These Dark Things (5 page)

An old woman squeezed past their table and plunked down her shopping in a wide arc around her table. Her gold earrings swung like tiny chandeliers. The proprietor hurried over with her coffee, to which she added sugar.

Natalia and Pino grimaced. They both liked it the traditional way—not so sweet. How coffee is prepared is a local obsession. The sugar went in first, then the inky coffee oozed from the nozzle of the espresso machine. If you didn’t like your coffee too sweet, you’d have to catch the bartender early. If he respected you, you got the coffee you ordered.

The owner’s grandfather was Don Calo Gero Vizzini, the
Capo di tutti Capi
, a gangster so powerful that he’d greeted the American troops in 1943 wearing an apricot silk foulard Lucky Luciano had taken from his own neck and given him because he had admired it. Vizzini’s son was a smalltime hood, but as far as Natalia and Pino knew, the grandson who owned El Nilo had never been involved in anything remotely illegal.

The baker came out with a tray of pastries. Natalia tapped Pino’s arm.

“That’s Turrido, isn’t it? Anthony Turrido, the baker?”

“It looks like him,” Pino said. “I remember his picture on the front page of
La Repubblica
after he refused to pay protection and they burned the bakery down.”

Natalia nodded. “They didn’t want to kill him. Watched his shop for weeks, waited until he was out on deliveries. But the mother was in the back, cooking. Turrido’s father took off when he was five. I don’t think Turrido ever had a girlfriend. Mamma and the bakery were his world. I went to her funeral. One of Gambini’s captains came in. Gambini hadn’t intended killing the mother. He wouldn’t come himself, but his man tried to press an envelope on Turrido. Turrido ripped it to pieces, torn
lira
spilling all over the floor.

“Afterward, Turrido wandered the streets, lost. I always wondered what happened to him. I was a teenager the last time I saw him.”

“A courageous man,” Pino said. “It makes sense that he’s here. The proprietor also disdains the mob. If his father hadn’t been one of them, this place would have been trashed a long time ago.”

Natalia remembered asking, when she was small, why Turrido lived with his mother. And didn’t have children. Because he’s a good boy, her mother had insisted. An only child. So he couldn’t leave his Mamma.

“Me too,” Natalia had said. “I’m an only child. So I can’t get married either, or ever leave you.”

Her mother had laughed and kissed her, saying, “No. It’s different for girls. Besides, I have your father.”

Yes, different, Natalia reflected bitterly nearly thirty years later. A woman was still not considered much of anything if she is without a man. Yet it couldn’t have been easy for Turrido. What if he’d wanted a wife and kids? What if he’d been in love? And after the tragedy, he’d been like a madman. What woman would have settled for him then? Was he still bitter? How could he not be?

“At least he’s baking again,” she said.

Pino beckoned the waitress over. He smiled at the girl. “We have a few questions about the photograph you identified of Teresa Steiner to our colleagues. How is it that you know the man who came in with her?”

“Benito? We grew up together. I heard he was becoming a priest, so I was surprised to see him with a girl.”

“Has he been blind from birth?”

“He can see a little. He got sick when he was fifteen. A virus.”

“Are you sure it was Benito—the man with her?” Natalia asked.

“He knew me, all right. I said, ‘It’s me, Tina.’ He pretended he didn’t know me. I didn’t want to embarrass him, so I said, ‘My mistake.’ It didn’t seem like he and the girl knew each other that well, but.…”

“When was this?”

“Months ago. He didn’t come back, either. I figured it was because I was here. Did something happen to Benito?” “No. To the girl.”

“The girl in the crypt,” Tina gasped. “Oh, my God.” She made the sign of the cross, then kissed her fingers—a proper daughter of Italy, despite appearances.

“What can you tell us about him?” Natalia asked.

The girl bit her lower lip.

“Anything you can tell us will be in confidence,” Natalia reassured her.

“I don’t know.” She scraped at her thumb. Green nail polish flaked off.

“A young girl is dead. And there may be others if we don’t catch her killer.”

