Igor followed her, watching every move, and taking in every word she spoke. Irina was completely different from Madlen, as he could see himself in her determination and desire. She was a dangerous concoction between the beauty of Madlen and his strength of will.
If you add her own personal unpredictability to this, you have a bomb ready to blow, and if or when it does, she’ll be able to transform into a cold-blooded killing machine. Nothing and no one can stop her. Shivering at that thought, he wondered whether he should also keep his eyes open on that ticking bomb.
With a fast shake of his head, he put on his coat and opened the door for her, convincing himself and the little voice warning about his daughter, that he should consider himself safe, as partners in crime, generally tend to stick together.
***
It was half past ten, the lights in the Department were dimmed, except for the one in the room of Maurizio.
Leonardo left a few minutes before, and the stillness of the place was interrupted by the noises coming from the streets, the random creaking of old furniture and the flipping of the pages, as he compared his notes.
The noise of footsteps, walking in his direction sharpened his senses. Fewer officers were working at the precinct at that time, and generally they were on the other block, or watching position outside the building. Raising his head, almost holding his breath, he stared at the door, figuring out the direction from where the footsteps were approaching. With a slow movement, he switched off the main light in his room, allowing only the small desk lamp to illuminate the environment.
Slowly he opened the drawer where he kept his Beretta 92FS, and trying to be as silent as possible, he grabbed it.
He stood from the chair, and silently walking in slow motion, he reached the door, which was left ajar by Leonardo. The footsteps crept closer, clicking on the tiled floor, echoing through the walls, as if they were right behind the corner that connected to the main corridor. The intruder seemed to know where his target was.
Maurizio tightened his grip on the gun, and with his left hand, he reached the main switch of the lights in the secondary corridor.
As he got a glimpse of the foot of the intruder, he switched on the light: “Freeze!”
A loud shout came from the man who turned his face at Maurizio, pointing the gun at him. “For fuck’s sake, Detective Scala, are you going to kill me?” Gennaro, the guy from the cleaning service whimpered breathlessly.
“Gennaro, what in the world are you doing here?” Maurizio released his breath, lowering his Beretta. “I thought you were an intruder!”
“I’m doing my cleaning rounds; I should ask what you are doing here? It’s half past ten.” he regained his breath.
Maurizio glanced at his wristwatch, “I must have lost track of time, I wasn’t considering it was so late. I’m sorry I’ve scared you.”
A relieved smile on Gennaro’s face creased his aging features like a rubber mask. “Commissario, shouldn’t you be home, enjoying the company of your wife and children? The bad guys won’t be stopped by a tired cop, and a neglected wife won’t add an extra bonus to the package. Go back home and rest.”
Grimacing at the thought of Anna, Maurizio shook his head. “You’re right,” he yawned. “I’m going home, will you take care of the rest?”
“As usual, Commissario. Good night, and I hope I won’t see you again like I’ve seen you tonight,” he waved his hand and continued his rounds, whistling in the hope that if there was someone else, he won’t be risking being shot or having a heart attack.
With a long exhale, Maurizio returned to his room, paused his computer, and grabbed his coat, switched off the lights in the room, ready to leave, and bid goodbye to the assassin who was still free to do whatever he wanted in the streets of Rome.
Reaching his apartment at almost midnight, a lump formed in his throat as he crossed the door to the room immersed in darkness and completely still. Although he knew his wife and daughter were already sleeping, that image forced his blood to run cold.
It wasn’t the first time he returned later than usual at home, and certainly it wasn’t the first time he found everyone else sleeping. That was part of his job, and he thought he was used to it.
Without switching on the light, he remained for a moment in the darkness, until his eyes got accustomed to the dim illumination coming from the windows. Tiptoeing, he reached the couch, slipping off the jacket, and sat down; he wasn’t ready to go to sleep. The thousands of thoughts and unanswered questions would have kept him from falling asleep, resulting in tossing and turning on the bed.
Leaning on the couch, reclining his head, and closing his eyes, he tried to visually reconstruct what had happened the night of the murder. Like in a movie he could almost see Claudio coming inside the apartment like he did a moment ago, in the darkness, trying not to wake up his son.
A telephone call, from a hidden number from a foreign prepaid sim card, he started to recall. Fuck! There must be a way to know who owned that prepaid sim card!
He clenched his fist, in the desperate attempt to understand the dynamics of the murder.
Calm, stay calm, he repeated to himself. Now the caller must have been a person he knew and for whom he would have left immediately. Madlen comes to my mind. At that time of the night, nobody else could have given him a good reason
