Read Online Auntie Poldi and the Sicilian Lions by Mario Giordano - Free Book Online Page B

young policeman was tottering back across the beach. Poldi saw he was weeping. She felt sorry for him.
    â€œYes, German, but resident in Torre Archirafi.”
    The young officer stared at her while the older man peered into her car. “When did you find the deceased?”
    â€œHalf an hour ago.”
    â€œWhat were you doing here all on your own?”
    â€œI came for a swim.”
    â€œWhat, at this hour?”
    â€œI’m German. We do these kinds of things.”
    The two carabinieri seemed to think this made sense. They checked Poldi’s ID and carefully noted down her name, letter by letter, and likewise the licence number of her car. She was just about to ask them whether it wasn’t high time they sent for forensics and informed homicide when a Polizia di Stato Fiat came roaring up and the whole performance was repeated from scratch.
    Two officers got out, one younger than the other. The former shuffled down to the shore and inspected the corpse, reacted accordingly and returned in tears. In the meantime, the older man sparred with his carabiniere colleague.
    â€œFranco. What the devil are you two comedians doing here?”
    â€œI might ask you the same question, Pippo.”
    â€œWe received a call.”
    â€œSo did we.”
    â€œDid you call us, signora?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou see? You two losers can push off. This case is ours.”
    â€œWhat number did you call, signora, one-one-two or one-one-three?”
    â€œBoth.”
    â€œBOTH???”
    Dismayed silence.
    â€œHoly shit.”
    â€œSo what now?”
    The four policemen stared uneasily at Valentino’s mutilated body.
    â€œNo problem,” said the older state policeman. “You were here first. We’ll beat it.”
    â€œHey, not so fast, Pippo. You can have the case.”
    â€œOh, sure, that would suit you fine, wouldn’t it? Okay, Marco, let’s go.”
    Beckoning to his young colleague, the older state policeman turned to go.
    â€œShe knows the murder victim,” cried the older carabiniere, pointing to my aunt.
    The state policeman spun round and stared intently at Poldi as if to show the carabinieri how to launch a preliminary attack. “Did you shoot him, signora?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHow did you know who he was?”
    â€œBy the tattoo on his arm.”
    â€œAha. And where did you know him from?”
    â€œValentino – his name is Valentino Candela. He helped me in the house occasionally. He’d been missing for four days.”
    â€œI see. And what were you doing down on the beach so early?”
    â€œGoing for a swim.”
    â€œA swim?”
    â€œShe’s German.”
    â€œI see.”
    A pensive silence.
    â€œA fine mess, eh, Pippo?”
    â€œYou could call it that.”
    â€œAre you thinking what I’m thinking?”
    â€œYes. Haven’t seen anything like this since 1988.”
    â€œDid you touch anything, signora?”
    â€œI held his hand.”
    â€œYou did what ?”
    â€œHeld his hand.”
    â€œWhy the devil did you do that?”
    â€œBecause… because I felt sorry for him.”
    Even Pippo and Franco seemed to find this logical. The two younger policemen didn’t utter a sound. Still in shock, they stood there smoking while their elders conferred.
    â€œWe must call forensics and homicide.”
    â€œYours or ours?”
    â€œBoth.”
    Irresolutely, they stared out to sea past Valentino’s corpse.
    â€œWhat a mess.”
    â€œJust like 1988.”
    â€œWhat was his name?”
    â€œValentino Candela.”
    â€œNo, I meant in 1988.”
    â€œTotò Scafidi.”
    â€œTotò the butcher, that’s right. Horrible business. With a lupara, too. Blood everywhere.”
    Poldi surmised that she wasn’t needed for the moment. Somewhat tremulous and suffering from a slight headache, she went back to her car. She badly needed a drink.
    â€œYou