Conor Fitzgerald - The Namesake

‘Maybe the victim came down here to Rome by himself.’

‘No,’ said Caterina. ‘The body was moved after death, you can see that from the lividity, the way the clothes are rumpled and soiled. He’s been dragged around, left lying on the ground for some time. Also, there should be more blood. If he was moved directly after death, there would be more bloodstains on his shirt and jacket. So he lay where he was shot long enough for the blood to coagulate and stop moving. Rigor mortis has completely gone, the skin has a greenish hue. The medical examiner, who seems to have a problem with women, won’t say how long…’

‘No, no. That’s just Dorfmann,’ said Blume. ‘He doesn’t hate you because you’re a woman, he hates you because you’re a breathing human. In his loathing of all living beings, he’s a paradigm of sexual equality. He’ll do a thorough report.’

‘If you say so. But the time of death is at least eighteen hours earlier. And the place of death was not here. He’d have been discovered before today, and anyway there’s no blood at the scene. So I’m going to assume he was killed closer to where he went missing, which probably means Milan. Which means even if this investigation is not appropriated by the DIA, it will probably be transferred there on the grounds of a “positive contrast” between the magistrates.’

‘Technically, it’s more likely to be a “negative contrast,” ’ said Blume. ‘Milan won’t have opened a murder inquiry, so it will be up to Nardone to declare the case as outside the scope of his competence. He will: most things in life are outside Nardone’s scope of competence.’

‘So you may as well let me stay on it for the day or two we have it.’

‘Fine, then. But if I were you, I’d give Panebianco a coordinating role, get him to liaise with the forensic team, and help build a timeline. He has an organized mind. He’s also very observant.’

‘More than me, you mean?’

‘Don’t be so touchy.’

‘Why aren’t you wearing your watch?’

‘I am wearing it in my pocket.’

‘In your pocket?’

‘It’s too hot to wear a watch. It was giving me a rash.’

‘So you don’t like it? I can change it for something else.’

‘Another watch, or an antique ring or a necklace, you mean? Don’t bother. I mean, it’s great and I like it very much, so there is no need to change it.’

Blume put it back on his wrist and stared at it like it was a canker. ‘There.’

‘Give me that watch. I’ll just get the money back.’

‘No. I really like this watch. And it’s been fifteen years since anyone bought me a birthday present, so I’m keeping it. What’s your next step here, Caterina? Concentrate on this. Never mind my beautiful watch.’

‘I’m trying to collect CCTV footage from the shops and a few banks. I’m hoping they’ll volunteer the videos without the magistrate having to intervene.’

‘Some will, some won’t,’ said Blume. ‘But that’ll take time and as far as I can see, all the cameras are too far away from here. What else will you be doing?’

‘Talking to the wife. Did you notice the victim had no wedding ring? I’ll ask her about that.’

‘When she gets here, yes, and beforehand?’

‘Talking to the street cleaners who found the body, which I have already done.’

‘Right. I suppose Panebianco can check with the victim’s employers, bank, work colleagues, friends, trying to reconstruct his movements. But if we put Panebianco on that, he’s not going to be able to help you here.’

Caterina stretched out her hand. ‘Come on, give me back my despised gift. The watch on your wrist.’

Blume considered a little more resistance, but he relished the idea of getting rid of it. Maybe next time she would ask him what he liked rather than trying to second-guess him. He made a show of reluctance as he pulled it off. She took it and dropped it into her bag, making a point of getting the fastener to click loudly as she closed it.

‘Where are you going now?’ she asked.

‘I need to talk to Matteo Arconti. The living one. The magistrate. And it’s not going to be an easy conversation.’

Rome

Matteo Arconti extricated himself awkwardly from his chair as Blume walked in. He stretched out a stiff arm as if he intended to ward off Blume rather than greet him.

‘They have killed me.’

‘Not you. Your namesake, Magistrate.’

The window beside Arconti was open, and a breeze was ruffling the stacks of papers on the desk. He wavered on his feet for a few seconds before collapsing back into his chair, all elbows, knees and anxiety.

Blume moved a heap of books and files to the floor to make room on an armchair.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Arconti. ‘I can’t say anything useful. I feel numb. Not just inside, but outside, too. It’s probably a protective mechanism. I’m not sure this is real. I have even pinched myself but I can’t feel it. That could mean I am in a dream, couldn’t it?’ There was real hope in his voice.

‘This is not a dream,’ said Blume.

‘That’s what the dream version of you would say. Prove it.’

‘Our conversation is too logical.’

‘I suppose,’ said Arconti, unconvinced.

‘Look at your left hand. Can you see it properly?’ said Blume.

The magistrate stared at the back of his hand. ‘I can see it fine. But I can’t feel it properly.’

‘I don’t know anything about not feeling it, but if you can see your hands properly, it’s not a dream.’

Arconti studied his hands, then Blume’s face with the same quizzical expression. ‘How do you know that thing about the hands?’

‘An old trick my father taught me when I was little, so I could tell the difference between nightmares and real life, as if there was one.’

Arconti turned his barn-owl gaze back on Blume. ‘Do you remember a while ago I was saying we were less vulnerable to attacks from the Ndrangheta?’

‘I remember.’

‘That’s why you should have told me about your girlfriend. I thought you were unattached.’

‘I’m still getting used to having someone. I sort of forgot.’

But Arconti was not listening. ‘… remember me saying that no one innocent will suffer as a result of my investigation? Do you? Do you remember that? And then they do this. They make an innocent man die as a result of me.’

Arconti pressed his chest and grimaced. ‘The murder of an innocent man who was unlucky enough to have my name is more than an ironic twist of fate.’ He jerked his elbow into a pile of files and sent them crashing to the floor, startling Blume who leaned forward to pick them up. ‘Leave the files, Commissioner.’

Blume straightened up in his seat, put his hands on the armrests, and waited for Arconti to have his say. The magistrate was now entering into a rhetorical mode as if arguing his case in court.

‘It’s one thing being isolated by colleagues, derided by corrupt politicians, ignored by the public and threatened by criminals,’ Arconti declaimed, his face, so white a minute ago, suddenly flushed with colour, ‘it’s quite another to know that your actions are the immediate cause of the death of an innocent person. Don’t take this wrong, Commissioner, but if they had killed you, I could have accepted that more easily.’

‘I might have found it more difficult,’ said Blume.

‘I can’t do this. It’s like investigating my own death. No one can work alone against that level of organized malice surrounded by colleagues and politicians who are complicit in it. I sometimes feel like quitting, leaving my job, leaving the country, too.’

‘Could you do that?’

‘Of course I could. Pursuant to Article 52 of the Code of Criminal Procedure, Abstention of a Public Minister…’