The Girl with the Crystal Eyes (6 page)

    'But
I want it!'

    'OK,
but stop that now. You go and get it, and then let's go to the toilet.' And she
drags the child along by the arm, now doing what her mother tells her to
without complaint.

    'Don't
sit down when you wee. And wash your hands straight after, Sofia.'

    The
child opens the door.

    Her
scream pierces through the blood-stained cubicle walls.

    The
teddy bear falls into the thick, brown puddle.

    Its
glassy eyes stare up at her, spattered with blood.

    The
short life of a tantrum.

    The
doorbell rings but there's no sound from the flat beyond. The forgotten kingdom
of a sleeping princess.

    Bzzz.

    
I
know you're there. Open the door
.

    Bzzz.

    The
princess gets out of bed. It's not the kiss of a prince that wakes her but the
strident ringing, which is still calling her.

    She
can't even remember how long she's been hiding under the covers, trying to
forget. Perhaps a hundred years have passed. Just like in the fairytale.

    Bzzz.

    'Who
is it?'

    'It's
Giulia. I wanted to see how you are,' says the voice on the other side of the
door.

    'Not
very well, Giulia.'

    'But aren't
you even going to let me in? After I've climbed those stairs. At least for a
glass of water…'

    Eva
unlocks the door; she doesn't say anything more.

    'Hi.
I didn't want to disturb you. It's just that you've been off work for days, so
I got them to give me your address, because I thought I'd come and see you,'
says Giulia, still out of breath. 'Isn't there a lift here?'

    'It's
fake.'

    'What
do you mean, it's fake?'

    'The
shaft's there, but the door's always been closed. There isn't a lift inside, or
at least I don't think there is. They always say they'll sort it out sometime.'

    Normally
Eva would be overjoyed to have a visitor, but not now. She wants to be left on
her own, here in the dark. She's forced herself to phone work and say that she
has a really serious virus, in a voice sounding from beyond the grave. She did
the same with her parents, adding that it was highly contagious so there would
be no risk of them paying her a visit. She thought that that might allow her a
few days of emptiness - of not existing.

    'But
how are you? You look awful.'

    'I'm
ill. I told you - I've got the flu.'

    Giulia
stands and stares at her, noticing how her colleague's eyes are puffy, with
dark rings around them.

    'Listen,
you might be able to fool the others, but not me. I know what's wrong with
you.'

    Eva
holds her breath for a moment.

    'It's
depression. It happened to me when my first boyfriend left me for some bitch on
his course. You have to do something, Eva. I spent months and months going to a
psychiatrist to try to accept what had happened, but in the end I realised that
I had to rebel, get back on my own two feet. So I joined a gym,

    I
changed my hair -1 changed my whole look - and I shopped more. It makes you
feel better, you know?'

    Eva
is taken aback. She can't think of anything to say.

    'People
who are depressed withdraw into themselves. They think they'll feel better that
way, but they're wrong. Luckily for you, I'm here now, and I'll help you.
Because we women have to stick together or else we'll get trampled on by men,
understand?'

    Giulia
talks without pausing, gesticulating with her hands while she looks round. It's
as if she's filling up great big bubbles of air, and the more worked-up she
gets the bigger the bubbles.

    'And
you'll never guess what's been going on at work - it's outrageous,' she adds.
'As soon as you were off sick, Roberto took advantage of me straight away -
giving me loads of scanning to do. Sonia's being hysterical and then, you
know…' a pause so she doesn't die from lack of oxygen, 'I understood what it
was all about. That bastard's just getting even with me because two weeks ago
he asked me out and I said no. But it won't end there. Oh no, it won't end
there. Now, you get back on your feet and come back to work, and then we'll
show them, won't we?'

    'Sorry,
Giulia, but really -'

    'No
excuses. I know how you have to cope when things like this happen. Now I'm
going to make you something to eat.'

    The girl
carries on talking even as she empties the sink of an accumulation of cups,
barely touching them with her fingertips.

    It's
clear that tidying isn't something she's used to, but, it seems, the result
justifies this small effort.

    'So
all you've been living on is coffee and tea? It's no good: how are you going to
get better if you don't eat?'

    There's
nothing Eva can say. Giulia wants to save her - or rather, make sure she
returns to work as soon as possible. But the real reason doesn't really matter,
since Giulia always gets what she wants.

    'Is
there anything to eat? Maybe some soup?'

    'Under
there. In the last drawer.'

    'It's
the only thing I know how to make. My ex was a fan of soup. It's not rocket science.
Boil the water and throw in a stock cube and a bit of pasta. Got any stock
cubes?'

    'In
the fridge.'

    'A
man who'll only eat soup definitely has no balls. Soup is for spineless people,
no doubt about that. A plate of pasta is for men with hair on their chests. But
I don't know why, if someone's a real man, you have to say he's got hair on his
chest. Personally, I can't stand hairy chests, they make me ill. I like men to
wax their chests. While the soup's cooking, go and have a shower. You smell a
bit, you know.

