The Fallen Angel Read Online Free PDF Page B

needed his attention.
    The book lay on the table, the cover, that evocative image of Reni’s, uppermost.
    There were questions that needed to be answered and he wondered if, in the stifling dying days of August, anyone would notice.
    At a quarter to nine he phoned the Questura. Falcone was on duty. The inspector sounded cheery if a little tired.
    ‘You can’t keep out of trouble, can you?’ Falcone observed when he had listened to Costa’s questions.
    ‘So you’d have walked away?’
    ‘We’re not on duty permanently, Nic. What exactly do you want?’
    ‘I’d like to know what’s happening. Whose case is this?’
    Falcone grunted something inaudible. There was the sound of fingers clacking on a keyboard.
    ‘Not ours, that’s for sure. The city building inspectors are going to look at the contractor and the works records. If there’s a criminal prosecution it’s theirs, not
ours. We don’t do construction work.’
    ‘The brother?’
    ‘Narcotics are handling that. They knew him already. Strange family. English. The father was an academic, quite well known in some circles. The mother a part-time office worker and
musician. The daughter a saint, it seems. And the son a dope dealer to all those charming foreign kids who hang around the bars on the Campo. Takes all types.’
    ‘He had a gun.’
    ‘Fired it in the air, or so the witnesses said. Did he look popped up?’
    Costa tried to remember.
    ‘I didn’t see him very well. I got the impression he was scared.’
    ‘He should have been. He left behind enough dope to put him in jail for a year or two. The kid wanted out of there with no one chasing him. The drugs squad can do this kind of thing.
It’s beneath us.’
    ‘The autopsy . . .’
    ‘It’s Sunday. There’s not the slightest suggestion this is anything but an accident. Half of Teresa’s team are off work, as is the lady herself. It can wait until
tomorrow.’ There was a note of impatience in his voice. ‘Do you really have a single reason to think this is suspicious?’
    ‘Has anyone even bothered to look inside the apartment?’
    ‘Yes. Narcotics and the construction people.’
    ‘If this is a crime scene they’ll leave it in a pretty state.’
    ‘If, if, if . . . A man steps out onto his balcony for a cigarette and falls five floors from some rickety scaffolding. He was, by the way, drunk too. Uniform found a quarter of a bottle
of Scotch in the girl’s bedroom when we looked.’
    ‘The girl’s bedroom?’
    ‘He had to go through there to reach the balcony. Kindly give me some reason to pursue this further or go back to taking a holiday the way normal people do.’
    ‘If there’s anything wrong here and the city construction people march right through it . . .’
    ‘Then someone will kick my backside,’ Falcone interrupted.
    ‘Let me into the building. I can be there in half an hour.’
    Falcone hesitated then asked dryly, ‘Is Agata Graziano’s company really so tedious? You do surprise me.’
    ‘None of your business, Leo. Do I have your permission?’
    Costa waited. He’d pushed the right buttons. The building department people could be guaranteed to wipe out anything useful if it existed. The fall-out from that kind of mistake could be
painful.
    ‘If you can convince Peroni the two of you can go and waste your time in there,’ Falcone said in the end. ‘I’m sick of him malingering around here, moaning about the
heat.’
    The line went quiet. Peroni came on. His voice sounded croaky and weak.
    ‘You want to do what?’ he asked after Costa explained the idea in detail.
    ‘There’s a little cafe in Portico d’Ottavia. You know it?’
    ‘No. It’s Sunday. Are they open?’
    ‘It’s the ghetto, Gianni. Remember? I’ll buy you a coffee.’
    ‘Sounds promising.’
    A memory came back of that part of the city: the first time he took Emily there, and the childlike smile on her face.
    ‘And some Jewish pizza too.’
    ‘Thanks for that,’ Peroni mumbled,