Antonio Manzini - Black Run

“No. Go on looking. We don’t know for sure that this Luisa Pec is the right person, do we?”

“True. You have a point, Commissario.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, D’Intino!”

“Yes sir.”

Rocco hung up. He looked at Italo. “Her husband hasn’t come home and first thing, ­people assume the worst. For all we know, the guy’s holed up with some chippie.”

Italo nodded as he accelerated toward the police station. “Dottore, listen, if you want I can have a word with D’Intino and tell him not to call you anymore.”

“Let it be. He wouldn’t understand. He’s my nemesis. You know, when you’ve done a few things that are just so-­so? There’s such a thing as divine justice. And I’m paying it. D’Intino is just a tool that God Almighty is using to punish me. A man’s got to accept his fate!”

“But why? What did you ever do?”

Rocco crushed out the cigarette in the ashtray and looked at Italo. “One or two things you already know. You’ve been looking through the papers.”

Italo gulped.

“The most normal thing in the world. I’d have done the same thing. Let’s just say that it was best for me to make myself scarce down in Rome. Decisions from on high.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t see. But let it suffice.”

Luisa’s eyes were the first thing he noticed. Big baby blues. Along with the oval face and copper blond hair that made her vaguely resemble an Italian-­English actress.

“Greta Scacchi,” Rocco whispered to officer Pierron as he approached Luisa, who was sitting waiting on a bench.

“Huh?” asked Italo.

“She looks like Greta Scacchi. The actress. You know the one?”

“No.”

The deputy police chief extended his hand to the woman, who had risen to her feet and was holding out hers.

“Deputy Police Chief Rocco Schiavone.”

“Luisa Pec.”

The woman’s hand was hard and callused, in sharp contrast with the softness of her face and the curves of her body. On her cheeks, a faint blush made her look hale and healthy.

“Please follow me to my office, Signora Pec.”

Luisa and Rocco walked off down the hallway. “So last night your husband didn’t come home?”

“No. He didn’t come home last night.”

“ Prego , take a seat,” and Rocco opened the door.

He immediately noticed a whiff of cannabis and hurried to throw open the window. He gestured to Luisa Pec, who took a seat in front of the desk. Now Rocco could take a closer look at her. Her eyes were dull, marked by circles as deep as trenches. Luisa was the very picture of anxiety, but she still managed to be pretty.

Rocco sat down in his high-­backed leather chair. “Tell me all about it,” he said, and placed both elbows on his desk.

“Last night my husband didn’t come home.”

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