The Bottom of Your Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

Anyway, it was a good thing, because something happened at the general hospital, a phone call came in just a few minutes ago. I sent Camarda and Cesarano on ahead; and I stayed here to wait for you, because I knew you’d get here early. What do you say, shall we get going?”

VI
    T he general hospital of the royal university of Naples was at the center of a dense welter of narrow
vicoli
. It had been built on the grounds of an ancient monastery, on the same grid, and it occupied a fairly vast area.
    It loomed up unexpectedly, with its high gates, right after a tight curve that, like all the others, seemed to lead into an innocuous little piazzetta which was no doubt going to lead to another narrow lane which would run until it hit another piazzetta and so on, ad infinitum. Ricciardi thought to himself that that’s just the way the city had been planned, senselessly, one
vicolo
after another and one piazza after another, as construction spread from the sea toward the hills; then he would find himself face-to-face with one of those aristocratic palazzos, with flower beds arrayed behind an imposing front gate. As he did, it dawned on him that everything had a purpose after all.
    Outside the gate stood a small, silent knot of people held back by two custodians. Maione’s stature and uniform ensured that the assembly parted widely enough to allow them to pass. The older custodian, a heavyset man with a large mustache and a work shirt a couple of sizes too small, greeted them and without another word turned and started off, waving for them to follow.
    They walked down a tree-lined lane that was relatively cool. The flower beds were well tended and the grass had recently been mown. Ricciardi and Maione looked around: the structure consisted of a number of buildings all the same height, four stories plus a mezzanine, in good shape. There were people looking out the windows, some men in white lab coats, several female nurses with white caps. There was a distinctly expectant air, the kind that could only be shattered by the arrival of the police. It was as if their irruption were the signal for the beginning of a theatrical production of sorts, to the enormous relief of the spectators.
    Near one of the pavilions, several people were gathered in a circle. Not far away, a single automobile with a black-and-cream paint job stood parked sideways. Maione recognized the officers he’d sent ahead, and summoned one of them over.
    â€œWell, Cesara’, here we are. So, what have we got?”
    The man walked toward him and snapped a sharp salute: “Someone seems to have fallen. From up there, apparently.”
    He waved vaguely in the direction of the building. Maione snorted in disgust and said, parroting his subordinate: “Someone seems to have fallen. From up there, apparently. Always sharp as a steel trap, aren’t you? Get out of here, go on. Let me find out who I need to talk to if I want any information around here.”
    They drew closer and saw what lay at the center of the small knot of people. The corpse, facedown, of a man no longer young, to judge from what was possible to see at a glance. He didn’t have a jacket on, his shirt was torn at the bottom, and one of his suspenders was unclipped. One of his shoes had come off, and a slightly hiked-up pant leg revealed a beige sock held up by a black garter. Ricciardi nodded his head toward Maione, and the brigadier told Camarda, the other officer, to phone headquarters immediately and tell them to send over the photographer, and to have Dr. Modo come over, if he was on duty, from Pellegrini Hospital.
    The people closest to the corpse were two female nurses, one of them in tears, a laborer with a rake in one hand and boots on his feet, a custodian wearing the same kind of work shirt as the man who had walked them over, and a man in a white lab coat. Maione asked them to step back, and moved away with them a short distance: he knew that in the first