Marco Vichi - Inspector Bordelli 04 - Death in Florence Read Free Page A

waving
La Nazione
in the air.
    ‘We’re doing everything we can.’
    ‘I’m not interested in your excuses! Get on with it, dammit!’
    ‘He vanished into thin air,’ said Bordelli, with a strong desire to light the cigarette between his fingers.
    ‘Nobody vanishes into thin air,’ said Inzipone. He tossed the newspaper aside and went and sat back down at his desk. Bordelli drew closer, still standing.
    ‘We’ll find him,’ he said, more to himself than to the commissioner.
    ‘I certainly hope so, Inspector, for your sake. I got a call this morning from the Deputy Minister of Transport. Barrister Pellissari is a very dear friend of his.’
    ‘Ah, I didn’t know. That changes everything. You’ll see, we’ll find the boy before the day is over.’
    ‘Drop the sarcasm, Inspector,’ said the commissioner, raising his chin with an air of menace. Bordelli put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it, before the commissioner’s goggling eyes.
    ‘Then I’ll be clearer. I don’t give a damn whose son he is.’
    ‘And you think I do?’ said Inzipone, furious at Bordelli’s insolence.
    ‘I can never speak for others, sir,’ said the inspector, taking his leave with a slight nod and heading for the door. He heard the commissioner stand up again, making the legs of his armchair squeak.
    ‘I don’t like your way of doing things one bit, Inspector.’
    ‘I am truly sorry,’ Bordelli said without turning around.
    ‘And you know I’m not the only who feels this way.’
    ‘My respects, sir.’
    ‘There must be a reason you’re still an inspector at your age …’ the commissioner muttered between clenched teeth, but Bordelli heard him just the same. He went out, closing the door behind him. He wished he was still up in the foggy hills with Botta, looking for porcini mushrooms through the rotting leaves. He went into his office and found Piras there waiting for him, sitting in front of the desk.
    ‘At ease …’ he said, but the young Sardinian had already shot to his feet. He still limped a little from the bullets that had shattered one of his legs a year before. He was barely twenty-two years old, but his considerable skills had convinced Bordelli to keep him by his side in every investigation. On top of this he was the son of Gavino Piras, a comrade of Bordelli’s from the war, which made him even dearer to the inspector. Gavino had returned from the fighting minus an arm, but hadn’t stopped living a farmer’s life. But, all things considered, even he had been damned lucky … Bordelli still remembered the time Gavino had taken a grenade square in the chest, but it hadn’t exploded. It just bounced off his uniform and fell at his feet like a rock … In the heat of the moment the German had forgotten to pull the ring, and Gavino cut him down with a single burst of fire. After the skirmish, he’d approached Bordelli.
    ‘Even grenades are afraid of Sardinians, Captain,’ he’d whispered, wild-eyed. He was well aware he’d been saved by a miracle …
    ‘You wanted to see me, Inspector?’ asked young Piras.
    ‘Yes, I wanted to share my ball-aches with you.’
    ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
    ‘Unfortunately, yes.’
    Without actually admitting it, they were now both convinced the boy was dead. No ransom demands, no anonymous telephone calls.
    ‘Let’s hope we’re wrong, sir,’ said Piras, who had sat back down in the meantime.
    Bordelli went over to the window and looked outside. It was starting to rain again, for a change. The respite had lasted only two days.
    ‘What should we do, Piras? Reread the reports? Eat them? Go and play a game of
bocce
? What the hell should we do?’
    ‘If I can speak sincerely …’
    ‘Go ahead.’
    ‘Our only hope is to find the body.’
    ‘Bloody rain,’ Bordelli whispered, watching the large drops splatter on the asphalt. Dejected, he lit a cigarette. A receiver off the hook, buckets of rain, Signora Pellissari’s Fiat that wouldn’t start