Adam's Rib by Antonio Manzini

Author:Antonio Manzini
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-05-31T04:00:00+00:00

SUNDAY

The music came from the last movement of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and it was being played by Rocco’s Nokia, lying on the glass coffee table. First Rocco opened one eye, then the other. He was sprawled on the sofa, it was dark out, it had stopped raining, and his mouth was gummy and dry. He reached out his arm and grabbed the electronic device: “Who’s busting my balls at this time of night?”

“Dottore, it’s Caterina Rispoli. We have him here.”

Rocco dragged himself up to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes: “Who do you have where? What time is it?”

“It’s three in the morning. And we have Gregorio Chevax out front of his warehouse. It might be a good idea for you to swing on by, sir.”

“He fell for it?”

“Like a fat chicken,” she said, using a common Italian phrase.

“Would you explain something to me, Caterina? Would you tell me why people say someone falls for it like a fat chicken? Where is it these fat chickens fall from?”

“I don’t know, it’s just a figure of speech.”

“Well, it’s bullshit.” He snapped shut his cell phone and got to his feet. He uncricked his neck and took a deep breath. “Well, let’s go talk to this dumb cluck. Or maybe I should say, let’s go talk to this triggerfish.”

The road was black and there wasn’t a star in the sky. At the end of the straightaway, behind the crowns of the trees that concealed the curve, a glow of light broke the darkness, a milky white halo of illumination. It might have been a house on fire.

Instead it was the headlights of the police vehicle meeting the headlights of a Fiat panel van. The two vehicles parked outside the front gate of the bathroom supply warehouse seemed to be having a standoff, or a stare-down. Rocco stopped his car and got out. The air was chilly. It was possible to make out the black shadows of the mountains that loomed over the valley. A light breeze tossed the branches of the fir trees. The dirty slushy snow had withstood that day’s rain and was piled high alongside the roadway.

Gregorio Chevax was leaning against the hood of the Fiat Ducato. Italo stood about a yard away from him, watching him and smoking a cigarette. Caterina was sitting in the car with the door open, one foot on the asphalt and the other inside the car. Rocco joined the group with a broad smile on his face. Caterina leaped out of the car. “Gregorio!” cried the deputy police chief, throwing both arms wide. “We meet again so soon!”

The man stood there without speaking. “Well, what happened?”

“Come take a look for yourself, Dottore,” said Italo, leaving Caterina to keep an eye on the reformed fence.

They walked around the panel van. The rear doors swung open. Italo switched on his flashlight. Inside were a couple of plastic-wrapped sinks, two sealed cartons, and an open aluminum toolkit. Inside the toolkit, though, were plastic bags instead of screwdrivers or drills.

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