The Fatal Touch Read Online Free PDF Page B

bet and managed to keep order in the piazza for twenty-five minutes. He was being kind. She had fallen short by ten minutes.
    Grattapaglia had ordered peach juice pulp for himself. He now poured the contents of his glass into the cavity behind his bottom teeth, and held the liquid under his tongue as he stared across the table at Caterina.
    “Listen, Salvatore,” said Blume. “There is no way we can keep your name out of this, or pretend you were never even there, which might have been one solution. You deserve whatever you get. The thing is, I don’t. You know this is going to be my discipline problem once that diplomat makes his complaint.”
    Sovrintendente Grattapaglia swallowed the thick juice and puckered his face as if it had been lemon. “Yes, I see that.”
    “We’ll see what we can do to stop this snowballing,” said Blume. “Won’t we, Inspector Mattiola? We’re going to close ranks on this.” He looked at Caterina, who nodded unenthusiastically. She was thinking of Elia. She had called him on the way over the bridge, surreptitiously sliding out her cell phone as Blume and Grattapaglia walked a few paces ahead. Elia reminded her she had promised to watch him play in a five-a-side against San Gaspare del Bufalo that morning, the only team they had a chance of beating in the under-10 tournament.
    “Will you be back on time to take me there?” he asked.
    “No, darling, I won’t. I’ll be there this afternoon, though. For your swimming.”
    “Shall I ask Grandma to drive me, then?”
    “Yes, ask her. Score lots of goals.”
    “I’m a defender. I don’t score goals.”
    “Oh, well, defenders attack sometimes, don’t they?”
    “If they’re really good. I’m not.”
    “Sure you are. I’ll phone Grandma during the game to see how you’re doing.”
    Now Grattapaglia was telling Blume, “I was a bit on edge, you know the way it is. That guy, I don’t know, he got under my skin. The way he looked at me. He had this annoying lisp.”
    “He is Spanish, Salvatore. They all lisp.” Blume paused, and closed his eyes like he was suffering from a mild pain. “OK, this is what we’re going to do: anyone comes looking specifically for you, we’re handing you over. Take the discipline, the suspension, or whatever it is. Anyone comes looking for an unidentified aggressive cop, then maybe we play dumb for as long as we can, but only if you give us a good reason. The other day, I told Caterina here to take on some of your paperwork. She did so, right?”
    “Some of it, yes,” said Grattapaglia. “Not all that much.”
    “I’m glad she didn’t. Because now it’s your turn. Caterina here is going to be busy with this case. She won’t have time for unrelated paperwork. You’ll do it for her. After-hours, without overtime. I also want you to write up a second report for the incident with the Spaniard. Don’t file it. Don’t talk about it. Give it directly to me. Clear? And stop throwing dagger looks at her.”
    Grattapaglia moved his gaze from Caterina and stared with hatred at the sparrows hopping and bobbing among crumbs at the next table.
    “Now I need you to organize a decent house-to-house.”
    Grattapaglia stood up, not looking at either of them.
    “One last thing,” said Blume. “Get the bill. And get me another cappuccino while you’re about it. Inspector?”
    “Nothing for me, thanks,” said Caterina.
    “He’s paying, remember.” Blume gave her a quick wink and an almost imperceptible jerk of the head in Grattapaglia’s direction, encouraging her.
    “No, I don’t want anything,” she said.
    “Get me a Danish, too, Salvatore. Get a few take-away pastries and coffees for Picasso-face, Di Ricci, and the others. They’ll appreciate it. Tell them they’re from me.”
    “Who’s Picasso-face?” asked Caterina.
    “Rospo, of course.”
    When Grattapaglia had gone, Blume leaned back and turned his face up to the sun. “I need a job that allows me to drink coffee, eat