CHAPTER II-1
2014 Words
CHAPTER II
The twin-cylinder of the Ducati Monster 796 spread the usual rumbling rumble; Eddy put on his full-face helmet and gloves, closed the zip of his leather jacket, then turned the gas lever several times. The gearbox emitted the usual dry click, then at the release of the clutch the bike started angrily, despite the damp asphalt. The road headed through the hills outside the city and it was relaxing to follow it. The asphalt ribbon ran fast under the front wheel; the lights and colors of the city gave way to the green of the countryside, to birches and pastures interspersed with crops or groves. A light mist increased the feeling of intimacy with the environment, of discretion, like a veil of privacy spread over thoughts and images, actions and movements. He accelerated, leaving behind his shoulders, the city's lucubrations. At least for a while.
It was amazing to note how suddenly the atmosphere changed, after just a few miles of travel. The city was actually a quiet medieval village, around which the modern residential area had grown. The village had therefore become a historical center; in any case, life flowed calmly. Life in the province travels on different rhythms compared to the metropolis and maybe that was exactly what Eddy needed.
Of course, it would have been unthinkable even the thought of spending more than a week in a place so different from the frenzy that flowed in his veins since his birth, but since he had been transferred or better, since he had make it happened, he had ended up accepting the lifestyle of the small provincial town; an agglomeration of a few thousand inhabitants, one of the many small provinces of the north. He could not claim to have completely integrated himself, but he had succeeded in a perfect example of "urban mimicry": it would always have been a foreign body, but he would hide it perfectly. Besides, he had his reasons.
The long vein of dark asphalt cut in two the green lungs of the birch and larch forest, and to follow it to the forensic center where he would meet the pathologist, did not take more than twenty minutes.
He stopped in the parking lot and answered absently at the greeting of an agent who had recognized him. He took off his helmet and gloves and then set the bike on the side stand.
Dr. Mainardi was waiting for him at the morgue where he had just completed Giordani's autopsy. The two greeted themselves absently: they had known each other for many years because the doctor had worked in the past right on his side and, unlike what happened now, the opportunities to meet for “service reasons” were more frequent.
«So, doctor, what have you got for me?»
«Well, there's not much to say. The cause of death was a single blow at the base of the neck. Judging by the entry angle, it seems clear to me that the killer was behind him. There are no bruises or scratches so it is plausible that he pulled the victim back with a sudden movement, perhaps holding a hand on his face almost to hug him from behind.»
Montanari looked at the report leafing through it quickly.
«One blow. He was balding so he didn’t grab him by the hair but by the temple or forehead, then hit him. And about the weapon? What could he have used: a knife, a paperweight?»
Mainardi scratched his chin then after a short pause he added: «Rather a pair of scissors. Yes, I'd say it's scissors.»
He gave him some pictures.
«Look at the wound: it is clean but too small and irregular to be able to bring it back to a knife: the cut would have been even clearer and wider.»
Montanari frowned at the images.
«Anyway, I'll be able to tell you something more in the next few days: we found some metal fragments plunged in the first cervical vertebra. The blow also severed the cervical artery.»
Montanari looked up from the photos and looked at Mainardi.
«Did it take a lot of strength to sink the blow?»
«I would say yes. You see? Look here,» he pointed to the wound again, this time directly from the computer screen.
«The blade penetrated from here and then stuck up, severing the carotid artery and injuring the pharynx.»
«That would explain why no one heard anything: no shouts or noises of scuffle.»
Eddy paused to rearrange his ideas, then returned to look at the pictures.
«So the killer used the right, but how did he hold the weapon?»
«I’d say that he kept the scissors or whatever it was that way» he gestured with his own pen from his pocket. «The blow was brought from above.»
«Agree. So according to you it was a man.»
«Probably, but I can’t rule out that it's a woman. For now we have no elements to determine the size and height of the aggressor. It certainly wasn’t a fight, because the victim generally defends himself and somehow limits the scope of the blow, at least of the first.»
«This clarifies the absence of other wounds.»
For the moment they had finished; Eddy took his leave, with the promise of the usual beer to drink with the first occasion.
He called Bettini on his cell phone asking if he knew anything about the surveillance camera recordings at the crime scene, then he put on his helmet and left quickly.
That same morning Claudia remained in the office studying some documents.
The work at the power of attorney sometimes took place at a hectic pace: lawyers, defendants, interrogators and court hearings followed one another in a pressing manner to the point that one ended up going forward by force of inertia, as in an automated mechanism from which it is impossible. disengage.
It often happened that she lost control of sensations for a moment: for a moment she felt unable to realize where she was and what she was doing. Fortunately, the syncope lasted only a few seconds, but it was still an unpleasant, destabilizing sensation.
