The Girl with the Crystal Eyes (14 page)

    It
hurts, that voice in her head; it screams. It screams so much it hurts, but it
doesn't make a sound.

    'What's
for dinner? I'm hungry, and I have to go to work, in case you've forgotten.'

    'What
have we got here?' asks Marconi, pushing up his collar. Tommasi is standing
opposite him, and a shrug of his shoulders indicates that he doesn't know
anything yet.

    Marconi
has known Tommasi for two years. At the beginning, they worked together and
that was all, like with everyone else: the usual relationship between an
inspector and his junior officer. Then, gradually, he started to notice
Tommasi's skills and character.

    A
very attentive lad, with a burning desire to learn, who always followed a step behind
and was always there, watching his back, like that time when there was a
robbery in the supermarket in Via del Borgo San Pietro.

    Marconi
hadn't spotted the accomplice who was acting as look-out, and was waiting there
in the parked Fiat. And, when the others had escaped in an old VW Golf, he
would have got himself run over if it hadn't been for Tommasi, his shadow, who
had pushed him out of the way just in time.

    They
had looked at each other without saying anything, but from that day on Marconi
had become much more aware of him. He noticed how he had chestnut-coloured
eyes, with hair the same colour, and that he raised his lips on one side when
he smiled.

    At
the police station, the other officers used to call them 'mother goose' and
'baby goose' - not in their hearing of course. If he had overheard them,
Marconi would have been really pissed off, and when he's pissed off everyone
knows it.

    One
of the men from forensics is measuring the distance between the two bodies. The
other bends over with silver-coloured, slightly curved forceps and picks up
something that he then puts into a clear envelope.

    Marconi
takes a step forward. He's known Galliera for years, so knows that there's
nothing to worry about. He doesn't bite.

    'How's
it going?'

    'We're
getting there. What do you want to know, Inspector?'

    'What
can you tell me so far?'

    'So
far, the details are fairly vague, but, as you can see, there were two shots from
a small calibre pistol. One dead instantaneously. The other dragged himself to
the pavement and was finished off by a violent blow with some pointed object.
Perhaps a screwdriver. It went right through one eye and into his skull. I've
just picked up a small, red glass jewel that was lying by the side of the
second victim. Nothing else, so far. Now let me finish off here. I've got a
wife waiting for me at home.'

    Marconi
pretends not to have heard that last bit.

    He
pretends not to remember that he himself has got no one waiting for him at
home.

    'No
one heard anything, as usual, I suppose?' he asks, turning to Tommasi.

    'It's
a cul-de-sac, as you can see. There's only that old falling-down building and
then at the end there's a wire fence that backs on to an abandoned field. On
the other side, at the far end of the street, there's a bar, a kind of social
club. One of those places that plays strange music - I don't know what you call
it - where strange people go, with weird hair, all dressed in black.' He tries
to explain what he means by waving his hands.

    'Has
anyone been into the club to ask questions?'

    'No,
it was too late. It was almost dawn when the boy found them both. He says he
came out of there to throw up and then he started to walk about to get a breath
of fresh air. He's a minor, so they took him to the station. Someone will have
taken his statement before his parents came to fetch him.'

    'Nothing
else unusual?'

    'Do
you mean erections? Because, if you do, you'll have to ask them. But I think
they'll only be able to tell you after they've examined the bodies.'

    'What
are you talking about? No. What I meant was is there any souvenir left this
time?'

    'I
don't think so. But then they haven't talked to me yet,' and he indicates the
two people dressed like astronauts, who are now showing signs of having
finished.

    'Thanks
for calling me. I hate being at home when these things happen.'

    'I
did what you told me. Even if Frolli didn't like it much.'

    Eva looks
out of the car window. She's driving slowly, with music playing in the
background. She's slightly tense but she was expecting to feel worse. For the
first time in six months she's going home, to Ravenna.

    To
face her fears she has to visualise them. She's doing that now. The terror she
feels making that journey again is like facing one of her partners at training:
a potential aggressor that she has to keep at a distance. As she has learned to
do. Today her coach told her that she's ready to fight in a match, if she wants
to.

    Perhaps
because, during the exercises in pairs, she knocked Brando over. She gave him
such a powerful kick that everyone turned to look. The feeling she had when she
saw him on the ground, at her feet, holding his side because of the pain was
tremendous. She felt alive, excited, carried away by a new fire burning inside
her.

    Tomorrow
is her birthday and Giulia has asked what she'd like for it. Nothing. She
doesn't want anything. But that's not really true: she would like the only
present she can never have. To forget.

      'Come
on, open mine first,' says Elisa, 'I can't wait for you to see what it is.
Hurry up.'

    The
small rectangular parcel from her sister has a pink flower on it; her mother's
is larger and conceals something soft, probably a hand-knitted jumper, her
usual present. Occasionally she rings the changes with a scarf, always
painstakingly knitted by hand.

    It's
her bad luck to have her birthday in the winter and to have a mother obsessed
with making things…

    Then
there's an envelope from her father. Every year he prefers to give her money,
adding, without fail, 'So you can buy something you'd like'.

