The Goodbye Kiss (20 page)

    I
played the role of the shattered man. I didn't manage to impress them.

    "Were
you aware of the fact that your fiancee was allergic to aspirin?" asked
the marshal.

    "No,
I didn't know."

    "How
was that possible?" asked the sergeant.

    "How
was what possible?"

    "That
you didn't know," explained his partner.

    "She
never told me."

    "The
medical examiner told us it would take quite a bit to die. How can it be that
you noticed nothing?"

    "Roberta
came to the restaurant. She said she didn't feel well-"

    "We
know all about this. We talked to the staff. We asked you a different
question."

    "When
I came home, Roberta was in bed. She was sleeping."

    "She
wasn't sleeping. She was dying-"

    "She
seemed to be sleeping. I put on my pajamas and got into bed."

    "And
you noticed nothing."

    "No."

    "You
didn't even kiss her good night?"

    "No."

    "That's
strange. Fiances and newlyweds always kiss good night." "That night
we didn't."

    "How
did you notice your fiancee was sick?"

    "I
had to go to the bathroom. I switched on the light. I saw Roberta's face was
swollen and her lips were purple. I immediately called the ambulance."

    "But
when you got into bed, you didn't notice her face was swollen?"

    "No.
She was turned on her side."

    They
remained silent for a little while, staring at me, perplexed.

    "Were
you getting on well together?" asked the marshal.

    "Recently
there were some differences. But everything had been settled."

    "What
was the nature of these 'differences'?"

    "I
don't think they'll interest you."

    "But
they do interest us."

    "Don't
play asshole, Pellegrini," the sergeant intervened. "Even if they're
cleaning up your record, you're still a criminal to us. And we beat the fuck
out of criminals."

    "Do
what you want."

    "Don
Agostino told us a juicy little tale."

    "OK,
so I've been with a whore."

    "Do
you remember which one?"

    "No."

    "Do
you at least remember where?"

    "The
highway near the industrial zone."

    "What
day was it?"

    I
shrugged. "I don't remember. What does it matter any- way?

    "We're
paid to ask the questions. Even the ones that don't matter."

    "You
want to hear a question that matters?"

    I
spread my arms. "Let me hear it."

    "Did
you give your girl the aspirin?" "No."

    "Then
where did she get it?"

    "In
a pharmacy, I guess."

    "Her
family says that's impossible. She knew it would kill her."

    "Then
I don't know."

    "In
the days before her death, did she talk about having a headache, menstrual
cramps, fever or some other ailment?"

    "She
told me she was bothered by a bad itch."

    "Nothing
else?"

    "Nothing
else."

    The
marshal closed his notebook and headed for the door, promptly aped by his
colleague.

    He
put his hand on the knob, then turned towards me. "Only three theories
explain Roberta's death: accident, homicide or suicide. We can easily exclude
accident. Either she decided to put an end to the pain and humiliation you
caused her or you killed her."

    "Why
would I kill Roberta? I loved her, I wanted to marry her."

    "Right,
the motive," he said, thinking. "If it were up to me, I'd throw you
in jail till the investigation is over. But no judge would sign an arrest
warrant on the basis of suspicion, without a clear motive."

    "We'll
see you soon," added the sergeant. "Maybe back at the station."

    I
went to the kitchen to make myself coffee. Lit a cigarette and took my time,
enjoying it. The thing went well. The cops had nothing. The inquest would be
shelved. Only a question of time. I was dead sure. But just to cover my back I
phoned Brianese.

    "Don't
worry, Giorgio." His tone was sympathetic. "I'll speak to the
prosecutor. And I'll ask our friends in uniform to intervene. I guarantee you
these two guys won't bother you again."

    Yes, our
friends. All of them were at the funeral. Even the loansharks. In church only
Roberta's parents and relatives didn't deem me worthy of a glance. Somehow they
held me responsible for her death. Sante Brianese came to sit at my side.

    He
squeezed my arm. "The notification from the court of surveillance has
arrived. You've been rehabilitated."

    I
burst into tears. Of happiness. I'd done it. The nightmare was over. I could
finally be like everybody else. Just a face in the crowd. I wiped my eyes. I couldn't
wait for that torment to end. Somebody squeezed my hand. It was Martina. In her
look I read the determination to take Roberta's place. I returned her squeeze.
I'd marry her. And I'd never kill anyone else. No need to. I finally managed to
cut off every tie with the past. The present and future were represented by a
community that had a sense of friendship and solidarity. Plus business sense.
I'd be considered a respected and honest citizen, employed only in earning his
daily bread. And enjoying his money.

    The
cemetery was lit by a beautiful warm sun. The mourning procession followed the
hearse in absolute silence. You could hear only the noise of steps on the
gravel paths.

    My
wreath was the biggest. On the ribbon I had them write "Arrivederci amore,
ciao." A goodbye kiss. I couldn't think of anything else.

    Massimo
Carlotto was born in Padua, Italy, and now lives in Cagliari, Sardinia. In
addition to the many titles in his extremely popular Alligator series, he is
also the author of
The Fugitive, The Obscure Immensity of Death, Niente, più
niente al mondo
and most recently,
Northeast.
One of Italy's most
popular authors and a major exponent of the Mediterranean Noir novel, Carlotto
has been compared with many of the most important American hardboiled crime
writers. His novels have been translated into many languages, enjoying enormous
success outside of Italy, and several have been made into highly acclaimed
films.