Temporary Perfections by Gianrico Carofiglio

Author:Gianrico Carofiglio [Carofiglio, Gianrico]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense
ISBN: 9780847837465
Publisher: Rizzoli
Published: 2010-01-13T23:00:00+00:00

19.

The next day, I asked Maria Teresa to step into my office. I still relied on her for anything having to do with clients and files that had been archived prior to Pasquale’s arrival. She knew exactly and immediately how to find things and she remembered every file that had come through the office.

“Do you remember Quintavalle? He was a member of that little group.…”

“Of course I remember him. I’m never happy when we take on drug dealers as clients, but at least he was a well-mannered and likable young man.”

“That’s right, he was likable. We haven’t heard from him in years now.”

“Either they never caught him again or he’s stopped dealing, which would make me very happy.”

“Or else he has a new lawyer.”

“Impossible. You literally saved his life that time. Winning a plea bargain with the evidence they had against him …”

“Do you remember who the prosecutor was?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then you have to admit it wasn’t all that amazing an achievement. He’d sell his parents into slavery if it would clear a case off his desk. Anyway, do we have Quintavalle’s phone number lying around somewhere? I need to talk to him.”

“It’s definitely in his file, unless he has a new number.” Maria Teresa is perfectly aware of how drug dealers operate. They frequently change their cell phones and SIM cards to elude police monitoring, so their phone numbers tend to be somewhat unstable. That, however, applies to their work phones. Their personal phones tend to have a longer half-life.

I asked her to take a look in the file, and five minutes later there was a piece of paper with his phone number on my desk.

Quintavalle answered on the second ring.

“Buon giorno, this is Guido Guerrieri, I’d like—”

“Counselor Guerrieri, buon giorno! What a pleasure. What an honor. To what do I owe the pleasure? I didn’t forget to pay last time, did I?”

“Damiano, how are you?”

“Doing fine, Counselor. And you?”

I hate it when people say they’re doing fine, but from Quintavalle it didn’t bother me particularly.

“Doing fine myself, thanks. I need to ask you something, but I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. Would you mind terribly dropping by my office?”

“Of course, it’s no problem at all. When would you like me to drop by?”

“If you could come by today, you’d be doing me a favor.”

“How about seven o’clock?”

“A little later would be better, that way I’ll be done with my appointments and we can talk without being interrupted.”

“Okay, I’ll see you at eight.”

“Thanks. And … Damiano?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve moved. We’re not at the old address anymore.”

“I know, I know. I’ll see you there at eight o’clock.”

When I talk with someone like Damiano Quintavalle—a professional criminal, who makes a living from his illicit activities—I’m even more doubtful than usual of my ability to decipher the world and distinguish between so-called good and so-called evil.

In the first place, Quintavalle is an intelligent young man. He comes from a normal family. He attended college, though he never got a degree.

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