Darkness for the Bastards of Pizzofalcone (21 page)

She snorts: “He doesn't trust us. Or at least he trusts us only to a certain extent. That's why he still hasn't told us where and how he's going to make the exchange, where the old man's supposed to bring the money, where we're supposed to take the child . . .”

He shoots a glance at the storeroom door: “The kid doesn't seem to suspect you at all. He went with you willingly, no whining, and even now he confided in you right away. Didn't it ever occur to him that we were in cahoots?”

“I raised him. I took care of him for three years while that slut of a mother of his was busy leading the high life. Then, when he started school, a kick in the ass and so long, Lena.”

“Still, all these precautions strike me as a little excessive. Dyeing your hair blond, for example: What good did that do, if you put a hood over your head? And all those twists and turns, all the detours we took on the drive here: He's a kid, he's not going to remember the way we went.”

“You can never be too careful. And after all, he's a smart, observant kid, even if he seems to be living in his own little world, with his cartoons, his comic books, and his superheroes. Don't underestimate him.”

“The important thing is that everything turn out all right. He said that the whole thing will take four days, five at the most. Then we'll have the money, the IDs, and the plane tickets. And after that, South America.”

“And when they question the boy, they're going to assume that you got rid of me somewhere.”

He laughs: “Maybe I really will. That way I can keep all the money for myself.”

She laughs, too: “There's just one small problem with that plan: You know neither Russian nor Spanish. You wouldn't even be able to get to the airport without me.”

“Maybe that's why he picked us for the job. We have to do exactly what we're told.”

“That's right. So let's keep doing it.”

P
arascandolo's gym was in an unusual location.

The front entrance was in an alleyway just off a busy thoroughfare, not far from a stoplight, and it was a workout just threading one's way first across the river of slow-moving cars perennially streaming by, and then past the wall of motor scooters of all sizes and models parked sideways, blocking the narrow sidewalk. Di Nardo and Lojacono were especially unlucky because, in order to make their way down the five yards of narrow lane that led to the entrance, they had to wait for a group of Japanese tourists, walking single file and chirping and photographing as they went, to go by; the tourists were followed by two Junoesque matrons pushing baby carriages and complaining, in a dialect rife with elaborate insults, about the oriental foot traffic. The women's comments were incomprehensible to the lieutenant, but they did force a giggle out of Alex.

The young woman was in a good mood, Lojacono thought to himself. She hadn't burst into song or anything, that wasn't her style, but a couple of times he'd seen her smile faintly, as if something nice had occurred to her. And thank goodness, because the atmosphere in their communal office was turning grim. It had been three days since little Dodo had vanished, and now they were certain it was a kidnapping. Romano and Aragona were doing their best, but the child's life had furnished no clues. Ottavia and Pisanelli had energetically scoured the web and their networks of informants, but nothing useful had emerged. The deputy captain hoped to get something more from the director of a bank, a friend of his, who would be back from vacation that morning, but he wasn't holding out any great hope.

Lojacono was well aware that if you wanted to catch a criminal, the first few days after the crime were crucial, especially in a kidnapping; if you didn't come up with something then, it was unlikely that you'd ever solve the case, except through some stroke of dumb luck. Moreover, the hope that the victim was still alive added a sense of urgency and growing frustration to the investigation.

Since they couldn't do anything else to help, Lojacono and Di Nardo had gone back to working the Parascandolo burglary. While they waited for forensics to finish up the new tests promised by Martone, it was worth going for a little stroll to see just how the family business was doing.

The narrow street and the unassuming entrance stood in sharp contrast to the actual size of the gym's interior, which looked modern and well lit. A large room with a reception desk led to two hallways from which echoed an up-tempo beat clearly meant to get the customers moving. Two male bodybuilders were deep in animated conversation, and two very sweaty, older women, squeezed into workout clothes a couple sizes too small, were doing their best to attract their attention, though without success. Behind the counter sat a pretty young woman with a friendly manner. “Can I help you?” she asked.

