Nicola Rocca - Death Brings Gold

“Will do, Chief.”

“Good, Bassani. That’s all. Thanks.”

CHAPTER 8

When Dr Visconti made his entrance into the Autopsy Room, he noticed that Dr Parri had already prepared all the instruments on the small trolley.

He didn’t let her see that he was pleased with her. Clara Parri was the new (and only) junior medical physician, she had arrived with a prestigious CV and was eager to work with the best medical examiner in the whole of Northern Italy. And Dr Visconti, although the idea of having to babysit junior doctors didn’t sit well with him –he’d only done it once with another student before her – in the end had accepted it.

And now, after almost a month and a half of work, he was pleased with the young woman. He still hadn’t found any negative trait in her. She was beautiful, sophisticated, with a refined attitude and well-mannered –and these were the basics needed to work by his side. Moreover she was a quick learner. With her you didn’t need to say things twice – and this was also a basic requirement if you were to work with Umberto Visconti.

“Well done, Clara,” that was all he said.

She gave him a delicate smile and he had the impression that she was attracted by his charm. He smiled back, then with few words their work began.

Visconti moved near to the table where Raffaele Ghezzi was lying, the tag tied around the dead man’s big toe stating his name.

With a sharp look he covered the dead body from head to toe several times and in the meantime he was asking himself how many corpses he had seen throughout his career. He remembered the first one. He was still a junior doctor and the dead body belonged to an obese man, almost two hundred kilos. When the doctor had made an incision on that large abdomen, it had deflated and a sickening smell had filled the room. It had lingered on him for more than a week. Or at least that was his impression.

And since that day his life had been a series of dead people and autopsies. And the people, who initially had a name, a sex and an age, with the passing of time had become mere dummies to be sliced open and a skullcap to be removed.

And now Raffaele Ghezzi was also part of that miserable group.

Visconti allowed himself a smile – careful not to be seen by the girl – which reflected the satisfaction he had for his job.

He stretched an arm towards the small trolley and retrieved two rubber gloves.

He put them on, making sure that they were snug. Noticing that Clara was already wearing hers, he nodded at her and grabbed the scalpel.

The autopsy lasted a bit more than an hour and a half.

Visconti recorded that the victim had died of cardiorespiratory arrest.

“A strip of fabric or something similar was tightly wrapped around the neck obstructing the passage of cerebral impulses.”

Then, when the dissection was almost concluded, ,Clara, who was examining the dead man’s oral cavity, in a feeble voice interrupted the operation.

“Doctor, look here,” said the girl.

“What’s up?” asked the doctor, leaning forward.

“There,” she continued. “In his mouth. It looks like…”

Clara didn’t complete the sentence because she knew what it looked like .

The medical examiner moved a bit closer and with a torch illuminated the inside of the dead man’s mouth.

“There,” the girl exorted him, “under his tongue.”

Dr Visconti lifted the dead man’s tongue, as much as was necessary, in order to be able to take a better look at what Clara had seen.

“Yes,” he said. “You’re right, Clara. There’s something strange.”

CHAPTER 9

“Thank you for coming, Mrs Pilenga,” Inspector Walker said to the woman, although it had been more of an order than a request.

Martina nodded, silent. Then, she tried to find something to say, despite the dreadful misery she felt inside her.

“If there’s anything I can do…”

Walker offered her a benevolent smile, in an attempt to look sympathetic. Then he rubbed his hands together and let himself drop back into his old worn-out armchair.

“That’s exactly why we have summoned you. We think that anything you say may be useful to us.”

The woman replied by nodding again. She looked like a little doll with a broken neck.

“Good,” said Walker. Then he glanced at Zambetti, informing him that the real interrogation was now to begin.

The assistant nodded, sliding his fingertips onto the computer keys.

“Mrs Pilenga, do you know,” Walker started, “if there was anybody who would have wanted to hurt your husband?”

Before answering, the woman waited longer than the Inspector would have expected.

“Not that I know of.”

“And what about you, Mrs Pilenga? Did you get on with your husband?”

“What kind of question is that?” blurted the woman, fidgeting in her chair.

“Calm down, ” the Inspector tried to quiet her . This is just like any other question...”

“Of course we got on,” Mrs Pilenga uttered, interrupting him.

Walker nodded, moving his head slowly. In that precise moment he decided to shift into high gear, without reservation.

“Good,” he said smoothly. “Is there by any chance anything in particular that you would like to tell us regarding your relationship with your husband?”

The woman blushed. The Inspector could see on her face that she was wondering what the reason was behind that question. Following a few seconds of silence, Mrs Pilenga attempted to change track.

“What are you trying to say?”

Walker put on the most casual face he could summon.

“It was just a simple question, Mrs Pilenga. You know, before formulating any hypothesis about the murder, I would like to know a bit more about your husband’s life. And who better than you to help me?”

Martina looked down at the desk. She scratched nervously at the back of her hand, then she lifted her eyes and tried to look the Inspector in the face.

“My husband and I were an ordinary couple.”

“What do you mean by ordinary ?”

The woman thought about that for a moment.

“We had ups and downs, like many other couples.”

“Ups and downs,” repeated Walker, turning his head sideways for a moment, towards his subordinate. “So, Mrs Pilenga, according to you, these ups and downs, could your husband also have them with somebody else. Don’t misunderstand me. I mean… of your knowledge, did your husband have problems with anybody?”

Walker’s cold eyes were inspecting Martina’s teary eyes, not prying away from them for even a moment.

“I’ve known my husband for thirty years. I have never seen him fight with anyone. I don’t believe he’d decided to start getting into trouble at fifty years old.”

“I understand,” continued Walker, who was still feeling his way through the dark.

“I still can’t believe it,” the woman opened up, letting herself go into a choked cry.

Walker stretched his hands out on the desk, in search of hers. She noticed it and decided to accept the charitable gesture. She put her hands together and entrusted them in the Inspector’s big, yet delicate, hands, finding warmth in them.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Pilenga. Believe me,” he told her. “Although my methods might seem harsh, I swear I am doing it for you. To find your husband’s killer. And I am sure that your deposition, even something that you might consider insignificant, could lead us on the right track. I am just asking you to help us to help you.”