house. They don’t know where you are.”
    Good man, Angelo, but this was still a real hassle. “I’ll be right over.”
    I phoned the office, pretending to know nothing. They said Capuzzo was looking for me and gave me a number where I could reach him—the number for Dioguardi’s office. I called and a secretary put me through to Capuzzo.
    “What’s up?”
    “Captain, a young woman is missing. She works for your friend Dioguardi.”
    “Who reported it?”
    “The mother. She came to the station at midnight. She was with some priest. I told him the procedure for filing a missing persons report about an adult is complicated, that we have to wait twenty-four hours.”
    “Listen, between you and me, Capuzzo, the young woman in question is a hot ticket. Chances are she’s off celebrating the big game with some lucky son-of-a-bitch.”
    “The priest is really leaning on us. He must have clout because halfway through the morning the rapid response team was ordered to go and check out the situation.”
    I took some time to make myself presentable. Sure, dressed in jeans and T-shirt I hardly looked professional, but there was no time to go home and change. I made my way on foot through the many knots of idlers discussing Italy’s triumph. All the balconies were displaying the national flag. It must have been the first time since Mussolini’s era. Perhaps since the day they hanged him upside down in Piazzale Loreto. A country without honor. I squashed the thought that had followed me throughout adolescence; this