Darkness for the Bastards of Pizzofalcone by Maurizio de Giovanni, Antony Shugaar Read Free Book Online

into the next room, and we were about to go catch up with them; but Dodo turned toward the entrance and waved hello.”
    â€œDid you see who he was waving at?” Romano asked.
    The boy sniffed loudly. “Over there, where you get the tickets. There was a lady.”
    â€œAnd then what happened?” asked Aragona.
    â€œI went to Sister Beatrice.”
    â€œWhat about Dodo?” asked the boy’s mother.
    Christian turned to look at her and shrugged.
    â€œI don’t know. I didn’t see him after that.”
    Romano pressed on: “What did she look like, this lady? Do you remember if she said anything, how she was dressed, or . . .”
    â€œShe was wearing a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over her head, and I saw some blonde hair sticking out from under it. She waved to Dodo to come over to her. I didn’t even see if he did go, because I left the room right away. If Sister Beatrice called roll and we weren’t there, she’d get mad and write it in the logbook.”
    Romano made sure that Aragona had taken note of the boy’s name and, confident that he wasn’t going to get any more information out of him, gave him permission to go back to the other kids.
    Dodo’s mother was beginning to show signs of concern. She kept looking around, as if she expected her son to appear from one minute to the next; every so often she’d confer with her hairy boyfriend. Then she said: “What do you intend to do now? What’s next?”
    Aragona spread both arms helplessly: “Signora, it’s not like we have a script. Do you have any idea who this blonde could be, if in fact she did take your boy?”
    The woman stared into space for a moment, thinking hard, then murmured: “No. It could have been anyone, a friend, a chance acquaintance, the mother of another classmate. I have no idea.”
    Romano broke in: “All right then, give us your information and go home, maybe the boy has already come home with someone. Are you going to let the father know? If you prefer, we could . . .”
    â€œNo, he . . . he doesn’t live here, he’s up north. I’ll take care of it, I’ll call him myself. After all, that’s my responsibility, isn’t it? I imagine it is.”
    â€œSo now what do we do?” Aragona asked Romano after she’d left.
    Romano thought it over: “Why don’t we go over the museum ourselves with a fine-toothed comb; tell the two uniforms outside what we’re doing. And seeing as they have security cameras, let’s put in a call to the station house for authorization to requisition the recordings.”
    Aragona nodded: “And after that?”
    â€œAnd after that, we keep our fingers crossed.”

VIII
    L ojacono and Di Nardo found themselves back in a bullpen whose atmosphere was very different from the one they’d expected. Romano and Aragona were gone; Pisanelli and Palma, standing in front of Ottavia’s desk, were waiting in silence for their colleague to finish talking on the phone.
    Calabrese sat listening ashen-faced, concentrating, every so often muttering an affirmative word or two into the receiver. Even Guida had left his post at the front entrance and climbed upstairs to the second floor where he stood, looking pained, at the door, as if afraid to interrupt.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Lojacono asked.
    Palma gestured for him to wait until Ottavia was done talking. The woman ended the conversation and stared at the commissario: “Nothing. Not a trace on the grounds or in the museum. And none of the staff, not the guard at the door nor the people at the ticket booth and the information desk, remember seeing him go by. Romano says that if the boy had gone out alone, someone would have noticed; there isn’t much of a crowd at that time of day. He and Aragona think the kid must really have left with someone.”
    Palma nodded tensely.
    â€œWhat