A shot to the right lung, as the trauma doctor, Dr Carlo Mazzaferro, had stated. This injury was in addition to multiple fractures, the gunshot wound to the head, internal bleeding and two collapsed lungs.
Sabrina searched the pockets and turn-ups without finding anything. Shards of glass from the Å koda pricked her fingertips. When she squeezed her fingers tiny drops of blood appeared.
Federico Renda had requested the case files and Forlaniâs belongings from various agencies in Milan who had divided up the investigation between them. It was as Sabrina had expected: no single coordinating officer or public prosecutor had previously looked at the case as a whole.
The forces of law and order in Italy were a battlefield for feuding intelligence services, departments and police forces, each fiercely protective of their own privileges and remits and engaged in a never-ending turf war. Her father had always advocated a centralized effort to fight organized crime, like the FBI in America.
Perhaps that had been the real reason for his assassination.
*
She woke up at the sound of flapping wings and an excited cooing. She yawned, stretched and discovered that she had fallen asleep fully dressed. Two pigeons were fighting over some seeds on the bird table. Sabrina took the last cigarette, lit it, scrunched up the packet and threw it at the birds.
It was dawn and the air was cool and clean. She finished smoking the cigarette, dropped the butt into a half-empty coffee cup and pulled the duvet over her head.
CHAPTER 6
Qualiano, Naples the Estate of Francesco Terrasino
The nurse knocked politely on the door, but Don Francesco Terrasino had already heard her heels on the floor.
His fork hovered over the plate of ham and eggs, but he was no longer hungry. He was losing his appetite more with every passing day.
He opened the door to the grey-haired nurse.
âCan I see her now?â he asked.
âShe has had a good sleep, signore,â she said. â
La signora
has had a bath and eaten a little.â
He followed her through a passage with a low ceiling to the living room and caught himself ducking under the door frame. When he and Anna moved to the estate, the beam had been level with his forehead. Now he could pass under it with space above his head.
They passed a room that had once been the office of his closest adviser, but was now used by his grandchildrenwhen they came to stay. Don Francesco didnât mind. He had moved with the times. Today his closest adviser was the senior partner in a major law firm in Rome and the familyâs accounts were handled by an international accountancy firm. The estate was no longer the headquarters of the Terrasino family. Feuding was over. They had entered a post-war era, which everyone hoped would last. The big conferences in the nineties with the Cosa Nostra, the âNdrangheta, the Albanians and the Ukrainians had put an end to costly and pointless strife. Urs Savelli had been a masterful negotiator for the Terrasino family. Especially when it came to the Albanians.
Soon every decision in âThe Systemâ would be taken by well-dressed MBAs in air-conditioned meeting rooms. In another place and in a language other than Italian. Today most of the familyâs income came from legitimate waste-management firms, property companies and farming that attracted generous grants from the European Unionâs Structural Funds. They had relocated practically all their bootleg factories to the Far East, just like legitimate businesses, to access the cheap, non-unionized, well-educated and compliant labour in India, Taiwan, South Korea, Indonesia or China. Countries only a mouse click away.
The age of the white containers was past. The wrecked container from the
Taixan
had been one of the last.
The nurse pushed Annaâs wheelchair up to the open terrace doors. His wife could hear the birds and breathe inthe scent of the flowers. He hoped that they would take her to
Sabrina searched the pockets and turn-ups without finding anything. Shards of glass from the Å koda pricked her fingertips. When she squeezed her fingers tiny drops of blood appeared.
Federico Renda had requested the case files and Forlaniâs belongings from various agencies in Milan who had divided up the investigation between them. It was as Sabrina had expected: no single coordinating officer or public prosecutor had previously looked at the case as a whole.
The forces of law and order in Italy were a battlefield for feuding intelligence services, departments and police forces, each fiercely protective of their own privileges and remits and engaged in a never-ending turf war. Her father had always advocated a centralized effort to fight organized crime, like the FBI in America.
Perhaps that had been the real reason for his assassination.
*
She woke up at the sound of flapping wings and an excited cooing. She yawned, stretched and discovered that she had fallen asleep fully dressed. Two pigeons were fighting over some seeds on the bird table. Sabrina took the last cigarette, lit it, scrunched up the packet and threw it at the birds.
It was dawn and the air was cool and clean. She finished smoking the cigarette, dropped the butt into a half-empty coffee cup and pulled the duvet over her head.
CHAPTER 6
Qualiano, Naples the Estate of Francesco Terrasino
The nurse knocked politely on the door, but Don Francesco Terrasino had already heard her heels on the floor.
His fork hovered over the plate of ham and eggs, but he was no longer hungry. He was losing his appetite more with every passing day.
He opened the door to the grey-haired nurse.
âCan I see her now?â he asked.
âShe has had a good sleep, signore,â she said. â
La signora
has had a bath and eaten a little.â
He followed her through a passage with a low ceiling to the living room and caught himself ducking under the door frame. When he and Anna moved to the estate, the beam had been level with his forehead. Now he could pass under it with space above his head.
They passed a room that had once been the office of his closest adviser, but was now used by his grandchildrenwhen they came to stay. Don Francesco didnât mind. He had moved with the times. Today his closest adviser was the senior partner in a major law firm in Rome and the familyâs accounts were handled by an international accountancy firm. The estate was no longer the headquarters of the Terrasino family. Feuding was over. They had entered a post-war era, which everyone hoped would last. The big conferences in the nineties with the Cosa Nostra, the âNdrangheta, the Albanians and the Ukrainians had put an end to costly and pointless strife. Urs Savelli had been a masterful negotiator for the Terrasino family. Especially when it came to the Albanians.
Soon every decision in âThe Systemâ would be taken by well-dressed MBAs in air-conditioned meeting rooms. In another place and in a language other than Italian. Today most of the familyâs income came from legitimate waste-management firms, property companies and farming that attracted generous grants from the European Unionâs Structural Funds. They had relocated practically all their bootleg factories to the Far East, just like legitimate businesses, to access the cheap, non-unionized, well-educated and compliant labour in India, Taiwan, South Korea, Indonesia or China. Countries only a mouse click away.
The age of the white containers was past. The wrecked container from the
Taixan
had been one of the last.
The nurse pushed Annaâs wheelchair up to the open terrace doors. His wife could hear the birds and breathe inthe scent of the flowers. He hoped that they would take her to
Similar Books
