culprit, aren’t you?”
“Yes. And there’s nothing I need you to do to help me,” he said. “Except maybe stay clear of me, just so there are no misunderstandings.”
Sveva Romagnolo stood up, and held out her hand. Blume half stood up, too, and took it.
“Thank you, Commissioner,” she said. “Good luck with your unofficial investigation.”
“Thank you, Senatrice,” said Blume.
She left him sitting at the table, wondering if he had just made a promise. Ten minutes later he went to settle the bill, and Bettino handed him fifty-four euros.
“What’s this?” asked Blume.
“Your change. The lady you were with left a hundred-euro bill to pay for lunch. Have I seen her on TV?” When Blume didn’t answer, he said, “You don’t want the change? I’ll put it in the book as credit, if you want.”
“I don’t have a tab, Bettino.”
“I can make you one now, Commissioner. Let’s make it fifty-five euros credit, a better number. OK, now you’re in credit with me, and in debt to her.”
29
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 5 P.M.
Blume called and waited all day, but got no word from Paoloni.
Principe was in court and unavailable for calls.
Back in his kitchen, Blume started calling around the police stations of Rome, seeing if anyone called Pernazzo had been brought in. He began with the station nearest Pernazzo’s house and worked his way out in a spiral.
Staying inside the city limits. He kept his tone casual. None of them had heard anything.
After wasting several hours in this way, Blume figured his casual inquiries would have been noted by now, so he phoned the Office of Questura. After repeating his number and qualifications to diffident desk superintendenti, Blume was finally connected with a commissioner-in-chief willing to share a little information. None of the stations in the entire Province of Rome had reported an arrest with that name, he was told. Not that that necessarily meant anything. The updates were not always updated, as Blume no doubt knew.
Blume did. He waited expectantly. The commissioner-in-chief had given him the quid, now he would be expected to return with the quo.
“So what’s the investigation you’re working on, Commissioner Blume?”
Blume had a choice here. He could tell the truth. It would make it harder for Gallone and the Ministry to ignore the Pernazzo angle. But throwing suspect names around like that, phoning in an unofficial capacity. It was stuff that could come back and bite you.
“It’s a secret investigation,” he said. He felt like a twelve-year-old making things up.
His interlocutor was unruffled. “All investigations are secret, Commissioner. Has this anything to do with that politician’s wife? That was in your district originally, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” said Blume.
“Not the wife, the husband. It was the husband who was murdered. And you didn’t correct me. Is this Pernazzo somehow involved? Has he anything to do with the people who shot the policeman?”
“No, no. It’s a completely different case,” said Blume.
“Indeed?”
“Yes. Check the reports from our office. My name’s not even on them anymore.”
“So this Pernazzo has nothing to do with any of that. They’ve put you on a new case, then?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were on leave. You were injured.”
Did this bastard know him personally? Blume wondered.
“A minor thing. We’re completely understaffed here. I’m just doing a bit of light work, making myself useful.”
“We could do with more people with that sort of work ethic,” said the commissioner-in-chief.
“Thank you,” said Blume. He hung up.
The tiredness had crept up on him again. There was no point in going to the station now, and Paoloni had gone underground. He did this occasionally, but he always told Blume beforehand. Maybe Paoloni was watching Pernazzo. But he doubted it.
He could not think up an adequate excuse for phoning Kristin, and so he watched a Hitchcock film on television and fell asleep in front of it.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 9 A.M.
This time the call that woke him was from Kristin, which pleased him, though he would have preferred Paoloni.
She wanted to know if he had met Sveva Romagnolo, and whether he felt there might be political repercussions. Blume said he had no idea about political repercussions.
“Not anything big. Ripples in the rockpools, people changing places, networks tightening and loosening. It’s only for a report.”
“If you come over here, maybe we can talk about it,” said Blume, feeling quite sly.
“OK,” she said. “Right now?”
Blume felt like he’d just lost a game of speed poker.
“I don’t really have anything to tell you, Kristin.”
“So maybe later. I’m sure you have something I could make use of.” She hung up before he could work out whether she intended any ambiguity.
The agente at the desk nodded and looked slightly embarrassed as Blume walked stiffly into the station.
“Welcome back, Commissioner.”
“Thanks. I’m going to my office, in case anyone’s looking for me.”
Blume made it all the way to the second floor without encountering anyone else. They really were ridiculously understaffed here.
The door from the corridor led to the windowless antechamber with the desk and computer where Ferrucci had worked, and a second door led into his office. Blume went over to Ferrucci’s desk and stood behind the chair, looking at his own dark reflection in the blank computer screen. Then he went into his own room and sat behind his desk, listened to the sounds of the station and stared out the window across rooftops at the back of the Church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva. He ran his hand over the patina of dust. It felt like years since he had been here last.
He picked up the receiver of his desk phone, placed the handset on the desk as he dialed the Tuscolana center. He had himself patched through to the IT department, and asked for Giacomo Rosati, another of the many people who seemed to be avoiding him.
“Jack, it’s Alec.” He winced at using Rosati’s corny anglicized first name. He hardly knew the man. Small, elfin type with a pointy beard. He waited a beat, then added, “Blume.”
“Commissioner, you don’t catch me at a good time. A lot to do here today. Maybe I can call you back later?”
“It’ll only take a second,” said Blume. “Did Investigating Magistrate Principe ever get in contact with you about tracking an IP address?”
Rosati seemed to be having trouble remembering. Eventually he said, “Yes, yes. I remember. It was an unofficial lead.”
“Right. Thing is, I was expecting you to call me back,” said Blume.
Who did this guy think he was not calling back like he was supposed to, then coming over all self-important? Sort of IT midget it was faster to step over than go around.
