The Fatal Touch Read Online Free PDF Page A

shrugged, pushed the other half of the pastry into the other side of his mouth, and moved off.
    Caterina had made two rounds, glancing back into the middle of the piazza where Blume and Panebianco were moving up and down in a narrow grid pattern around the area where Rospo said the body had been found. The coroner’s unit was zipping up the black body bag, the last technician was taking down a video camera, when she walked into a short man in a gray suit who had gone out of his way to block her path.
    “I have diplomatic immunity,” said the man in the suit.
    He moved sideways to stay in front of her. His accent was funny and he smelled slightly of balsam and moss. He was holding out a plastic-covered card. A miniature elongated silver cross enclosed in a circle was pinned just below the buttonhole of his lapel. “The Embassy of the Kingdom of Spain to the Holy See,” he explained. “I need to go to my office now.”
    Caterina glanced at her watch. It showed 7:12. The coroners had their shiny zinc stretcher propped up beside the black bag, all ready to go.
    “I think we have just about finished, Ambasciatore,” she said. “Maybe if you waited five more minutes?”
    “I have already waited long enough. I have been very patient. And I am not ambassador rank. Yet.” So saying, he stepped past her and traversed three meters of crime scene territory. Keeping her hands at her sides, Caterina moved forward to intercept the Spaniard. Finding her in front of him again, he continued to move forward, pushing her breasts with his chest, touching her inner thigh twice with his knee.
    Caterina looked behind her and saw other residents from the building, waiting to get out, watching the drama playing out in front of them. Then one or two broke cover, looking left, right, left, as if about to cross a busy street, and walking quickly, leaning into the graffiti-stained walls as if this would stop them from being noticed. Caterina spun around looking for help. Blume was standing in the sun, Panebianco in the shade. She spotted Sovrintendente Grattapaglia, who must have just arrived.
    “Wait, please. I’ll see what I can do,” she told the diplomat. “I’ll get the most senior policeman here to talk to you. But in the meantime, will you please return to your place by the front door? I’m sure the Commissioner will escort you personally out of the area.”
    The Church diplomat snorted, but turned back. The other fugitives had been halted by the policeman at the far end of Via della Pelliccia, and were receiving unsympathetic treatment. Good.
    She had no intention of doing anything for the diplomat. All she had to do was make sure he stayed where he was for five minutes, maybe ten. She moved over to Grattapaglia quickly.
    “Get over there. Don’t let that guy through. He’s a troublemaker. Ten minutes. Tell him I’ve gone to get someone important for him.”
    Grattapaglia opened his mouth to say something.
    “No,” said Caterina. “Don’t make me repeat myself. The Commissioner put me in charge of this situation, and now I am giving you an order. Mess this up, and you’ll be answering to him, not me.”
    Grattapaglia seemed to be about to say something, then dismissed his thought, or her, as unworthy. He hacked up mucus and swallowed it, then ambled over in the direction of the protesting diplomat.
    Voices from the increasingly large group of people gathered at the middle door of the pink building called out their impatience, “ Aho, guardie? How much longer do we have to wait?”
    “Ehi, annamo.”
    “Anvedi ‘sta ficona che ce fa aspettà.’ ”
    “Macché ficona.”
    She went over to them. “Can you people wait five minutes? I promise that’s all it will take. Anyone who needs an official note for being late to work can contact me, this is my card.” She handed out her business card and three or four hands took one. She added, “Also, if anyone heard or saw anything at around two last night, please call that