“But you couldn’t arrest him then? You can’t arrest people just because you don’t like them. Right?”
“Right,” said Blume. “I can’t do that.” He noticed the dog was drooling on the carpet.
Twenty minutes later, Blume concluded his version of events with the news that Pernazzo had been assassinated in a house in the country and that inquiries were continuing, but again Giulia was waiting for him.
“Who killed Pernazzo?”
“We don’t know.”
“Liar,” said Giulia. “When you tell the truth you say ‘I’ and when you’re lying, you try to spread the blame and say ‘we.’ ”
“Giulia, you mustn’t,” said her mother, but her voice lacked all conviction.
“We have a right to know,” said Giulia, looking straight at Blume.
“I think it was a woman called Manuela Innocenzi, but it is not likely to be proved.” Blume realized he was going to have to explain who Manuela was, which meant filling in more details.
When he had finished again, Giulia said, “So my father was Pernazzo’s second victim after Clemente? I think that was important enough for you to tell me right away.”
“It didn’t seem relevant to your case,” said Blume. “Also, I suspect he might have killed his mother, too. It was probably what set him off, but none of that can be proved now. So your father would have been the third.”
They sat there in silence for a while. The dog seemed to have fallen asleep.
Finally, Giulia said, “I don’t feel anything. No, that’s not right. I don’t feel any different now that I know who did it and that he’s dead.”
“I think I do,” said her mother. They both turned to look at her. Tears were flowing freely from her eyes, but her face seemed strangely composed, as if she was unaware that she was crying.
“I think I feel better,” she said. “I have something to tell myself. I can say this thing to myself now, and… I can’t explain. It’s like I haven’t been talking to myself. But this is something I can say to myself. You mustn’t mind me, Giulia, when I say this, but I wish I had killed him. I wish I had strangled him with these hands.” She held up her hands, which were small and finely shaped.
As Blume and his dog took their leave, Giulia followed them to the door and said, “Are you coming back?”
“Do I need to?”
“No. I don’t think so.” She held out her hand, but Blume brushed his hand over her hair instead.
“Bye, Giulia. Look after your mother and brother, but don’t get trapped. You are still a child. Make sure you get looked after, too.”
On the way back to the car, Blume sent a text message to Paoloni asking to meet. The dog whined and looked at him.
“You’re hungry? That must be it. Are you planning on being hungry often?”
Blume went home to feed the dog. Paoloni had yet to reply to the text. The longer he took to reply, thought Blume, the easier it would be to withhold sympathy.
When he opened a can of meat and cereal and put them in the new bowl, the dog barked, nearly causing Blume to hurl something at it.
“Your bark is far too large for my apartment,” he told the dog, which barked again, hurting his ears. Blume put the bowl on the floor. He had forgotten to buy a water bowl, so he filled up a shallow saucepan. When he bent down to put the water next to the food, the food was gone. The dog then lapped up the water in twenty seconds. Blume filled it twice more before the dog had enough.
He left the house at five, far too early for his date with Kristin. It would be his first visit to her place, and she was cooking. Blume had a strong suspicion that she would not be much good, but he was not visiting for the food.
There was no question of leaving the dog at home. It was just too big and too strange, and it had somehow sensed that he was leaving and placed itself by the door.
No sooner were they down in the street than the dog squatted and relieved itself, right in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” said Blume, revolted. He remembered again how much he hated dogs.
“Hey!”
Blume turned around. Another outraged woman, older this time. She pointed to the mess. Blume apologized, but it wasn’t good enough. After a while, he lost patience. “This entire city is covered in dog crap, litter, and graffiti. You Romans are the dirtiest people on the planet. So don’t come on to me like we’re living in Switzerland or something. You live here, deal with it.”
He walked away, feeling bad. The woman was right, of course. There should be more like her. And what was all that about “you Romans”? It must be the prospect of meeting Kristin that was making him feel like an outsider again.
“As for you,” he told the dog, “clean up your act.”
58
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 5 P.M.
Blume made one more attempt to contact Paoloni, and this time the phone was answered.
“I’ve been avoiding you,” said Paoloni. “But I’ve been doing some thinking, too. We need to talk.”
“I know,” said Blume. “But let’s put it off until tomorrow morning. I’ll call, you answer this time.”
“OK, but call as soon as you can. I want to get this over with.”
Blume thought he’d give Kristin a surprise and wait outside the embassy on Via Veneto for her. It took all of three minutes of standing outside the gates of the embassy with the dog before a car with three men inside pulled up and he was asked what he thought he was doing. Blume showed some identification, which they passed among them, looking at it carefully. One of them keyed the details into an onboard computer. Blume waited to be validated, and explained he had a girlfriend who worked in the embassy.
The man in the backseat said something, and the driver looked at Blume. “You’re an American,” he said in English.
“Yes,” said Blume. “Originally.”
“But you’re an Italian police commissioner, too. How does that work?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I bet. What’s your girlfriend’s name, by the way?”
“Kristin Holmquist.”
“Kristin? I know Kristin.” He gave him a big smile, and suggested he wait for her across the road at the Palace.
“Too plush for me,” said Blume. “But I’ll get out of your way.”
“Spoken like a real colleague. Nice dog, by the way.”
In the end, he called Kristin, told her to meet him at a place he knew on Via Crispi. A small bar five minutes away that didn’t mind his dog and charged the same for sitting as for standing.
“Alec! What a beautiful dog!” said Kristin as she walked up half an hour later. “That’s a Cane Corso, isn’t it? The Romans used them in battle. Did you know that? Who are you keeping it for? What are we doing here?”
“Change of plans. You like this dog?”
“I love him! He’s not mature yet, is he? What’s his name? I hope it’s something totally Roman, like Pertinax, or Pugnax or-I can’t think of any more, Domitian, Nerva, Aureliano.” She sat down and crossed her legs.
“Those are all good names,” said Blume. “Choose one.”
“You mean he hasn’t got a name yet?”
“No, no name. Perhaps you might give him one?”
“What do you mean?” said Kristin.
“I mean, you can have him. As a gift. You said you liked dogs.”
Kristin slowly closed her eyes, then opened them and seemed disappointed to see him still sitting there. “I
