The Innocent Read Online Free PDF Page A

combs, one broken, three lipsticks, one of them used up, a large bunch of keys, a half-eaten bar of chocolate, an unopened bar of the same chocolate …
    On and on went the list, telling of a life in which there was plenty of money, little sense and no order.
    Four packets of paper handkerchiefs, two of them opened, five used and crumpled paper handkerchiefs, three plastic ballpoint pens, none working, one gold fountain pen with empty cartridge, two brightly coloured felt tips, the pink one dried out and without its cap … When the list was typed, the marshal pulled it off the typewriter and stretched, yawning. He was hungry. Lorenzini opened the door. ‘Have you a minute?’
    ‘Mm … come in.’
    ‘How’s it going?’
    ‘I don’t know. There’s a document in this bag with an address—just down the road—have you seen her about?’
    Lorenzini looked at the identity card and shook his head. ‘Mind you, these photos …’
    ‘I know. I’ll go round there now—you couldn’t do the duty sheet for tomorrow, could you?’
    ‘I already have. I didn’t think you’d have time.’
    Thank heaven for Lorenzini. He accepted the sheet and signed it. ‘Anything else?’
    ‘Well, I wanted a word about Nardi.’
    ‘Oh, no …’
    ‘It’s not that I’m not happy to deal with it but they’re used to you.’
    ‘Well, I’ve just about had enough of them. What’s happened now?’
    Nardi was a constant problem in his Quarter. What any woman saw in him was a mystery, but two of them, his wife and his lover, had been fighting over him for years without any business resulting. Now, all of a sudden, the thing seemed to have flared up.
    ‘You remember Monica came round to report the wife, saying she was threatening her?’
    ‘Yes … ?’
    ‘Well.’
    ‘Well what?’
    ‘She was right, that’s what. Nardi’s wife—what’s her name—’
    ‘Costanza.’
    ‘Costanza, right. She marched up to Monica as she was coming out of the butcher’s this morning and pasted her.’
    ‘She what?’
    ‘She’s got a black eye and a cut lip and some scratches. She went to the hospital. It’s official, and since she’d already reported the threat here, we’ll have to take action.’
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’
    ‘I know. Unless we can calm them both down.’
    ‘But didn’t Monica defend herself? She’s a bigger woman. They say that’s why Nardi … I mean …’
    ‘Yes, well, she got in a few good scratches. Long nails.’
    ‘Long red nails, yes. Oh dear … If you do think you can cope, I really ought to deal with this Boboli case. The thing would be to try and find out why this dust-up happened. They’ve been going along comfortably for years.’
    ‘I’ll do my best. It beats me, though. I mean, it doesn’t happen these days, does it?’
    ‘What do you mean, it doesn’t happen? It is happening.’
    ‘Yes but …’
    But Nardi, a retired railway employee who still performed Sinatra numbers at the railway workers’ social club, was over seventy. His thin, cross wife, Costanza, and his big-breasted ‘bit of fluff ’, Monica, were both in their late sixties. Passions ran higher in their generation, apparently.
    ‘Do your best to stop her going through with it. You know it’ll be a waste of time. She’ll change her mind long before it comes to court.’
    ‘I suppose so …’
    ‘You don’t seem convinced. It’s not the first time, though it has been a few years.’
    ‘Yes. It’s just that she says she’s trying to get on that TV programme—you know—the one where they have a judge and they settle family quarrels and condominium disputes and stuff like that.’
    ‘Good. Let them sort it out and give us a rest.’ The marshal was feeling around in one of his desk drawers where he kept a lighter, a stick of wax and his seal. ‘I’d better get this stuff ready to go first thing in the morning. How’s Esposito?’
    ‘Just the same. The men say he barely speaks and that he spends all his spare time shut