    'Hurry
up. Open mine.'

    'OK.'
Eva tears off the paper. A silver-coloured box. 'Red Passion' in embossed
letters.

    'But
it's a lipstick. I don't wear lipstick.'

    'Exactly.
You're twenty-four and it's time you started to, otherwise you'll never find a
boyfriend,' Elisa says, beaming.

    Her
sister loves lipsticks, make-up, face creams and everything else that's
supposed to make a woman beautiful. Their mother used to tell her off when she
was small, because she would steal her lipstick. Her mother she never used it
herself, anyway, except on special occasions. When Elisa did put on lipstick,
she always ended up with it everywhere: on her lips, rubbed on her cheeks, and
even on her eyelids instead of eye shadow. Then, still vividly coloured, she
would deny having any make-up on.

    'It's
a good brand. I spent all my savings. The sales girl recommended it; red is the
colour that suits blondes best, she told me; and it's one of those that
moisturises as well.'

    'Are
you going into advertising as well, when you grow up, Eli?' asks Eva, amused.

    'No,
I'm going to be a model!' her little sister replies, without any trace of
doubt. 'Try it on!' she says, jumping up and down.

    Elisa
is beautiful. She has very long hair, blonde with copper-coloured highlights.
Her eyes are green, almond-shaped, with extremely long lashes. Her lips are
thin, unlike the fleshy lips of her sister.

    And
she has a small, cute, turned-up nose. Eva smiles, remembering that, when they
were little, she used to pretend to steal it, showing Elisa the tip of her
thumb between her index and middle fingers, just like the nuns at nursery had
taught her to do.

    'No,
give it back,' her baby sister would then cry. 'You're horrible! Give it back!'

    Now,
she still jumps up and down like she used to. 'Go on, try it!'

    Eva
stands in front of the large mirror that greets guests coming into the hall.

    The
lipstick, she slides it over her lips. She gives them colour. She stands still,
looking at her reflection.

    'You're
so beautiful!' Elisa exclaims.

    Eva
opens her eyes wide and immediately wipes off the lipstick with one hand.

    'Why
did you do that? You've ruined it. It looks like blood on you now.'

    Eva
moves away from the mirror. She can't look at herself any more.

    The area
is always the same. Marconi uses a felt- tip pen to write on a torn map. On it
are marked the places where the Black Widow has struck.

    'The
only thing that the dead men have in common is the fact that they're - how
shall I put it? - rather violent. She's like a spider: she weaves her web, she
prepares everything carefully, then she lets herself be followed. She knows how
to make a man follow her, and make him fall into her trap. She doesn't attack;
with her it's always defence, but premeditated.'

    'How
can you know that?' asks Frolli, from behind him. 'I think this is all bloody
stupid, and the
questore
will require something more than just
guesswork. I've covered your arse this time, but next time you go yourself and
explain what we've got after more than three months of investigations. Fuck
all, that's what we've got.'

    'The
second victim had a record of domestic violence; but the first time the
complaint was withdrawn. And then the last two we've known for some time. They
used to sell drugs in the area behind Palestro - in the clubs as well.'

    'So
what? What does it prove? Nothing. It proves
nothing.'

    'Well,
I've thought about it over and over. About that lollipop still being in its
wrapper. She wanted to say that she hadn't let him have it. Understand?'

    'What
the fuck are you talking about? So I'll tell the
questore:
"She
hadn't let him have it." Thank you. I feel much happier now. We've kept
the press quiet. No statement. Cases not linked. But the odd bit of information
has leaked out - I don't know how - and now they want a press conference. Do
you understand, or do I have to spell it out for you? So you'd better prepare
something to say.'

    'I'll
explain more clearly. She didn't let him "unwrap" her - to have her,
in other words. Next to the dead man was the untouched lollipop. He wanted to
have her and she didn't let him. It doesn't seem that difficult to me. Pop
psychology. The lorry driver had undone the last button on his trousers. Same
thing: he followed her into the bathroom and perhaps even tried to assault her,
but she killed him. And the same with these two.'

    'But
how can you be so sure? At scenes of attempted sexual assault there are signs
of a struggle… but what am I doing talking to you? Look, I'm washing my hands
of this. You can handle the
questore.
'

    'Yes,
but this isn't our usual attempted sexual assault. It's the woman who provokes
the men, to make them follow her. She makes them think that everything's fine,
that they're the hunters, but in fact she's the one who's planning everything.
And then she kills them, by surprise. It was like that this time as well. They
were two pushers. One had already been inside for a month, for sexual assault
on a minor in the car park of a disco last summer. What do you think they
wanted from her?'

    'But
this time there's no evidence that links the two dead men to her. Just a piece
of glass, and anyone could have lost that. It could easily be another drug
dealer that killed them.'

    'Yes,
with a semi-automatic. Wait.' He opens the crime lab's report. 'It was probably
a six-calibre gun, an old model that nowadays would be considered a collector's
piece.'

    'So,
you're linking it to the razor, isn't that a bit of a stretch? Facts - just
tell me what facts there are. I'm waiting.'