time, before rising and finally taking his place. A smaller knot of young people and, somewhere in the middle of them, Paoloni’s mother followed. Everyone seemed to be talking, and there was a great deal of movement around the sides of the church as groups formed, dissolved, and moved on, and people decided to move to places closer to or farther from the coffin. No one came to sit beside Blume.
A scuffling and scurrying seemed to be coming from below his pew, and Blume watched in horror as a dog- like creature with Pernazzo’s face leapt casually onto the pew beside him, and sat there, cool as a fucking cucumber. Blume knew it was not real, but he still felt he should warn the people in front.
He felt himself falling and grabbed on to the seat. The dog thing was gone, the church had become quieter, and the priest was speaking about the supreme sacrifice of Officer… Ferruzz-he corrected himself, Officer Ferrucci. Ferrucci, he repeated, to show he knew who he was talking about. Marco.
Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord. He shall be justified in everlasting memory, and shall not fear evil reports.
Blume could smell the formaldehyde. He had caught a whiff as the coffin went by, but it had not registered. Now the smell was carried back to him on the steam of the incense the priest had released into the air. Beneath the harsh taste of camphor and cloves, he detected the sweet, familiar smell of death. It came in through his mouth and was swirling in his stomach.
My soul is deprived of peace, I have forgotten what happiness is;
I tell myself my future is lost, all that I hoped for from the Lord.
Someone slid into his pew, but he found it too painful to turn his head to see who it was.
The favors of the Lord are not exhausted, his mercies are not spent;
They are renewed each morning, so great is his faithfulness.
Blume felt himself tilt back into blackness again. No one would notice him at the back. He tried to breathe through his nose rather than his mouth, but heard himself let out a sudden rude snore, loud as a fart. People turned round to stare at him in disapproval. Pernazzo stood three rows ahead, laughing. Blume jerked himself awake, ready for action, but Pernazzo resolved himself into a sovrintendente from the Corviale district.
Ferrucci’s sister, more girl than woman, tears streaming down her face, had just finished saying something about when she and her brother were little, and was now being accompanied back to her seat by her boyfriend or husband. Or was there another brother? She staggered back to her father, who still shook as if in silent mirth. The mother with the short black hair stroked her daughter’s face. The police in sunglasses sat immobile in their pews as a song, which was not religious, began to play from the speakers. What was it she had just told them about this music? The song Marco had tried to teach her to play on guitar, “Everybody Hurts.” True enough, thought Blume, but not everyone sings about it in such a whiny voice.
Blume could see the priest sitting off to the side in his purple vestments, not liking the profane music. Blume didn’t like it either. For one thing, Ferrucci had been too young to be listening to the likes of REM. He suspected the sister had chosen it for herself. Her brother was beyond hurting now.
A cool hand on his forehead, and a woman’s soft voice. “Hello, Commissioner,” said Kristin, quietly. “I thought at first you were ignoring me, but you’re not well, are you?”
Blume turned too quickly and was rewarded with a searing pain in the side of his neck.
“Easy, now,” said Kristin, as if to a large dog. “I’ve seen you black out twice. You should be in the hospital.”
“I know,” said Blume. “But I had to be here.”
“It’s almost over,” whispered Kristin. “Communion soon.”
“That means we’re near the end?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a Catholic, then?”
“Lutheran. And you?”
“I have no idea. My parents forgot to tell me,” said Blume. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to pay my respects. It’s not the first time I have been to a police-man’s funeral, nor will it be the last. Also, I knew you’d be here.”
“You knew that? I didn’t even know it myself until a few hours ago.”
“I phoned the hospital. They put me on hold and after fifteen minutes told me you had gone. I figured this was where.”
For a moment, Blume was not sure if Kristin was any more real than the creature he had seen sitting on the pew. At the front of the church, people were shuffling to and from the altar rail receiving communion. A lot of them were policemen.
He reached out his hand and she touched it for a moment. “Are you here in some sort of official capacity?” he asked.
“You seem to want to distinguish between official and genuine,” said Kristin. “I am here as a representative of the embassy, and I am here because I care. Official and genuine at once, same as some of the senior policemen at the front. I am also here for you. I think you are somebody who cares. I think you’d like to help me, keep in contact.”
“Contact with you, yes. I didn’t agree to be a… what is it I am supposed to be?”
“It’s not a formal thing. Make up your own name for it. Advisor, consultant, liaison officer, technical collaborator. Another ear on the ground for the embassy.”
“I wouldn’t have to provide confidential information?”
“Of course not. You wouldn’t get paid a cent, either. It’s a good citizenship thing. A friendship thing.”
“Let me think about it,” said Blume.
Applause broke out at the front of the church, and increased in intensity as the pallbearers made their way back up the aisle carrying out what they had carried in. The priest followed, swinging the censer, filling the air with Catholic novocaine. Blume and Kristin rose, and she applauded, too, while he stood there with his arm in a sling.
Paoloni did not come to him as requested, so Blume had to leave Kristin and go in search of him. He made his way over to a knot of policemen with a hard look in their eyes as they sucked on their cigarettes and exchanged monosyllables. He knew that vengeful look. He detached Paoloni from the group.
“I need you to do something.”
“Is it to do with Ferrucci’s killer?”
“No,” said Blume. “It’s to do with Clemente’s.”
“Oh, right.” Paoloni shuffled his feet and looked back at the group of policemen. Paoloni was a different person from the penitent of a few hours ago. It was as if Paoloni had been infused with new purpose. It may have been the emotional effect of the funeral mass or-a thought occurred to Blume.
“Have you had any tip-offs about Alleva?”
“Have I had any tip-offs about Alleva? When could I have got a tip-off? When we were in church?”
“You could have got one just now. When you were outside here with the others,” said Blume.
“No, I have not had any tip-offs about Alleva. Is that what you wanted to ask me?”
Blume was not sure how much longer he would last in the heat. He needed to lie down. “No, Beppe. I need you to deal with some business I left unfinished.”
He gave Paoloni Pernazzo’s address and told him to get there.
“If you can’t arrest him for something, just stay close to him. I’ll get you the authorization you need.”
“Can’t you get it now, send someone else?”
“No, Beppe. I can’t get it right now, and why do you want me to send someone else-have you got better things to do? Also, aren’t you forgetting something? You, me, this morning’s conversation?”
Paoloni glanced quickly behind him, then nodded. “I remember.” Then he looked at Blume in surprise. “Are you OK? What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re leaning sideways.”
Blume realized he had placed his full weight on one leg. He tried to rebalance, but his knee buckled and he found himself overbalancing leftward, and he could not put out his arm to steady himself. He pivoted on his foot and pushed backward, and ended up falling on his ass, watched by mourners and policemen.
Kristin, behind him, spoke in English, “You got some nice moves there, Alec. Teach them to me sometime,