“Even before he lost his sight, he was teased a lot because of his thick glasses. Plus he was short. And he didn’t talk much.” She ran her tongue over her lips. “I was his friend. For a while. Excuse me. I have customers.”

“Please take my card,” Natalia said. “We may need to talk with you again.”

“I don’t want Benito in trouble,” she said, taking the card, frowning, and the next second smiling at Pino. “I’m Tina. Prada, like the designer,” she added, flouncing away.

Natalia’s partner seemed oblivious to the flirtation.

At a table near the door, the owner enjoyed a cup of his own coffee.

“Your baker, Turrido,” Natalia said, “I knew him as a child.”

“Vesuvio’s. Best bread in Naples, I have to concede.”

“Do you know where he lives these days?”

“Off Piazza Gaetano, by the docks. He’s got a room there. He could afford better, but.…” He shrugged. “Did you find out anything about the dead girl? I saw her here a coupla times, but Tina waited on her.”

“We’re working on it, thanks.”

“
Scusi
,” said a familiar voice behind her. “Natalia Monte?”

It was Turrido. He showed the wisp of a smile.

She smiled back. “So you did recognize me.”

“The uniform threw me. I wasn’t sure. How is your mother?”

“She died. A few years after your poor Mamma.”

“I’m sorry to hear,” he said, making the sign of the cross. “She’s in heaven.” He stepped back. “Eh, eh? Whaddya know? One of the first women on the force, no? And a captain. Mamma would have been proud of you.”

“So, how are you?” she asked. “You disappeared from the neighborhood.”

“People don’t know me around here. They leave me alone. What about you? Married? Kids?”

“No. Just the job.”

“Little Natalia Monte. Who would have thought?”

“A girl was killed this morning. You must have heard about it.”

He looked pained. “Yes.”

“She was a student, a beautiful girl. She came into the café a few times, according to Tina.”

“I don’t wait on customers.”

“But you come out sometimes, to look after the orders.”

“Sometimes.”

“She was tall, a redhead. One time she was with a priest.”

“Sorry, I can’t help you. Come by some time. For a visit.” He told her his address. “My bell is number five.”

“That would be nice—for old time’s sake.” They smiled at each other again, and he left.

“Turrido,” she said to Pino. “He played the harmonica. Did magic. He could make his thumb disappear. And found coins in our ears.”

Pino nodded. “You know Tonio the Dwarf? He didn’t do tricks, but he threatened us with curses. We were terrified. We thought we’d stop growing like he did. What time is it?”

“Time to go.”

“You’re a million miles away,” Pino said as they walked out. They were jostled on all sides by lunchtime traffic. Gates clanked down in front of the shops.

Natalia said, “Did you notice? The small
corno
around her neck? I wouldn’t have taken her for the type. Tina’s kind of cute.”

“Whose neck? That girl’s?” Pino said, putting on his sunglasses.

“Yes, that girl. Tina. My mother had a huge horn in our living room. She was convinced that our neighbor was a
jettatore
. What made her think the woman was a witch, I don’t know. She’d been our neighbor forever. A pretty lady, she always wore lipstick, even when she was old. My mother couldn’t very well shun her, so she bought this giant coral horn. I’m sure your aunt had one. It wasn’t until recently that it occurred to me that my mother was jealous because the woman made my father blush.”

“Jealousy,” Pino said, steering his bicycle around a bald German doing push-ups next to a handwritten sign:
Will Work For Food.

Truth be known, Natalia’s best friend wore a
corno
, and she herself said “
buongiorno
” to the spirits upon entering her own house.

4

When Pino reached Posillipo, he chained his bicycle to a post and entered a fashionable apartment building. He mopped his face with an old handkerchief in the elevator. On the twelfth floor, a beautiful woman opened the door when he knocked.

“
Si?
” Not unpleasant—formal.

“Carabiniere.” Pino showed his ID. “Sergeant Loriano.”

