Jon Tracy - The Rome Prophecy

Valentina walks the rest of the room to the corridor amid a cacophony of wolf whistles and thunderous applause.

The video recordings make fascinating viewing.

Hospital administrator Sylvio Valducci still isn’t convinced they prove the existence of dissociative identity disorder, but they’re certainly jaw-dropping enough to attract some substantial new grants. The bit where the patient seeks shelter under Verdetti’s desk is priceless. Pure theatre.

Who knows, they could even be good enough to land some plum keynote speeches at top medical conferences around the globe.

For him, of course, not Verdetti.

The clinician remains a thorn in his side. He quite hoped she’d make a terrible mess of this case, then he’d have an excuse to discipline her.

But it’s not working out like that.

Even the way she acted with the police doesn’t warrant an official warning. At best she was being public-minded. At worst she was slow in notifying him of an instant demand of the Carabinieri. She’d have walked any disciplinary hearing on that one.

Such a shame.

He’d certainly have liked to take the wind out of her ambitious young sails and make his own life easier. The last thing any under-pressure administrator wants is a mouthy clinical director who is trying to do more and as a result spend more every damned year.

Valducci puts the recordings back in their covers and stores them on his shelves.

The distance from his office to Verdetti’s amounts to a lift ride and a short walk down a couple of corridors. He’s making it to flatter her. To throw her off-guard. He learned long ago that it’s politically smart to seize an opportunity to be nice to those you like the least. It allows you to manipulate them towards your own ends, especially when they’re tired and stressed.

The eyes of a young nurse at the ward station almost pop out when he rounds the corner. In her fluster she stands up and knocks a plastic cup of water over her paperwork.

‘Wipe it! Wipe it!’ he barks. ‘And don’t let it get near the damned computer.’

Eva Boscono quickly mops with tissues, while he leans on the top of the reception station and makes no effort to help her.

‘I’m sorry, sir.’ She tosses the last of the Kleenex into the waste basket beneath the desk and rubs her wet hands together. ‘How can I help you?’

‘I’m looking for Dr Verdetti. I just walked past her office and it’s in darkness.’

‘She left about an hour ago, sir.’ She glances down at a calendar on the desk top. ‘She’s at a funeral. I believe she will be back late this afternoon.’

He grimaces. She never mentioned the funeral to him. Not that he doubts she’s properly booked the time – though he’ll check, of course. ‘Never mind. Tell her I came round. Get her to call my secretary and arrange to see me.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He starts to walk away and then has an idea. ‘The patient in room 116, how is she at the moment?’

Eva scrabbles through a tray of damp paperwork. ‘I’ll just find her notes for you to see.’

‘I don’t want to see her notes,’ he snaps. ‘Just tell me how she is. Surely you know enough about those in your care to have an instant overview?’

Eva reddens. ‘I’m told she slept well. This morning when I saw her she was subdued but not sedated. She complained of a headache about three hours ago and was given ibuprofen. An hour ago she was fine and was sitting out of bed, reading and drawing.’

‘Drawing? Drawing what?’

The question throws her. ‘I don’t know. She likes to doodle; it seems to calm her.’

‘She had a pen?’

‘No. She has crayons to draw with, but there’s nothing sharp in her room when she’s alone. We’re careful about self-harming.’

‘Good. Take me to see her.’

‘Now, sir?’

He looks exasperated. ‘When else? You want me to make an appointment and come back at a time that better suits you?’

‘No, sir.’ She scurries from behind her desk. ‘Please follow me.’

The Carabinieri guard outside the door takes their names and then allows them in.

Nurse Boscono closes the door and introduces her boss to Suzanna. ‘This is Signor Valducci. He is the administrator, the man in charge of the whole hospital.’

He smiles at Suzanna, and then turns to the nurse. ‘You can leave us now. I’d like to be alone with the patient.’

Valentina parks up at the morgue and makes a phone call before she heads inside to see Medical Examiner Filomena Schiavone.

It’s not Tom she’s calling, but another man.

One she thinks of almost as a father.

‘Vito?’

‘ Si.’

‘Vito, it’s Valentina. How are you?’

‘I’m good. Very good. And you – how are you?’

‘ Bene. Va bene. But I could do with your advice.’

And so for ten minutes Rome’s newest Carabinieri captain tells her old boss about her brush with her sexist new boss and the dismissal of her disloyal lieutenant.

Former Major Vito Carvalho listens wryly. Discrimination and bullying are nothing new to him. He built his early career in the old days of the armed forces. A time when women were taken on to nurse or file or cook, but very little else.

‘He’s going to come for me, Vito. He’ll be hurting now and lying low, but at some point Caesario is going to come for me. What should I do?’

‘You’re thinking of handing in the recording anyway?’

‘It’s on my mind. Maybe if I go to the colonel, it’ll lay down a marker. I’ll say I don’t want to press charges, don’t want to cause difficulties, but I’ll ask for a guarantee that I’m not going to be set up or wrongly accused of anything.’

‘Politics is a dirty game, Valentina.’

‘I know. But what choice do I have but to play?’

‘None. But don’t go to the colonel, leave it with me. I have an idea of how to buy you a little protection, but I need to call some old friends first before I guarantee anything.’

‘ Grazie. I’m so sorry to bother you. It’s just that I’ve always respected-’

‘Shush, I’m glad to help.’ He laughs. ‘It feels good to still be needed by my former staff.’

Now it’s her turn to lighten up. ‘I think I’ll always need your counsel, Vito. I’m pretty much what you made me.’

‘You mean troublesome and awkward?’

Valentina laughs now. ‘I guess so.’

He’s more worried about her than he lets on. ‘Have a think about what you did to that lieutenant. Slicing and dicing a colleague in front of a crime squad can have a way of backfiring.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I’m sure most people fully agree with what you did. I certainly do. But you can be sure there’ll be some who don’t. His friends, for a start. They’ll stick by him. They have to. That means you made a whole new pack of enemies today. Players who know the local turf and the local game a whole lot better than you do.’

Valentina never thought of it like that. ‘You mean the cloud that I thought had a silver lining actually turns out to have an even cloudier lining?’

He laughs. ‘Maybe not that bad. I just suggest you give it a little more thought, and work out a smart way to make sure the cloud doesn’t turn to rain and leave you surprised and soaked to the skin.’ Vito’s said his piece and knows it’s now time to change the subject. ‘I saw your parents a couple of nights ago. They looked very well. Said how proud they are of you.’

She smiles. ‘I think they’d be proud of me if I was working tables for five euros an hour.’

‘Of course they would. That’s the privilege of being parents.’

Valentina sees the time on the car dashboard. She’s about to be late for the appointment she’s made with the ME. ‘I have to run, Vito. Thanks again for your advice. I am indebted.’