Conor Fitzgerald: The dogs of Rome

“If I tell you who I think killed Pernazzo, you won’t insist on my going public with it?”

“No. Of course not.”

“And you won’t advance the hypothesis in my name, even when you see the investigation peter out without anyone being brought to justice?”

“I won’t use your name. I may make a fuss, though.”

“It was probably Manuela Innocenzi. Eventually you’ll hear this from other sources, too.”

“That… woman?” Now he could hear anger and disgust in her voice. “Have you any evidence?”

“More likely, she asked for it to be done. I don’t have direct evidence, but I got a call from Benedetto Innocenzi the other day that points in that direction. He called a few other people, too, to give the same message, which was not to think of importuning his daughter or there would be reprisals, and, above all, compromising revelations.”

“I will insist on a proper investigation.”

“You are within your rights,” said Blume, then instinctively ducked as an orange-and-white football bounced off the back of his chair. He turned around to see a child with long hair and a babyish face scowling at him.

“Tommaso!” said his mother. “This is Alec Blume. He’s a policeman.”

The child continued to stare at Blume. It was a hostile stare, but it contained no real malice.

“You play football?” said Blume. There, that was precisely the sort of inane thing that grown-ups said. Quite rightly, the boy ignored the question and went to retrieve his ball, then began slapping it on the tiles directly behind Blume, canceling out any hopes of conversation, while his mother smiled apologetically not at Blume but at the child. Time to go.

Blume stood up and watched as the boy bounced the ball too high and lost control of it again.

“You’re not very good at that yet,” said Blume.

Sveva Romagnolo stared at him in outrage.

The child retrieved the ball, tucked it under his arm and said, “I am good.”

“Not yet. I think maybe it’s because of your hair. It’s too long. It gets in your eyes.”

“Tommaso has beautiful hair,” said Sveva. “You were leaving, Commissioner?”

Tommaso bounced the ball five times in succession, then said, “You believe I can do it faster than that?”

“I do. I think you might be a natural, but you need to practice. A lot. And when you can bounce it all day using your hands, then you have to learn to do the same with your feet. It takes ages, but, like I said, you look like a natural to me. Get someone to cut your hair, see if I’m right.”

“Commissioner Blume! Tommaso, say bye-bye to the policeman.”

“Bye, Tommy,” said Blume.

“Tommaso. Not Tommy,” said Sveva.

She strode across the living room, thumping her bare heels against the floor.

Tommaso followed as far as the French window, and called out, “If I learn to do more than a hundred will you come back and watch?”

“Sure, I will,” said Blume.

Sveva stopped dead in her tracks and looked at her son, standing framed in the doorway, holding the ball above his head. Then she looked at Blume.

“That is grossly irresponsible of you. Suppose he really does want you to come and watch him. What then?”

“Call me, and I’ll come over,” said Blume. “And cut his hair. He’s not a girl.”

“I realize my son is not a girl. But he’s never had his hair cut since he was a baby,” said Sveva.

“That’s why you should do it now. Don’t pretend nothing has changed for him.”

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 10 A.M.

The following morning Blume, finally off duty, gave himself the luxury of a lie-in until ten. He had breakfast in his local bar, running down some of the credit left by Sveva. He phoned Paoloni and got no reply. Here we go again, he thought.

So he phoned Kristin in the embassy and was surprised when she invited him to her place for dinner. Seven o’clock. Blume figured he should arrange to meet Paoloni at around four. The pain of the meeting would be lessened by the prospect of seeing Kristin immediately afterward. But first, he had two other important appointments.

After breakfast, he walked down to Via Tuscolana to the vet and asked about the dog he had brought in the day before. The receptionist, whom Blume couldn’t help thinking of as a nurse, told him to wait. He sat beside an elderly woman with a cat in a cage. The cat had three legs. The woman narrated events as they happened.

“And here is a nice man come to sit beside us, Melchior,” she told the cat. “He’s hurt his arm, just like you hurt your leg. Though of course, his arm is still attached, isn’t it?”

Luckily, he did not have long to wait.

Blume looked in dismay at the animal that stood in front of him. Somehow, being cleaned up made its head and shoulders seem even larger than it had last night when, with the dire warnings of the ASL unit, he had transported it back in his car.

“He’s unusually small for that breed,” said the vet. “A bit of a failure as a Cane Corso, really. When I first saw him, I thought he was young and had more to grow. But he’s fully mature. You can see that from his teeth. Some are loose, by the way. Let’s hope he doesn’t lose them. He is undernourished, and suffered dehydration. But he must have got food from somewhere. Perhaps there was some available in the place you found him?”

“There seemed to be some scraps of meat near the cages,” said Blume.

“I hope that’s what he was eating. I do not like the idea that he might have eaten other dogs.”

“Not this guy,” said the vet. “Look at him. Does he look like a cannibal to you?”

Blume said he could not tell.

“Exactly,” said the vet. He touched the animal on the side. “Bruising on the flank shows that some bastard gave the poor thing a kicking very recently, and he cows easily, which suggests he was regularly beaten in the past. But basically, he’s in good shape. Probably got worms from polluted water sources, though. He seems to be good-tempered. Definitely a quiet dog. Don’t leave him unattended with children, though. In fact, don’t let him off a leash, and just be careful. He could change. You need to feed him small meals four times a day for the next month. Plenty of phosphorous, potassium. Let me see

… magnesium, Omega-3 and-6 fatty acid supplements. You look bewildered.”

“I’m supposed to do all this?”

“Someone has to do it. Big dog, big responsibility. Don’t worry about the diet, I’ll write it all down for you. You’ll need to walk him a lot, too. Make a return appointment for next week, then every two weeks after that for the next two months. You can pay by check if you like.”

Blume had planned to leave the creature there for a few days, but when he learned that the vet charged more for overnight stays than the hotels Blume went to on holiday, he changed his mind.

The dog sat in the back, its breath on Blume’s neck, eyeing his driving.

Blume made a visit to a pet shop for a collar, a retractable leash, a food bowl, vitamin supplements, cereal, assorted cans, and antiparasite powders. It came to €112.15. He was shocked at the total. The store owner asked him if he had €2.15 in change, and Blume conducted an awkward one-handed search through the coins in his wallet. Sitting in the middle of them was the tiny memory card Innocenzi had given him. He had still not watched the video.

His computer didn’t have the right kind of reader, anyhow. He balanced it on his finger, almost flicked it away, then returned it to his wallet.

When he got back to the car, an attractive young woman seemed to be waiting for him, hands on hips.

“What sort of a monster are you?” she demanded.