    'And
who's this?' She looks down at the pussy cat who has appeared in the doorway,

    'My
flatmate, Miew. Miew, this is Giulia.'

    'Pleased
to meet you, Miew.' Giulia has already stopped looking at the cat.

    Inspector
Marconi, we're received the results from forensics,' announces Tommasi, still
out of breath.

    'Well,
go on. What are you waiting for? Tell me what they say.'

    'A
real mess. The washroom was filthy; prints on top of prints. Seems it was only
cleaned once a day, in the morning. That poor woman with her six-year-old
daughter found the body at about half-past two. So you can imagine…'

    'How's
the little girl? Who questioned her?'

    'Frolli
intended to, but there was nothing doing. The girl was still in shock. Not
surprising, really. She even dropped a teddy bear her mother had just bought
her - straight into all that blood.'

    Marconi
shrugs his shoulders. As a kid, he wouldn't have liked to lose his favourite
toy soldier in a pool of blood - blood that had gushed out of the slashed
throat of a fat lorry driver - but perhaps it isn't the same these days, as
children today aren't like they used to be. They're spoiled, too spoiled
altogether.

    'When
the guys from forensics arrived, the body was still warm. They reckon no more
than half an hour to an hour had passed before the body was found.'

    'Are
we sure that the mother didn't see anything? Frolli tried to reconstruct -'

    'But
what could they have reconstructed? The mother just wanted to take her little
girl home - which I can understand. I've got her address here if you want it,
but I don't think talking to her again would do much good.'

    'You're
right. Anything else?'

    'Something
odd. Next to the victim there was the print of a stiletto heel in the blood.'

    'What
do you mean?'

    'And
then the woman working in the cafe described a very beautiful woman wearing a
miniskirt and holdup stockings, who the lorry driver tried to chat up at the
counter before she paid up and left. But we can't pay too much attention to
what she says, the poor thing. Her colleagues say she drinks a bit, has done
ever since her husband left her.'

    'OK,
Tommasi, let me be the judge of that. Pass me her statement.'

    'Here
it is.' The young man read it out with the hint of a smile on his lips.
'"A beautiful girl came in; she looked like one of those girls on
television. A model, beautiful, classy. She was tall and thin, with a short
skirt and stockings that looked like silk. She was wearing leather shoes with
very high heels, even her shoes were beautiful…'" My God, listen to this
bit.

    '"She
gave me a two-Euro tip, and asked me where the washroom was. Then she smiled at
me and went out, leaving behind her the smell of an expensive perfume."
Who is this, a goddess?'

    'Well,
if she is a goddess, she's certainly not the sort who goes round granting the
wishes of us mortals. Forget about the statement, then. What else is there?'

    'Here
we are. The victim died instantaneously. A clean, seven-centimetre cut across
the throat. No sign of a struggle.'

    'It
must have happened quietly,' Marconi thinks aloud.

    'Luca
Cagnotto, forty-five years old, always been a lorry driver - everyone knew him.
He drove a blue Iveco with a semi-trailer. He liked to fuck women. He often
used to have them in the cab with him. In short, he liked that sort of company,
but on that particular day he was alone.'

    'And
how can we be sure of that?'

    'He
had a radio, CB, on which he used to call himself "your father". That
day he was alone - it's been confirmed by "Eagle", a friend of his, a
lorry driver like him. He heard him on the GB half an hour before.'

    'I
don't know why they choose such stupid names.'

    'Divorced
- and the motorway police gave him some points on his licence a year ago for
speeding. No criminal record.'

    'But,
after it was reported, didn't they think to block the motorway at the major
exits.'

    'They
said it was already too late. No one made a decision.'

    'Fuck!'
'Inspector.' Morini comes into the office without knocking, and visibly
blushing.

    'What
is it? Now is not a good time.'

    'There's
a girl who says she has to talk to you. She's been waiting over an hour. She
says it's important.'

    'I've
not got time now. Get her to tell you what it's about.'

    'I've
already told her that you're very busy, but she's adamant she wants to speak to
you in person. She says she'll wait as long as she has to, but -'

    'But
everyone here
needs
something. Let her wait. I've got other things to do
right now.' And he dives back into the file.

    'It
seems highly unlikely to me that a woman wearing high heels could have killed a
tall, bulky man in a service station loo, all on her own. Just one push and
you'd knock her over - a woman in stilettos.'

    'Stilettos?'
says Tommasi.

    'You
heard me. What can you tell me about the murder weapon?'

    'There
was an old-fashioned razor lying by the body. Some sort of antique, sharpened
with real skill. But, Inspector!' Tommasi's face lights up. 'Perhaps the girl
was there with the killer. Perhaps she's a witness.'

    'No,
the washroom's too small to fit a large man, the girl
and
the killer in,
so either the girl came in when he was already dead - maybe she got frightened
and ran away - or else she killed him herself. Any CCTV?'

    'Nope,
they've not been working for months. It's an old place. Just a small bar, the
loos with a single entrance for both men and women, and two petrol pumps
outside.'