By My Hand Read Online Free PDF

commissario had always recognized that hunger and love, and their various, countless derivations, were the root causes of every murder. Hunger gave rise to ambition, envy, and vendetta; love was the mother of jealousy, hatred, and rage. The two great enemies, allies until the first drop of blood was spilled. This time Ricciardi would have to wait for the evidence he needed to identify which of the two corrupt passions had played the leading role in the performance he was observing.
    Maione called him, taking him out of his thoughts.
    â€œCommissa’, come take a look.”
    The brigadier’s voice reached Ricciardi from elsewhere in the apartment, a little sitting room next to the bedroom. The room was decorated for Christmas with garlands and cockades. In the center, on a wooden table, stood a large manger scene. It was really extraordinary, complete with all the traditional touches; Ricciardi was no expert, but he could appreciate a finely detailed landscape, with animals and human figures and architectural elements all arranged so as to give the impression that the scene covered more ground and was more expansive than it actually was. He spoke to Maione.
    â€œVery nice. But what’s special about it, in particular?”
    â€œAccording to tradition, the
zampognari
play the novena right in front of the manger scene,” the brigadier replied, “nine times, that is, in front of the Christ Child. Which means that the Lupos, father and son, would have been ushered into this very room. Now, we have no way of knowing with certainty, but it looks to me like nothing is missing. These Garofalos were well-to-do, the apartment is upscale, the furniture and decorations are new and handsome, there are even a number of pieces of silver serving ware still in their places. And aside from the mayhem visited upon the bodies, there’s nothing broken, no sign of forced entry.”
    Ricciardi waited for the punch line.
    â€œSo? Why did you tell me to come over here?”
    Maione smiled cunningly.
    â€œThe reason why is right here, Commissa’. Just crouch down and look under the tablecloth on the table with the manger scene.”
    Ricciardi noticed that under the landscape constructed on the wooden table there was a heavy red linen tablecloth decorated with embroidered stars, the edges of which reached almost all the way to the floor. He kneeled down next to Maione, who lifted a section of tablecloth, and spotted some broken shards. He picked up a few of them and held them up to the light.
    Among the other shards, he made out half a bearded face and the curved handle of a staff, with a small hand attached to it. He turned to look at the manger scene again, and before he could even articulate the question, Maione answered:
    â€œThat’s right, Commissa’. Everyone’s in the manger scene except for Saint Joseph.”

V
    T hey remained on their knees before the manger scene, Ricciardi holding a handful of pieces of the statuette of Saint Joseph, looking at each other, perplexed. Finally, the commissario said to the brigadier:
    â€œSo what’s its significance? Maybe one of the Garofalos dropped it, and it just broke by accident.”
    Maione scratched his head, lifting his cap an inch or two.
    â€œWell, Commissa’, I don’t know. If I drop something at home, I pick up the pieces and toss them in the garbage if there’s no way to fix them. I don’t throw them under a carpet or a tablecloth, the way someone did here. It looks to me like something that was done intentionally.”
    â€œSo what’s the meaning of it? I could understand if they’d taken it, or broken it out of spite; but then they’d have left it on the floor, in plain view. Instead, someone tried to conceal it. What does it mean?”
    The brigadier spread his arms wide in frustration.
    â€œLike I said, I don’t know. It might not mean anything. Maybe I’m running past the manger scene