*
“It done,” the man said.
“Any complications?”
“There was girl.”
“And?”
“She done.”
“Any other complications?”
“None. Quick job. Easy job.”
“What about his car? Did you find his car?”
“I find. I burn it.”
“His phone?”
“I have phone.”
“Excellent. I need you in Rome now.”
“Where you think I am?”
He was on Piazza di Sant’Onofrio, smoking a cigarette and looking up at the Bambino Gesù Hospital.
“You’re at the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Good man. How many helpers do you have?”
“Two guys.”
“They’re in the dark, right?”
“Not worry. They don’t know nothing.”
“I’ll worry until this is finished. You know what to do.”
“I know, I know,” he said dismissively.
His flippancy wasn’t appreciated. “Listen to me. These girls are vitally important. They are more important than you. They are more important than me. They are the two most important people on Earth.”
*
Odorico visited Marta Di Marino in the Emergency Ward of the Jazzolino Hospital in Vibo Valentia where she was being held for observation.
“We gave her a tranquilizer,” the nurse told her. “She’s been sleeping, but she just woke up and we gave her some tea. When you’re done with her, the doctor will decide if she can go home.”
The policewoman parted the curtain and introduced herself.
“I was wondering when the police would come.”
She was about the same age as the victim. Her hand was lightly shaking and Odorico saw where she had spilled some tea on her hospital gown.
“I know you’ve had a big shock, but I need to ask you some questions while everything is still fresh in your mind.”
“Yes, yes. Please.”
“Why did you go to Cinzia’s apartment this morning?”
“We often go out together for a coffee on Saturdays. I rang and texted last night to confirm and when I didn’t get a response, I rang a few more times. This morning, I was worried, so I went over. I don’t live far. It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t want to see anything like that again, as long as I live.”
“I know. It was terrible. It must have been a big shock. Tell me, how did you know Cinzia?”
“We teach at the same school.”
“Chemistry?”
“I teach mathematics.”
“How long have you known her?”
“Maybe thirteen years. We started at the school the same year.”
“Has she ever been in trouble with the police?”
“Cinzia? My God, no, she’s a good girl.” She teared up and reached for a tissue. “She was a good girl.”
“No drugs? No Walter White?” Odorico had consulted Google to atone for her ignorance of pop culture.
“I never saw her use drugs. Both of us watched Breaking Bad together and used to laugh about crazy chemistry teachers.”
“Did she have any enemies?”
“Cinzia? Only friends. Everyone loved her. She was like sunshine.”
“Did you also know the male victim, Ferruccio Gressani?”
“I met him a couple of times, years ago when they were together.”
“When was that?”
“They broke up at least ten years ago. I didn’t see him since then.”
“You didn’t know they were back together? That he was with her?”
“I didn’t know he was here, that’s for sure. I’m certain they weren’t back together. She would have told me.”
“But she didn’t tell you he was here.”
She shook her head sadly.
“Where did Ferruccio go after they split up?”
“He went to Spain, I think. He got a job there.”
“Where in Spain? Doing what?”
“I don’t know. She never talked about him.”
“Did she have boyfriends since then?”
“Some relationships, sure, but nothing too serious. This is a small town. The fishermen of Vibo Valentia catch plenty of fish, but on land, there aren’t so many good catches.”
Odorico snorted knowingly. “So, no boyfriend now or recently?”
“Not for at least two years.”
“Where did she meet Ferruccio? Years ago, I mean.”
“At a party, I think. He was a local boy.”
“From Vibo Valentia?”
“No, from Cessaniti.”
“Why did they break up?”
“They broke up because she didn’t love him. A good reason. It wasn’t a big, bad breakup. It just ended. He was sad, but that’s life.”
“When you knew him, was he into any bad shit? Drugs? The mob?”
“I wouldn’t know. He seemed like a nice enough boy.”
“Did he have a job?”
“He was a laboratory technician.”
“Do you know where he worked?”
“Here, I think. This hospital.”
“Do you know why he went to Spain?”
“I don’t know, sorry.”
Odorico’s questions were exhausted and she seemed satisfied. “Okay. I think that’s it, for now. Here’s my card. If you remember anything else that you think could help the investigation, call me.”
The woman took her card and said, “Whoever did this, Ferruccio must have been the target. Cinzia was just there. No one would want to hurt dear, sweet Cinzia.”
Odorico tucked her notebook into her pocket. “You could be right.”
“You’ve seen these things before, I’m sure. Will I ever be able to forget what I saw?”
Odorico reached for the woman’s hand. “I’ll be honest with you. With time, the memory will fade, but it will never completely go away.”
*
It could not have been more convenient. Odorico’s next stop was the personnel office of the hospital where she asked to review the employment records of Ferruccio Gressani. It was a thin file. Gressani had a degree in medical laboratory science and had been hired by the pathology lab at the Jazzolino Hospital fourteen years earlier. He was employed there for four years. He had a good work history with top assessments from his superior. Seven years ago, he gave his notice, telling his boss that he was taking a job in Madrid. That was it—there was nothing illuminating, except for an address in Cessaniti that, when she checked it, was a house in the name of a Manuela Gressani.
Cessaniti was a village of about three thousand residents ten kilometers from Vibo Valentia. Halfway there, it occurred to Odorico that this was going to be more than an interview—it was going to be a next-of-kin notification. The house was small and pretty with red shutters and flower boxes in the windows. A woman in her seventies answered the door, bent over with scoliosis, and she appeared baffled as to why a Carabinieri was calling.
“Are
