Read Online The Puppeteer by Timothy Williams - Free Book Online
Authors: Timothy Williams
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hospital?”
“I needed to get back home.”
“Of course, Commissario Trotti.”
There followed a long silence.
“I assume, Commissario, that there’s a purpose to this phone call—or perhaps you merely wished to inform me of your state of health.”
“Alive,” Trotti replied. “Thanks largely to the efficiency of your Pronto Soccorso.” He coughed.
“And what can I do for you? What can I do that your colleagues can’t do for you?”
“I should like to know whether my car’s been located yet.”
“This isn’t a lost property office.”
Before Trotti could reply, the line seemed to go dead—not even the sound of a hand over the mouthpiece.
“Seventy-five Opel—registration PV 13379, color mustard yellow?” The Questore’s voice.
“You’ve found it?”
“No—but I’ll let you know as soon as we have.”
“Thank you very much,” Trotti replied, “and I’ll send you the suit of clothes immediately.”
“Most obliged—unless you feel that you still need them. The gardener at the hospital has been complaining and their speedy return would be appreciated, not least by the gardener himself.”
Trotti thought the Questore was going to hang up and removed the hand-piece from his ear.
“Trotti, have you heard from the Nucleo Investigativo?”
“No—I don’t think so.”
“But you know that the money has been identified.”
“What money?”
“The money that was found on your friend Maltese—it’s been identified.”
Trotti felt a coldness in his stomach. “Where does it come from?”
“I think you’d better contact Gardesana. I have the impression that Capitano Mareschini is most anxious to hear from you.”
Without another word, the Questore hung up.
Trotti muttered under his breath; angrily his finger hit the button of the telephone. “Gino, put me through to the Carabinieri in Gardesana.”
“Gardesana?”
“Gardesana del Garda—in the province of Brescia. I’m in a hurry.”
He put the phone down and stared at it testily. Then he got up and, using the desk as support, went to his jacket to see if there were any sweets in the pockets. He was still looking when the red console started blinking.
“Capitano Mareschini?” Trotti leaned his weight against the edge of the table.
“Speaking.”
“Trotti here.”
“Ah!”
“I must apologize for Friday night—I’m afraid I got called back to the city—family matters. And then outside Bergamo—perhaps you’ve heard?—I was attacked by two men.”
“We still await your visit, Commissario. I believe that the Nucleo Investigativo have certain questions—important questions—that they need to ask you.”
“Of course. I’ve only just come in to the Questura—I’ve been in bed. But I’ll phone the NI in Brescia.”
“Do that.” A long silence. “I look forward to seeing you in Gardesana, Commissario.” The voice was cold and the Sicilian accent was more noticeable over the telephone line.
“Capitano Mareschini, I’ve been in touch with Piacenza. I gather that the money on Maltese …”
“Money?”
“I believe it’s been identified.”
“Possibly.” The voice was flat.
“Identified as …?” Trotti let the question hang but there was no reply. Outside in the corridor somebody walked past the office. Trotti recognized Pisanelli’s voice and felt an irrational sense of irritation.
“Would you know in what way it has been identified?”
“No.”
“I see.”
After a while Mareschini added unhelpfully, “You must contact NI in Brescia.”
“I really think we should cooperate, Capitano Mareschini. As officers of the Carabinieri and the PS …”
“Precisely. Are there any other questions, Commissario?”
“No, Capitano.”
“Buongiorno, Commissario.”
Angrily Trotti cut the line, pressed the button and told Gino to put him through to the Nucleo Investigativo in Brescia. “And tell Pisanelli I want him in here fast.”
Trotti waited.
Almost immediately the console
“I needed to get back home.”
“Of course, Commissario Trotti.”
There followed a long silence.
“I assume, Commissario, that there’s a purpose to this phone call—or perhaps you merely wished to inform me of your state of health.”
“Alive,” Trotti replied. “Thanks largely to the efficiency of your Pronto Soccorso.” He coughed.
“And what can I do for you? What can I do that your colleagues can’t do for you?”
“I should like to know whether my car’s been located yet.”
“This isn’t a lost property office.”
Before Trotti could reply, the line seemed to go dead—not even the sound of a hand over the mouthpiece.
“Seventy-five Opel—registration PV 13379, color mustard yellow?” The Questore’s voice.
“You’ve found it?”
“No—but I’ll let you know as soon as we have.”
“Thank you very much,” Trotti replied, “and I’ll send you the suit of clothes immediately.”
“Most obliged—unless you feel that you still need them. The gardener at the hospital has been complaining and their speedy return would be appreciated, not least by the gardener himself.”
Trotti thought the Questore was going to hang up and removed the hand-piece from his ear.
“Trotti, have you heard from the Nucleo Investigativo?”
“No—I don’t think so.”
“But you know that the money has been identified.”
“What money?”
“The money that was found on your friend Maltese—it’s been identified.”
Trotti felt a coldness in his stomach. “Where does it come from?”
“I think you’d better contact Gardesana. I have the impression that Capitano Mareschini is most anxious to hear from you.”
Without another word, the Questore hung up.
Trotti muttered under his breath; angrily his finger hit the button of the telephone. “Gino, put me through to the Carabinieri in Gardesana.”
“Gardesana?”
“Gardesana del Garda—in the province of Brescia. I’m in a hurry.”
He put the phone down and stared at it testily. Then he got up and, using the desk as support, went to his jacket to see if there were any sweets in the pockets. He was still looking when the red console started blinking.
“Capitano Mareschini?” Trotti leaned his weight against the edge of the table.
“Speaking.”
“Trotti here.”
“Ah!”
“I must apologize for Friday night—I’m afraid I got called back to the city—family matters. And then outside Bergamo—perhaps you’ve heard?—I was attacked by two men.”
“We still await your visit, Commissario. I believe that the Nucleo Investigativo have certain questions—important questions—that they need to ask you.”
“Of course. I’ve only just come in to the Questura—I’ve been in bed. But I’ll phone the NI in Brescia.”
“Do that.” A long silence. “I look forward to seeing you in Gardesana, Commissario.” The voice was cold and the Sicilian accent was more noticeable over the telephone line.
“Capitano Mareschini, I’ve been in touch with Piacenza. I gather that the money on Maltese …”
“Money?”
“I believe it’s been identified.”
“Possibly.” The voice was flat.
“Identified as …?” Trotti let the question hang but there was no reply. Outside in the corridor somebody walked past the office. Trotti recognized Pisanelli’s voice and felt an irrational sense of irritation.
“Would you know in what way it has been identified?”
“No.”
“I see.”
After a while Mareschini added unhelpfully, “You must contact NI in Brescia.”
“I really think we should cooperate, Capitano Mareschini. As officers of the Carabinieri and the PS …”
“Precisely. Are there any other questions, Commissario?”
“No, Capitano.”
“Buongiorno, Commissario.”
Angrily Trotti cut the line, pressed the button and told Gino to put him through to the Nucleo Investigativo in Brescia. “And tell Pisanelli I want him in here fast.”
Trotti waited.
Almost immediately the console
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