Death in Tuscany (3 page)

'Yes, I think I'm starting to . . .'

'Since she died, they've hurried everything up. Yesterday my colleague on duty at the hospital even phoned to ask me if I could finish my report as soon as possible. As if we had nothing else to do, as if I'm bone idle.'

'Did he tell you why?'

'He says the consultant asked him. But it seems as if even the Prosecutor's Department wants to close the case as soon as possible.'

Why, for God's sake? And why was the consultant in such a hurry?

'Do you think maybe they could have saved her but made a mistake?'

'Who knows? I'm not a medical expert. But I think something strange is going on. Maybe it's just because it's August, everyone wants to get off on holiday, they're overworked, they need the beds, the case was hopeless

'Especially if she was an illegal immigrant,' Ferrara said, and realised he was getting angry again. 'If there's the slightest suspicion of malpractice we're not going to let them get away with it, okay? Do you have the medical records?'

'No - I didn't think . . .'

'What?'

'I didn't think there was any point . . . and besides, we'd need a special warrant from the deputy prosecutor who's dealing with the investigation.'

'Which deputy prosecutor is that?'

'Anna Giulietti.'

Excellent, Ferrara thought. He'd developed a good professional relationship with her during the recent Ricciardi case, and they had come out of it firm friends. He'd have to have a chat with her as soon as he could.

'Put in a request for the warrant immediately, Violante.'

All right, chief.'

'We haven't finished with this case yet. I want you to carry on. How many men do you have on it?' 'What?'

Ferrara repeated the question, more loudly.

'Not many, chief. We're short-staffed.' Violante's tone was one of complaint, but there was a gleam of life in his eyes.

'Fanti!' Ferrara called. Before the sergeant had even come in, he asked, 'Is Sergi on holiday, too?'

'No, chief,' Fanti replied from the other room.

'I want him to work with Violante, as of now. And put as many men at their disposal as you can, okay?'

'Of course, chief,' Fanti replied as soon as he appeared, before vanishing again.

'Here,' Ferrara said, handing Violante the report. 'It needs changing.'

'How?'

'For cause of death, cross out "overdose". For the moment, assume it's homicide caused by persons unknown through the administration of narcotic substances, either of bad quality or in an excessive dose.'

'Okay, chief, I'll get on it straightaway'

Violante left the room with a new spring in his step.

2

And what about you? When are you going on holiday?'

Already been,' Superintendent Ascalchi replied. He had come in immediately after Violante had gone out.

And indeed he had a handsome tan. Well, a tan at least, Ferrara corrected himself. Short, stocky, with a slightly crooked nose and an asymmetrical chin, he could hardly be described as handsome.

He had been on holiday in July, and Ferrara hadn't even noticed - that was how much he valued him! But maybe it wasn't his fault. He tended to rely on those of his men who were of proven experience, whereas Ascalchi, who had only been in Florence for just over a year, wasn't yet at ease here, however well he concealed it beneath his tough Roman exterior. He ought to use him more. Well, whether he liked it or not, now was his opportunity.

At dawn last Sunday a girl was found dying in the hills not far from here. She'd been drugged. She died yesterday afternoon.'

'Yes, Violante told me. An overdose, wasn't it?' Apparently'

'Maybe the drug was cut with some other crap, chief.

Unfortunately it's easy to get ripped off where dope's concerned. People who do drugs always run that risk.'

'Those who "do drugs", yes, but it's possible this poor girl was only thirteen. Do you think a girl of thirteen is the kind of person who "does drugs"?'

Gianni Ascalchi looked at him uncertainly, not sure what he was getting at. All he said was, 'Don't know.'

The telephone rang.

'Dr Francesco Leone,' Fanti announced. 'Put him on.'

Leone came on the line. 'Hello, Chief Superintendent. I hear you've been looking for me.'

'If it's you they've asked to do the autopsy on the girl who died at the Ospedale Nuovo, then I have.'

'You mean the junkie?'

Even to Leone, that was all the poor girl was. One less thing for society to worry about, now that she was dead.

'I mean the child,' Ferrara replied, making clear the difference in their viewpoints.

