Cold for the Bastards of Pizzofalcone by Maurizio de Giovanni

Author:Maurizio de Giovanni
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Europa Editions
Published: 2019-04-16T16:00:00+00:00

XXVII

The Centro Direzionale office park was a grim place even on sunny days or warm spring afternoons, but on that chilly winter evening, largely deserted and with the metal shutters of the sparsely scattered shops and cafés rolled down and locked tight, it was evocative of the postnuclear landscape of some dystopian science fiction holocaust.

Alex and Lojacono had left their department-issued car in one of the underground parking structures—dimly lit, frightening grottoes where the wind moaned like a wounded wild beast. They had then climbed the stairs to the ground level: an ideal spot for armed robbers, or evildoers in general, to lurk in ambush, though it was safe to say that, with the chill in the air, it was likely the evildoers were holed up in video game arcades, or else at home with whatever company they could scrape together. Nonetheless, the two cops had each instinctively raised their hand to grip the butt of the pistol resting in a shoulder holster, a gesture that gave each a subliminal surge of comfort.

Their footsteps echoed in the silence. It had just turned seven o’clock, but it might as well have been two in the morning, deserted as it was except for the infrequent passersby they crossed paths with along the ultramodern thoroughfares of the quarter. The glass-clad skyscrapers still had plenty of windows lit up in the darkness, which meant that business was continuing as usual and Planet Earth was still inhabited; that said, no one was defying the chill of the evening, unless strictly necessary.

When they reached the building indicated on the sheet of paper Ottavia had given them, a structure of average height wedged between two steel-and-glass colossuses, they entered a vast, unheated atrium where there was no sign of an attendant. They studied the many nameplates on display until they found the one they were looking for: “Charles Elegance.” Fourth floor, unit 32.

The elevator felt like a walk-in freezer; it even made the same sound as one. Lojacono, who was slightly claustrophobic, imagined the grim outcome if the mechanism were to break down in those desolate surroundings, and the likelihood that their lifeless bodies would be found frozen solid the next morning. Instead, they arrived at their destination safe and sound. They rang the doorbell.

Greeting them as they walked through the door was a goodlooking, dark-haired young woman. Her welcome, as plastic as it was professional, was replaced by a crestfallen expression when she learned that they were policemen. The young woman stood up and left her desk, vanishing around a corner only to reappear a few moments later, inviting them to follow her.

The agency certainly lived up to its name. The deep pile of the dark-brown carpeting absorbed their footsteps, drowning all sound, while hidden speakers spread melodious notes that made the place seem exotic and charming. In the one room with an open door, Alex and Lojacono glimpsed two female models dressed in evening gowns, stretched out on a sofa and floodlit; a photographer was moving around them, snapping photos in rapid succession.

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