you.”
The Marshal was easily convinced. He hated getting wet but mostly he wanted to talk to somebody about all this, somebody from his own force and of his own age and rank—only of course Ferrini wasn’t any longer a marshal.
“I should congratulate you.” He offered a glance at the stars on Ferrini’s epaulettes.
“Thanks.” They settled into the back of the car and the driver started signalling his hope of nosing his way into the mass of the cars crawling towards the river. “To tell you the truth,” Ferrini added quietly, “I’ve often regretted it. Oh, I suppose I could hardly have turned down the opportunity, but I was happier as an NCO. Ever since this”—he flicked a finger at an epaulette—“I’ve been stuck in an office worrying about how to fight off the next transfer order. You know, when you refused I thought you were a fool. Now …”
The two of them had worked together successfully on a transsexual murder case and the Marshal would be eternally grateful to this man for acting as his guide to the underworld. Afterwards, when both of them were offered promotion to officer status, the Marshal had been horrified at the thought of Officer TrainingSchool, the exams, and posting to God knows where. He liked his job the way it was and he liked Florence and so did his family.
“At least you’re still here,” he pointed out to Ferrini, “and that’s lucky.”
“It’s not luck. It’s the wife and kids—you know what it’s like.”
“I know.”
“You did right. I’ve managed to stay here, at least for the moment, but the price is being stuck in an office moving paper about. I liked being out on a case, but there’s no hope of me getting what I want in Florence. Anybody else my age is a lieutenant colonel and investigations are being run by lads half my age with the same rank. To get the sort of position I want—and I want to be an investigator, always did—I’d have to take a transfer to some dump where nobody else wants to go.” He stopped and leaned forward to the driver, remembering: “We’re dropping the Marshal at the Pitti Palace first.”
“Yes, sir.”
He leaned back again with a sigh. “You did the right thing. You’ve got your independence and you run your own shop.”
“Well … not just at the moment.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, at the moment you’re out of your office investigating and I’ve certainly no independence on this job.”
“You’re right there. At the beck and call of the civil police. I never thought I’d see the day. Well, none of it means anything so it’s as long as it’s short. What d’you think of Simonetti, anyway? Because I don’t like him.”
“No.”
“Ever work with him?”
“Once.”
“Bit of a steamroller, is he?”
“Mm.”
“Well, I was glad to see you this morning, I can tell you—is there no other road we can take?” This addition was to the driver. They hadn’t moved more than three yards upriver.
“No, sir.”
“Well, wave your lolly and whip past up that bus route or we’ll be sitting here till tomorrow.”
The driver did as he was told and they made a heartening burst of speed as far as the next traffic lights. It was raining in earnest now, the big drops hissing and splashing into the churned-up muddy river. The miserable queues at the bus stops huddled down into collars and under umbrellas that blocked the narrow pavements so that passers-by had to step into the road and almost under the wheels of the honking cars.
The queue of traffic on the left bank making for the Ponte Vecchio moved steadily for a while and then snarled up. A municipal policeman, his white helmet streaming with rain, was waving at some invisible transgressor and blowing his whistle angrily.
“I was glad to see you, too,” the Marshal said when the noise level had subsided a bit, “though I don’t know why I should have been there at all, and that’s the truth.”
“No?” Ferrini gave him a sidelong
The Marshal was easily convinced. He hated getting wet but mostly he wanted to talk to somebody about all this, somebody from his own force and of his own age and rank—only of course Ferrini wasn’t any longer a marshal.
“I should congratulate you.” He offered a glance at the stars on Ferrini’s epaulettes.
“Thanks.” They settled into the back of the car and the driver started signalling his hope of nosing his way into the mass of the cars crawling towards the river. “To tell you the truth,” Ferrini added quietly, “I’ve often regretted it. Oh, I suppose I could hardly have turned down the opportunity, but I was happier as an NCO. Ever since this”—he flicked a finger at an epaulette—“I’ve been stuck in an office worrying about how to fight off the next transfer order. You know, when you refused I thought you were a fool. Now …”
The two of them had worked together successfully on a transsexual murder case and the Marshal would be eternally grateful to this man for acting as his guide to the underworld. Afterwards, when both of them were offered promotion to officer status, the Marshal had been horrified at the thought of Officer TrainingSchool, the exams, and posting to God knows where. He liked his job the way it was and he liked Florence and so did his family.
“At least you’re still here,” he pointed out to Ferrini, “and that’s lucky.”
“It’s not luck. It’s the wife and kids—you know what it’s like.”
“I know.”
“You did right. I’ve managed to stay here, at least for the moment, but the price is being stuck in an office moving paper about. I liked being out on a case, but there’s no hope of me getting what I want in Florence. Anybody else my age is a lieutenant colonel and investigations are being run by lads half my age with the same rank. To get the sort of position I want—and I want to be an investigator, always did—I’d have to take a transfer to some dump where nobody else wants to go.” He stopped and leaned forward to the driver, remembering: “We’re dropping the Marshal at the Pitti Palace first.”
“Yes, sir.”
He leaned back again with a sigh. “You did the right thing. You’ve got your independence and you run your own shop.”
“Well … not just at the moment.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, at the moment you’re out of your office investigating and I’ve certainly no independence on this job.”
“You’re right there. At the beck and call of the civil police. I never thought I’d see the day. Well, none of it means anything so it’s as long as it’s short. What d’you think of Simonetti, anyway? Because I don’t like him.”
“No.”
“Ever work with him?”
“Once.”
“Bit of a steamroller, is he?”
“Mm.”
“Well, I was glad to see you this morning, I can tell you—is there no other road we can take?” This addition was to the driver. They hadn’t moved more than three yards upriver.
“No, sir.”
“Well, wave your lolly and whip past up that bus route or we’ll be sitting here till tomorrow.”
The driver did as he was told and they made a heartening burst of speed as far as the next traffic lights. It was raining in earnest now, the big drops hissing and splashing into the churned-up muddy river. The miserable queues at the bus stops huddled down into collars and under umbrellas that blocked the narrow pavements so that passers-by had to step into the road and almost under the wheels of the honking cars.
The queue of traffic on the left bank making for the Ponte Vecchio moved steadily for a while and then snarled up. A municipal policeman, his white helmet streaming with rain, was waving at some invisible transgressor and blowing his whistle angrily.
“I was glad to see you, too,” the Marshal said when the noise level had subsided a bit, “though I don’t know why I should have been there at all, and that’s the truth.”
“No?” Ferrini gave him a sidelong
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