Lojacono identified himself, saw the young woman's expression briefly darken, and asked to speak to Parascandolo.

“The dottore isn't in, but the signora is. Please, make yourselves comfortable, I'll get her right away.”

Alex and Lojacono took a seat on a small sofa, and while they waited they took in the skirmishing of the four fitness fiends. The men were engaged in an emphatic discussion centered on the benefits of a new exercise machine designed to develop the dorsals, while the women talked loudly and cast sidelong glances that went unnoticed. Alex asked her partner whether, in his opinion, they had a duty to let the boys know that the ladies wanted to chat, which would at least quiet the latter's strident voices. Before Lojacono had a chance to reply, a very worried Susy Parascandolo entered the room.

The skimpy dress she'd been wearing during their first meeting had been replaced by a fluorescent bodysuit, whose color reminded Lojacono of the green highlighter that Marinella used to mark up her textbooks. The outfit was rounded out by a pair of shoes in the same color that added at least five inches to her height. Alex blinked rapidly, as if her eyes had been stung by a sudden flash of light.

The lieutenant got to his feet: “
Buongiorno
, Signora. Forgive us for showing up without an appointment.”

Signora Parascandolo was on edge. She looked around, as if afraid that any minute someone else might show up.

“Not at all, Lieutenant, of course you're welcome any time. Did you find anything? Any news?”

“Nothing worth mentioning. We received a preliminary report from the forensic team, and perhaps if we had a little more information from you . . .”

“Fine. But not here: Please, let's go into my office.”

She led them to a small room equipped with a desk facing two chairs, her sauntering gait showing off one of the parts of her body that had been the special subject of extensive cosmetic surgery. She closed the door carefully behind her and then sat down, gesturing to the two cops to make themselves comfortable.

“I'm very sorry to disturb you here at work,” Lojacono said, “but we wanted to know a little something more about just what the burglars took. Have you had a chance to narrow that down?”

“What can I tell you, Lieutenant? As far as we can tell, they only took whatever was in the safe, and the safe is my husband's business, no one else's.”

Alex broke in: “And he isn't here right now, is he?”

“No, he only comes here rarely. The gym is just an investment for him; I'm the one who runs it.”

Alex persisted: “So what business is your husband in, if he doesn't come to the gym?”

Susy looked away and focused her eyes on the wall: “Well, my husband is . . . he's retired. He spends his time managing his family's estate. He's in business.”

“What kind of business?”

The woman squirmed in her seat: “Listen, just business. He goes out, he comes back, he meets people: business. I don't know, and he doesn't tell me. And after all, excuse me, but what does that have to do with the burglary? It seems to me that you two are investigating my husband instead of the crime.”

Lojacono raised both hands: “No, Signora. We're just trying to understand the motive for the theft, that's all. It's pretty unusual for burglars to take nothing but the contents of a safe. There were plenty of other valuables: silver, jewelry, even a wallet . . .”

Before the woman had a chance to respond, the door flew open and a young bodybuilder came in: “Sweetheart, listen, the sauna motor broke again . . . Oops, I'm sorry, I didn't know you . . .”

Susy's reaction to the young man's untimely entrance was spectacular: She jumped to her feet, blushed violently, then turned pale, pressing the palm of her hand onto the desktop, and so she remained, clearly embarrassed. Alex decided that, if you factored in her outfit, all the colors of the rainbow had just been displayed in about a second.

“Marvin, what . . . hey, don't people knock around here anymore? Where are your manners? Can't you see that I have visitors? Go away, we can talk about the sauna motor later!”

Lojacono was quick on his feet. He, too, stood up and held out his hand: “No, no, stay for a minute, please. We're the ones who should apologize for the intrusion, Signor . . .”

The man was still disoriented. His eyes begged Susy for help as he shook hands with the lieutenant, stammering out his own name. He was maybe twenty-five years old; the only clothing adorning his sculpted body was a pair of shorts and a tank top that showed off his bronzed, waxed torso.

