The Bottom of Your Heart by Maurizio de Giovanni, Antony Shugaar Read Free Book Online Page A

for evidence, maybe a suicide note or signs of a struggle. Could you tell me, broadly speaking, when it might have happened?”
    Modo slipped both thumbs in the belt loops of his trousers. He looked as if he were making up his mind whether or not to go out for a sail in a boat.
    â€œWell, it’s hot out. Very hot. And it was hot last night, too. Hard to establish the exact time, but I’d say no later than midnight.”
    â€œSo not this morning?”
    â€œThe hypostatic marks on the stomach don’t lie. It must have happened late at night.”
    Ricciardi wondered how a man could fall out a window onto a lane in a general hospital, fail to go home to sleep, and have nobody notice, either at his place of work or in his family.
    He turned to Modo once again: “Please, Bruno, try to get the autopsy done quickly.”
    The doctor snorted.
    â€œWell, surprise, surprise, you’re in a hurry. Nothing’s ever leisurely with you and the good old brigadier. Fine, I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
    He turned to go, but Ricciardi called after him.
    â€œBruno, one last thing, and this one is personal. Rosa, my
tata
, you know . . . has been suffering from some health problems for a while now. She forgets things, she tends to drop things.”
    â€œShe drops things? Always with the same hand?”
    â€œI couldn’t say for sure, but that sounds right.”
    â€œDoes she have dizzy spells?”
    Ricciardi tried to remember.
    â€œSometimes she has to sit down. She doesn’t tell me much, she doesn’t want me to worry and she refuses to be seen by a doctor.”
    â€œHow old is she?”
    â€œShe recently turned seventy-two. If sometime when you have a minute, you could come see me, some evening . . . pretend you’re just dropping by for a visit and take a look at her, I’d be grateful. You know that you’re the only one I trust.”
    â€œAnd that’s my cross to bear, unfortunately. All right, I’ll let you know the minute I have an evening free. From what you tell me, I’d say that your Rosa has some circulatory problem. Not to be taken lightly, especially at her age. And trying to keep up with you, she must be leading a miserable life, the poor woman. Especially now that you’ve started up with the high-society set . . .”
    Modo was referring to a chance encounter at a movie house, when Ricciardi and Livia had turned around to see him sitting in the row behind them, with an irritating smirk on his lips.
    Embarrassed, the commissario shrugged.
    â€œWhat high society are you talking about, I had to keep a promise . . . Let’s just say I lost a bet.”
    â€œTell me the name of the gambling den where if you lose a bet they force you to go out with a woman like her, and I’ll go lose my whole salary there. The widow Vezzi gets more and more beautiful, and that night on your arm she was radiant. You were the most envied man in the movie theater, including the actors kissing actresses.”
    Ricciardi cut his friend off.
    â€œAll right, I get it, let’s get back to work. The morgue attendants are on their way, and I’ll have them take the corpse to the hospital; and remember, I’ll expect you to come by sometime to take a look at Rosa.” He turned to Maione: “Come on, Raffaele, let’s go upstairs and take a look around.”
    The brigadier sighed: “At your orders, Commissa’. The doctor certainly has a point: with this belly and in this heat, the ideal thing is to climb four flights of stairs.”

VIII
    I nside the pavilion there was an unnatural silence. As he climbed the broad steps on his way up to the top floor, Ricciardi guessed that the place must normally be much livelier; but that morning the building seemed deserted. The doors lining the hallways were nearly all closed, and you could barely hear the occasional murmur.
    They crossed paths with a