Day of the Dead Read Free

wondered why, by that time of day, there was still no sign of a family member or an acquaintance out looking for such a young boy if he hadn’t come home the night before. Maione, squatting, was eyeing the dead body with interest.
    â€œCommissa’, we’ll have to find out whether this child even has a family. The clothes look like he dug them out of the trash; look here, the trousers are so loose on him that the twine around his waist had to be wrapped around twice just to hold them up. And his shirt is made out of burlap. Look at the clogs, he’s practically barefoot in this weather. This is a
scugnizzo
, trust me. A kid with no friends and no family.”
    Ricciardi turned to look at the dog, sitting motionless ten feet from them, watching every move the two of them made.
    â€œFamily, maybe not. But he had at least one friend; too bad he can’t tell us anything. Ah, here we are, the health authorities are finally here. Now maybe we’ll learn something about the death of our lonely little boy, here.”

III

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    The public health authorities, on this occasion, were represented by Dr. Bruno Modo, who was leaping from one foot to the other in the water, doing his best—and it was no easy feat—to keep from getting too wet while holding an umbrella, his leather doctor’s bag, and a sheet of paper. As soon as he spotted Ricciardi and Maione he headed straight for them with a bellicose glare.
    â€œYou two, eh? How could I ever have doubted it? A phone call first thing in the morning, as soon as I’ve gotten my trousers dry after getting soaked on my way to the hospital, a mile and a half upstream fighting this goddamned river they call Via Nuova Capodimonte, and who do I see? Laughing-boy Ricciardi and his skinny squire, the noble Brigadier Maione. Can we put an end to these special personal requests, Brigadie’? Look, read this: the immediate presence of Dr. Bruno Modo is requested and required. Let me ask you, wouldn’t any other doctor do? Did you really have to call me specifically?”
    A sardonic smile appeared on Maione’s face.
    â€œNo, Dotto’, it’s just that the commissario is never happy unless he has you here. He only trusts you. When that other doctor comes, the little young one, I don’t know, somehow the commissario just doesn’t seem satisfied. The way you handle corpses, no one else comes close. And so we ask for you special; why, aren’t you happy to see us?”
    Modo turned to look at Ricciardi, waving the sheet of paper with the phoned-in formal request in a mock-threatening gesture.
    â€œI can’t wait for the morning that your request sheet shows up on my desk. The one that’s going to say: two police detectives found torn to pieces by a Fascist enforcement squad. Ah, if only! The day that happens, even I’ll enroll in the party, I will!”
    Ricciardi’s expression hadn’t altered, but he was clearly amused.
    â€œHave you ever thought about getting into vaudeville, the two of you? A nice little act at the Salone Margherita, the doctor and the brigadier, oom-pah-pah . . . Listen, shall we get this examination underway, so we can all get out of the rain? Based on an initial assessment, in any case, I don’t see any signs of violence on this corpse.”
    Modo shot him an offended look.
    â€œOh, right, now you’re the one who decides when there are signs of violence and when there aren’t. Look, you’ve brought me all the way out here, my long underwear is wet right up to the knees; we might as well do this examination right. Where is the corpse? Ah, here it is. A little boy. Very young, couldn’t be more than seven, eight years old. Ah, what a shame.”
    The doctor started moving around the child, carefully lifting the clothing, tenderly touching the hands and legs. Ricciardi noticed from a distance that the dog had gotten to its feet and now had both ears