and Deruta,” Rocco said in a serious tone, “I have an important job for the two of you. It will require your utmost attention and sense of responsibility. Are you up to it?”
Deruta had smiled and rocked back on his heels, balancing his 245 pounds of weight on his size 8 shoes. “Certainly, Dottore!”
“Most assuredly, no doubt about it!” D’Intino backed him up.
“Now listen carefully. I’m going to ask you to do a stakeout. At night.” The two officers were all ears. “In the park by the station. We suspect there’s drug dealing going on. We don’t know whether it’s smack or coke.”
Deruta glanced at D’Intino in excitement. At last, an assignment worthy of their skills.
“Find yourselves a place where you won’t be noticed. Requisition a camera, so you can take pictures and record everything you see. I want to know what they’re doing, how much narcotics they’re dealing, who’s doing the dealing, and in particular I want names. Are you up for it?”
“Certainly,” D’Intino replied.
“Well, though, I have to work at my wife’s bakery,” Deruta had objected. “You know that I often help her out, and we work until sunrise. Just last night I—”
Snorting in disgust, Rocco stood up and cut off what the officer was saying. “Michele! It is a wonderful and admirable thing that you help your wife out at the bakery, and that you break your back with a second job. But first and foremost, you’re a sworn officer of the law, for fuck’s sake! Not a baker!”
Deruta nodded.
“You’ll both be reporting to Inspector Rispoli.”
Deruta and D’Intino had swallowed the news unwillingly; it was clearly a bitter mouthful. “But why her? We always have to report to her!” D’Intino had the nerve to say.
“First of all, Rispoli is an inspector and you aren’t. Second, she’s a woman and I’m not going to send her out into the field to do a challenging stakeout like the one to which I’ve assigned the two of you. Third, and this is a fundamental thing, you will do exactly what I tell you to do, D’Intino, or else I will kick your ass from here to Chieti. Is that quite clear?”
D’Intino and Deruta nodded their heads in unison. “When do we start?”
“Tonight. Now get out of here. I need to have a talk with Rispoli.” The inspector had said nothing, standing off to one side. As the two male officers filed out of the room, they’d glared angrily at her.
“Dottore, now you’re putting me in an awkward position with those two.”
“Don’t worry, Rispoli, this way we’ve got them out from underfoot. What I need now is some advice. Sit down.”
Caterina did as she was told.
“I have to get a gift.”
“Birthday?”
“Exactly. I’ll give you the information. It’s a woman, age forty-three, in good shape, sells wedding dresses for a living; she’s from Aosta, she has good taste, and she’s quite well-off.”
The inspector took a moment to think it over. “Personal friend?”
“That’s my fucking business.”
“Understood.”
“Rule out flowers, scarves, plants, jewelry, books, perfume, and CDs.”
“I need to know more about her. Is this Nora Tardioli? The one with the shop in the center of town?”
Rocco nodded, without a word.
“Congratulations, Dottore, nice get.”
“Thanks, but as per aforementioned comment, my own fucking business.”
“How far out on a limb are you interested in going?”
“Not far. Just consider it a tactical move, keeping the status quo. Why?”
“Because, otherwise, you could give her a diamond ring.”
“That’s not going far. That’s handing yourself over to the enemy bound hand and foot.”
Caterina smiled. “Let me think it over. Does she have any hobbies?”
“As far as I know? She likes to go to the movies, but I’d avoid DVDs. She goes swimming twice a week, and works out three times a week. She’s a cross-country skier. And I think she bikes too.”
“Who are we talking about here? Lindsey Vonn?”
“Right now it’s …” Rocco glanced at his watch. “Ten fifteen. Do you think you can come up with an idea by noon?”
“I’ll do my best!”
Just then, Officer Italo Pierron threw open the door and strode into the room. Along with Rispoli, Pierron was the only other officer Rocco considered worthy of being on the force. He was allowed to walk into the deputy police chief’s office without knocking and address him by his first name outside the four walls of police headquarters. He glanced briefly at Caterina and nodded hello.
“Dottore?”
The young officer’s face was pale and alarmed. Rocco asked: “Italo, what’s wrong?”
“Something urgent.”
“Go on.”
“A call came in. Apparently a gang of burglars have barricaded themselves in the apartment of Patrizio and Esther Baudo on Via Brocherel.”
“Barricaded themselves?”
“That’s the term used by Paolo Rastelli, a retired warrant officer who’s also half-deaf. That’s what I managed to piece out, but in the background I could hear a woman screaming: ‘They’re inside! They’re inside! They’ve turned the place upside down!’”
Rocco nodded. “Let’s go …”
“Can I come too?” asked Caterina.
“Better not. I need you here. Stay close to the telephone.”
“Roger.”
As they zipped through city intersections with their siren off, Rocco pulled a cigarette out of Italo’s pack and looked out at the perfectly plowed streets. “The city government does its job up here, eh? In Rome you get a couple of flakes of snow and there are more deaths than from the start of the August vacations.” Then he lit the cigarette. “Why don’t you buy Camels? I think Chesterfields are disgusting.”
Italo nodded silently. “I know that, Rocco, but I like Chesterfields.”
“Make sure you don’t drive into a wall or run over any old ladies.”
Italo turned into Corso Battaglione Aosta, downshifted, passed a truck, and accelerated
