The Case of Lisandra P. Read Free

chair. She pours another glass of wine. Vittorio told her everything. Down to the smallest detail. He’d had no time to react. The police had come very quickly—someone must have called them, surely a neighbor; every light in the building was on. He’d gone back up into the apartment with the policemen and they’d asked him to go with them to the station while others stayed behind to seal off the crime scene and begin their investigation. They wanted to get his deposition; they had to act quickly because it was often the speed of an investigation that enabled them to find the murderer; it wouldn’t take long: that’s what they told him. He should have had the presence of mind to ask for a lawyer, but you don’t go from a state of terrible shock to extreme vigilance just like that, or at least he doesn’t, and besides he had nothing to reproach himself with, so it never occurred to him to imagine what lay in store. At the police station they took his ID papers and led him into a little room to take his deposition, and then they made him wait in another room that was even smaller, for him to sign the document before leaving. They brought him a cup of coffee to keep him happy, but he had time to drink three cups, he was exhausted, and the bright white light in the room was dazzling; but the clock hadstopped, he had no idea what time it was, and had such a terrible headache, it seemed to him that it was taking a long time, but then, he wasn’t used to this sort of thing, and anyway he couldn’t think straight so he didn’t even try. Finally they came back, but there were more of them this time, they had a few more questions to ask him. That’s when everything really took a turn for the worse.

“Where did you spend the evening, Dr. Puig?”
    â€œAt the movies, I already told you.”
    â€œAlone?”
    â€œBut I already told you. I don’t understand. What is the point of this new interrogation?”
    â€œDr. Puig, we ask the questions here. We’re not in your office, do you understand? So, to sum up: your wife didn’t feel like going to the movies, and when you came home, she was dead, is that correct?”
    â€œYes, the door to the apartment was unlocked, there were signs of a struggle in the living room, the window was—”
    â€œYes, yes, we know all that, you already told us all that.”
    â€œBut I already told you everything.”
    â€œNo, you didn’t tell us whether the movie was any good.”
    â€œWhether the film was any good? Is this some sort of joke? My wife has just been killed and you want me to tell you about a movie?”
    â€œDon’t take it like that, we just wanted to know; we like going to the movies, too. The lady at the box office is a pretty nice-looking girl, don’t you think? She has lovely big lips, and when I see big lips like that on a white woman, it always gives me ideas. I can’t help it. I think it’s what you call a ‘fantasy,’ right?”
    â€œI don’t give a damn about your fantasies.”
    â€œYou’re wrong not to give a damn, because in your case those beautiful big lips are important, even decisive. In addition to performing miracles in bed—I’m sorry, I can’t help thinking about it—well, those beautiful big lips speak, and we’re not too happy about what they had to say about you.”
    â€œWhat did they have to say about me?”
    â€œThat she didn’t see you there this evening. And that’s unfortunate, because she wasn’t the only one. The usher didn’t see you, either, but I may as well tell you, her lips were of no interest.”
    â€œThat photograph is at least ten years old—you can hardly recognize me. What can they tell from a scrap of paper? That’s ridiculous.”
    â€œYou are right, it would be—how did you put it?—oh, yes, ‘ridiculous’ to rely solely on this ID