She stopped and watched, as in a silent film, people passing by with an unnatural, accelerated gait: faces, eyes, smiles and hints of greeting alternated quickly without being able to focus them if not for a moment; then everything returned to normal.
She had even thought of talking to his doctor, but in the end, even this purpose had been nullified by the need to chase his job!
After the routine task, Claudia wanted to dedicate herself to the Giordani case.
From the beginning the affair had presented itself as a special case with many obscure points. She could not have said why, but she had felt a strange sensation at the crime scene; she had also felt bad and the idea that she had missed something had stuck to her like a shadow all afternoon.
She had rethought the victim's study in the following days. She had the impression that she already knew that environment. She did not understand why, yet he felt a sense of familiarity, as happens when he returns to a known place.
She ruminated on the subject until he was convinced that dejà¬vu was the natural consequence of a job that had brought it in the past to live moments like those. Everyone different but basically all the same.
She looked at his watch: time had slipped away without leaving a trace of its passage; took some files from the desk and left the office.
The fog covered the city with its moist and impalpable mantle and sometimes it was so thick as to make it impossible to see anything beyond the nose.
Often it gave a sense of intimacy, of calm because it muffled the noises and blurred the outlines of buildings and faces that crossed the street.
From the top of the hill, the city appeared only at times from the whitish blanket that enveloped it. Lampposts, trees and people emerged sporadically as ghostly images, and the twilight lights, faded and opaque, accentuated those sensations.
Eddy had been busy all day with the Giordani case; office work could be really alienating and he liked better to go around than to stay closed for hours between four walls.
When the call came from the photo lab, he took the opportunity right away and, although tired and crumpled, reassured his colleagues that he would arrive in five minutes. The tone of the brief conversation had been quite excited and heralded interesting news.
He started on foot. It was not very far and cutting through the narrow street in front of the police station, it would arrive in less than ten minutes.
On the cobblestones his footsteps resounded throughout the semi-deserted street, accompanying him constantly; he had the impression that they were produced by his shadow. After all, in a city like that, on a human scale but small, far from the frenzy and the clamor, you lived in a totally different dimension from that of a metropolis; in the moments in which one remained alone with one's own thoughts, the mind used to go a little 'where it wanted in search of brain stimuli; it inevitably ended up being a prey to strange suggestions and thoughts
He put his hand in his coat pocket but remembered he had finished his Lucky Strike package; he wanted to buy a new one, but now he was right in front of the laboratory and did not want to waste any more time.
The lab was not very large and the building dated back to the fifties but, contrary to the first impression, it was equipped with the most modern and sophisticated tools of scientific investigation. Entering the operative rooms, one had the sensation of making a leap in time, in the future. Old and worn grit floors gave way to gray linoleum; there were computers and machines everywhere and the walls were painted recently.
«Good morning, Dr. Montanari.»
«Hello Marco. Give me good news. Perhaps a signed letter from the murderer confessing the murder and announcing that he’s going to turn himself in to the police.»
Marco Dallara was the youngest technician in the laboratory. Red hair, freckles, constantly in a good mood. When he had met him for the first time, immediately after his arrival at the ward, Eddy had turned out to be a bit unpleasant: all that joviality definitely got annoying, but then he had known him better and changed his mind. Educated and always available, he seemed enthusiastic about work and anxious to be useful. A decidedly precious element in a complex investigation.
«Commissioner, look at these.»
He handed him a file containing photos: they had been taken at the scene of the crime and mostly concerned the environments but there was one that took back the hand of the victim.
«I don’t understand, what should I watch? There's nothing strange here.»
«Exactly," the young man added..» And this is the strange thing: in the study of a psychiatrist one would expect to find many fingerprints: those of patients and of the same doctor. Here there were only a few, all of Giordani, as if someone had cleaned everything. The killer certainly wore gloves and did not leave his fingerprints, but there were some traces. Now take a look at these other photos.»
The Commissioner looked at him a little perplexed, but when he looked down at the new envelope he could not hold back the surprise.
«Shit! But what does it mean?»
These last shots were made in the light of ultraviolet lamps, which generally detect traces of fingerprints, fabrics and fluids. The first framed the shelf of a low piece of furniture in the room where the file was located, while the subsequent ones were focused on a painting depicting a scene from the Divine Comedy.
«When we took the pictures, we focused first on the desk and then on the file.» Marco used the pen to indicate some points.
«The killer certainly tinkered with it and we hoped something would come up. In these cases brush the aluminum powders on the surfaces where we think we can find visible prints. Do you know when we use adhesive tape? There was nothing on that shelf and instead it is clear that our friend took off his gloves and left ... this. "
- Writer
