Death and the Olive Grove by Marco Vichi Read Free Book Online Page A

He reached up to grab it, but his arm wasn’t long enough.
    â€˜Beast, you’re tall …’
    â€˜I’ll be right there.’ The Beast dropped the naked women, grabbed the suitcase without much difficulty and set it down on the table with a thud. It seemed quite heavy. The inspector tried to open it, but it seemed locked.
    â€˜Shall I open it for you, Inspector?’
    â€˜Please.’
    The Beast pulled out a penknife and in a few seconds had snapped the locks open. Opening the suitcase, Bordelli found a grim sight before him. Casimiro’s dead body was wrapped up tightly in a sheet of transparent plastic, and his contorted face looked as if it was immersed in water. His wide-open eyes were upsetting. They looked alive.
    â€˜Fuck!’ said the Beast.
    â€˜I don’t think you’ll be getting your five hundred lire back.’
    â€˜Fuck …’ the Beast repeated.
    The inspector leaned forward to have a better look at the dwarf. The body had been very carefully enclosed, and one smelled almost nothing. There was some dried blood smeared on the victim’s head, matting the hair. The upper teeth stuck out unnaturally, as if the jawbone had been dislocated, and his forehead, blackened at the temples, looked as if it had been squeezed in a vice.
    â€˜Don’t touch anything,’ said Bordelli.
    â€˜I know, Inspector.’
    â€˜Do you remember exactly when you last saw Casimiro?’ asked Bordelli, lighting a cigarette.
    â€˜Let me think …’ The Beast concentrated for a moment, scratching his scar with his fingernails. ‘I think it was three or four days ago … I ran into him in the hallway. He was going out as I was coming in.’
    â€˜What time of day was it?’
    â€˜It must have been about two o’clock in the morning.’
    â€˜Did he tell you where he was going?’
    â€˜He didn’t say anything to me, and I didn’t ask him anything. We just said hello,’ the Beast said, shrugging, and he went back for another look at the calendar.
    Bordelli looked around again, to see whether there was anything that might be of help. He started searching every corner very carefully, but found nothing.
    â€˜Where’s the nearest telephone, Beast?’
    â€˜In the bar down the street, Inspector.’
    The north wind bore holes in one’s ears. As Bordelli was about to insert the key into the front door of his building, he was accosted by a lady of about seventy, very thin, almost transparent, with hair tinted a silvery violet and eyeglasses attached to a delicate chain. She was wearing a small black cap with a veil and hatpins.
    â€˜You’re a police officer, aren’t you?’ she said, her voice whistling.
    â€˜More or less,’ said Bordelli.
    â€˜ Carabiniere ?’
    â€˜What can I do for you, signora?’
    The old woman cast a furtive glance around her, then looked at him and whispered something.
    â€˜Signora, if you talk like that I can’t hear a thing,’ said the inspector.
    The woman came closer and partially raised her veil, uncovering only her chin.
    â€˜I am Signora Capecchi, and I have a very urgent matter to discuss with you. You should come up to my place for a moment,’ she whispered a bit more audibly.
    â€˜All right,’ said Bordelli, detecting an unpleasant scent of chestnut flour and stale sweets.
    â€˜Please follow me,’ said Signora Capecchi, and she started walking briskly towards the Arno. Bordelli followed behind, thinking he would have done better to skip the whole matter.
    â€˜Don’t walk so close to me, Marshal 4 ,’ said the old woman, crossing over to the opposite pavement. The inspector let her go on a few steps ahead of him, still following her, and feeling more and more like a fool. When the woman got to Borgo San Frediano, she turned right, crossed the street, then immediately turned left, passing under the Volta di Cestello. Moments