Persona Non Grata Read Free Page A

was, Ispettore?”
    “Trotti, Commissario Trotti.”
    “The girl’s name?”
    “Vardin—Laura Vardin.”
    The doctor stood still as he looked down at the ground. The cigarette was in his mouth and the smoke curled upwards into his eyes, causing him to squint. He put his head to one side, as if inspecting his shoe.
    (It was in 1945 that Trotti had first seen a black man—an American soldier who had handed him chocolate and who had smiled from ear to ear.)
    When the African doctor looked up, the dark eyes were moist. “Not a common name in this part of the world. A name from Friuli—and there can’t be many of them in this city, can there?”
    “Friuli?” Trotti repeated in surprise but the surgeon hurriedly turned on his heels and disappeared through the mustard-colored doors. The smell of Virginia tobacco lingered in the air.
    The nun accompanied Trotti back to Brigadiere Ciuffi.

4: Abandon
    “T HE WOMAN REFUSES to talk.”
    “Where the hell have you been, Pisanelli? I thought I told you to stay with Ciuffi and the Vardin woman.”
    “I’ve been in Ostetrica.”
    “I never told you to go to Ostetrica. I told you to do a job—and instead you leave Ciuffi by herself.”
    “Ciuffi didn’t need me.”
    “It’s not for you to make the decisions.”
    Pisanelli shrugged sheepishly.
    “Ostetrica? You’re pregnant?”
    “Merenda is over there.”
    Trotti’s voice was cold. “You don’t work for Commissario Merenda, Pisanelli.”
    A grin. “He’s with this woman …”
    “You work with me, Pisanelli.”
    “Of course, Commissario, but, you see, the doctors think she’s murdered her baby.”
    Trotti paused, looking carefully at the younger man. “Who’s murdered her baby?”
    “This woman. She lives out at Sicamario Po.” Pisanelli ran a nervous hand through the long hair at the side of his head. “Nobody can get her to talk.”
    “You can charm her.”
    Pisanelli appeared offended. “She’s a married woman.”
    “Married?”
    Pisanelli nodded. “With two girls. One five years old, the other three.”
    “How old is she?”
    “Who?”
    “How old is this wretched woman?”
    “Twenty-three.” Pisanelli defensively flicked the long hair away from his ears. On the top of his head, Pisanelli had gone completely bald.
    “Why does my colleague Commissario Merenda think she’s murdered her baby?”
    “All the signs of a recent childbirth. She was brought in the day before yesterday—covered with blood. But, despite all the questions from Merenda’s team, she still hasn’t admitted to anything.”
    They were standing outside the hospital, the noise of the controller over the scratching radio. Ciuffi was sitting in the car, waiting.
    “And so instead of doing as you’re told and staying with Ciuffi, you decide to go off and give Commissario Merenda a hand, Pisanelli?”
    “I thought I could be of use.”
    “You’re of most use doing what I tell you. If Commissario Merenda feels that he needs you, he will inform me. It’s not for you to decide what you want to do and what you don’t want to do.” Trotti started to move round the back of the car. “And you’re telling me you believe her?”
    “Believe her?”
    “You don’t believe she’s had a baby?”
    A shaft of sunlight caught the pale eyes, making Pisanelli appear innocent and very young, “I don’t know what to believe.”
    “The doctors should know when a woman has given birth. They know when …”
    “Placenta in the uterus.” Pisanelli shrugged the shoulders of his suede jacket. Trotti wondered whether it was the old jacket that had been cleaned, or whether it was a new and equally scruffy one. “And they’ve put her on a diet for loss of blood, giving her protein and vitamins. As far as the hospital is concernedthere’s no question. Loss of blood, dilated vagina.” He blushed. “Etcetera, etcetera.” He hesitated. “Within the last forty-eight hours.”
    “You know a lot about these things?”
    “I did a