Di Nardo was reminded of Aragona's chest, though the two men had nothing else in common. Unlike their colleague, the above-mentioned Marvin might as well have been an ad for the benefits of fitness: his twitching, well-defined muscles, decorated with numerous tattoos; the blond hair that framed a face with perfect features. If I liked men at all, Alex thought to herself, I'd already have fainted. His eyes, on the other hand, vacuous and inexpressive, betrayed the workings of a sluggish brain. Marvin, or whatever his real name was, was clearly an idiot.

Susy finally managed to open her mouth: “Forgive me, Lieutenant, he's just an employee of ours who . . . in any case, it's nothing he and I can't talk about later.”

“No, Signora, I insist,” Lojacono reassured her. “We're the ones who are intruding. What's your name, Marvin? Your real name, I mean.”

“Oh . . . Mario Vincenzo Esposito, Lieutenant. At your service.”

Lojacono glanced meaningfully at the tattoos on the man's forearm; he'd seen so many of them in his time.

“Have you been working here long?”

Once again, Parascandolo tried to break in: “I don't see what that has to do with . . .”

Lojacono cut her off, his tone serious: “Signora, what seems to be the problem? Is there some reason you'd prefer I not speak with Signor Esposito?”

The woman quickly took a step back, and let herself fall into her chair. Alex noticed her complexion changing color again, flashing quickly from fuchsia to ash-gray.

“No, no, what problem? Go right ahead.”

“Thanks. Now then, Esposito, I'm Lojacono and my partner is Di Nardo, from the Pizzofalcone precinct house. We're here because, as you may know, your employer's apartment was burglarized. But tell me a little more about yourself: How long have you worked here in the gym, and what is it that you do?”

The chilly, formal tone confused Marvin, who did his best to lock eyes with Susy, though unsuccessfully.

“I'm the Pilates instructor and I help out with equipment maintenance. I've worked here for six months, more or less, but I'm on the books as an intern. I mean, my job isn't exactly on the up and up.”

“You're working under the counter, then,” Alex said. “And where did you work before?”

Esposito suddenly seemed terribly interested in the desktop. “Here and there. I picked up odd jobs.”

Lojacono cut him off: “Esposito, the minute we get back to the precinct house, five minutes on the computer will tell us everything we want to know. So why don't you make our job easier for us; thanks.”

“All right, okay, I was in prison. It was a stupid mistake and I paid the price. Why, don't you think a guy can take the straight and narrow, after making a mistake? Am I marked for life so that whenever something bad happens, it has to be me?”

The vehemence of the young man's reaction didn't surprise Lojacono: “No one's saying that. We're just asking a few questions, trying to figure more about this burglary that's so . . . out of the ordinary. That's all. And just what were you in for, if I might ask?”

The question prompted an awkward silence. Alex made an effort to keep from laughing.

The man looked up: “Burglarizing an apartment.”

 

On the way back to the station house, Di Nardo couldn't stop chuckling at the scene they'd both just witnessed: “I mean, can you believe it? That guy walks in and calls the old lady ‘sweetheart' while we're sitting there. Then he has to confess that he's fresh out of prison, where he was locked up for exactly the type of crime we're there to investigate. If that's not unlucky . . . Not even Donald Duck could be so hapless! Fantastic!”

Lojacono was focused on driving. He'd never learn to navigate the streets by car in that city: You had to be born there, or else just be completely crazy, like Aragona.

“Yes, that was bad luck for him. But the fact that he has a criminal record doesn't mean anything. I think his relationship with our girl Susy is more interesting. That woman is exactly the kind who's unwilling to resign herself to the passage of time.”

“Sure, a little fresh flesh and she feels all young again . . . Truth be told, having seen her husband, I'm not sure I can blame her. By the way, I'd look into his actual line of work. The wife seemed a little too vague on the subject. The more I think about it, the more positive I am that there's something fishy there.”

As he was trying to avoid being simultaneously hit head-on and rear-ended, the lieutenant agreed: “Yes, that's true. And it's also true that if the lady were directly involved, it would explain a great many things—for instance her failure to turn on the alarm system.”