“Oh.” She stepped back to let him in. Her white pleated skirt matched the pristine apartment. The apartment was filled with fresh-cut daisies. A nod to Pino, a quick kiss for her husband who was sitting on a white couch, and she was gone.

“Please, sit down.” Professor Marco Lattanza pointed to a white couch that was the twin of the one he was sitting on. “Can I offer you something? Lemonade or a drink, Sergeant?”

“Lemonade would be nice, thank you.”

Professor Lattanza went to fetch refreshments. Through the picture window, ships as small as toys zigzagged in the bay.

Professor Lattanza returned with the lemonade.

“You know why I am here,” Pino said. “You are Miss Teresa Steiner’s thesis adviser, yes?”

Lattanza closed his eyes and pressed a finger against them. “Teresa Steiner was a thrilling student. She was working on a monograph of our neighborhood street shrines. She wanted to know everything about the history of Naples. Since I am an expert, well.…”

Pino reached into his bag for the photographs. He handed Lattanza two of them.

Professor Lattanza put down his glass. He looked at one and then the other. “My God, the photos, of course. You’d think the worst. But believe me, we weren’t intimate with one another any more. Teresa took a short leave of absence after her mother was diagnosed with cancer. When she came back, she hardly smiled. She’d been an incredibly sunny girl. She also changed her thesis topic. I had the feeling someone else was mentoring her and helping with her project. She stopped confiding in me. She is”—he took a deep breath—“she
was
such a beautiful woman.”

“Were you home last night?”

“Am I a suspect?”

“Routine questions. Everyone who knew her will be questioned.”

“Certainly I was here. I worked late, but that is normal. Marissa can vouch for me.”

“Anyone besides your wife?”

“I find that insulting.”

“Again, merely routine.”

“Of course. Forgive me. It is upsetting news. I can’t imagine anything more horrible for a parent. If there’s anything I can do.…”

“We’ll need a statement as soon as possible. If you could come by? Later today or tomorrow would be best.”

“Certainly.”

Nice to be rich, Pino thought, back on his bike, coasting downhill past large, elegant houses. He swerved to avoid a fat gold caterpillar inching its way across the street. If it could survive another ten feet, it might end up a butterfly and dance among the roses in the
Orto Botanico
for the balance of its brief life.

He didn’t need to pedal until he reached the cobblestones along the waterfront. An ocean liner floated out of the harbor, its horn bellowing. A melancholy sound of departure. He closed his eyes. For a moment, there was only the wind, the goddesses, and the sea.

“
Campesino!
” a driver screamed at him out the window of a Mercedes.

“Watch where you’re going!” a woman’s loud voice assaulted his ear as she raced by in a convertible. She had a nasty face, and a bony arm, which she waved at him. “
Bastardo!
” she yelled, gunning the engine.

So much for goddesses, Pino thought, and headed for the Carabinieri station.

On Piazza Borsa, students tipped their faces toward the sun. A few were reading. Girls and boys in jeans, scruffy T-shirts, and wearing backpacks; a few girls in short tops, their gorgeous midriffs on display. Had she ever been that young?

Natalia reached the Quartiere Porto, and then Largo San Giovanni Maggiore. There was the Bar Université, where she had spent countless happy hours daydreaming and reading her textbooks. Across from it, the Dante and Descartes Bookstore, another favorite destination where she had wasted many afternoons browsing. Today there must have been fifty silver scooters clumped in front of the bookshop, the popular color this year. She’d forgotten the beauty of the Cappella dei Pappacoda, the small chapel opposite the school, with its gothic marble portico and shabby door.

A monk scurried out. His heavy brown hassock must have been uncomfortable in this heat, but his only visible acknowledgment of such earthly concerns was that he was barefoot in sandals, instead of wearing the traditional heavy shoes. His rope belt swung as he walked past.

The scent of marijuana was strong in the outer courtyard. There were one or two cars parked there, but mostly bicycles. Not much had changed. The same beat-up bulletin boards and plain stone stairs, a wide balustrade, the classrooms open to the courtyard, overlooking a few neglected plantings.