Leone ignored Ferrara's argumentative tone: they had known each other and respected each other for too many years to start splitting hairs. 'You've caught me red-handed, my dear Ferrara. I'm just on my way to the Ospedale Nuovo now to do the autopsy.'

'So soon? It hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet

'Don't worry, she's not in suspended animation. Her heart failed and they couldn't revive her. She's no longer among us, we're sure of that. It was the deputy prosecutor who told me to hurry things up. It's August, Ferrara . . .'

Or maybe there was someone who was 'in a hurry to have done with her, to get rid of her as quickly as possible', Ferrara thought: wasn't that what Violante had said?

'May I ask,' Leone continued, 'why this case should be of such interest to the head of the
Squadra Mobile?
From what I gather, it's a simple overdose, which isn't exactly uncommon these days - or am I mistaken?'

'No, I don't think you're mistaken. The fact is, my men haven't managed to identify the girl yet, we don't even know how old she was, and I was wondering if . . .'

Leone laughed heartily. 'You've come to the wrong address, my dear Ferrara. I'm good, I admit - one of the best in the field. But unless the poor girl swallowed her identity card, without chewing it, I don't think I can help you. Names and dates of birth aren't written in the DNA.'

Why did everyone have to make jokes all the time? What was so funny about a life that had barely begun and had already ended in the morgue? Maybe it was the only way they could live with the most unbearable aspects of their respective professions, but Ferrara wasn't like that. Years spent fighting crime in its various forms had made him feel like an explorer of an underground world which increasingly disturbed the apparently tranquil surface of daily life; a world in which he, like everyone, could easily become trapped.

He remembered the words the then-Commissioner, Angelo Duranti, had used in welcoming him to Florence as the newly appointed head of the
Squadra Mobile.
They all used to call Duranti 'Mephisto', because of his gloomy character, but many now missed him. 'Be careful, Chief Superintendent. In this city, if you stick your finger in shit, you're likely to pull out shovelfuls of the stuff!'

He was still fond of Duranti, and visited him every now and then at his house in Liguria, where he was spending his retirement looking at the sea and the Palmaria Islands, Tino and Tonetto, growing fruit trees and writing his memoirs. He was still a great teacher, full of invaluable lessons, not only in how to apply the law, but also in how to negotiate the vagaries of police bureaucracy as well as, more importantly, those of the human heart.

'I know that,' Ferrara said, after Leone's laughter had subsided. 'I wouldn't ask that much even of you. But we suspect she may have been a foreigner, an illegal immigrant, and you might be able to confirm that. Anyway, it's your fault, Doctor. You've got me used to surprises, so I'm expecting you to tell me something I can really use.'

'If she ever had an operation, or had dental care, then it's just possible we could find out her nationality . . . But if you're so interested, why don't you honour us with your presence?' It was a provocative question: Leone knew how averse Ferrara had become to such things over the years.

It had been ages since he had last attended an autopsy, a thankless task which he preferred to leave to others. Usually it fell to Rizzo, the most trusted of his men. For a moment, Ferrara looked at Ascalchi, who was sitting right there in front of him, but he dropped the idea: he had something else for Ascalchi to do.

'You say you're on your way to the hospital now?'

'The autopsy room at the hospital morgue, to be precise. Why do you ask?'

‘I’ll be there. In half an hour, is that okay?'

Leone gave a long, incredulous whistle. 'I'll wait for you in intensive care, in the consultant's office. But please don't be late. I have a feeling this d'Incisa fellow isn't very patient. What's so special about this unknown foreigner anyway?'

'She was young,' Ferrara commented laconically, bringing the conversation to a close.

Almost a child, don't you think so?' he said to Ascalchi, who had been patiently following the conversation to get a better idea of the case.

'At thirteen? What do you want me to say, chief? Some are still children, some hardly at all . . .'

'To me they're all still children, whether they like it or not. What can anyone understand at that age? What fault is it of theirs?'

'I blame the parents. They're the ones who should be thrown into prison.'

Yes, the parents. Perhaps this girl's parents had sold her, or perhaps they were still looking for her in some Eastern European country.