The Marshal Makes His Report Read Online Free PDF Page A

didn’t falter for a second. She didn’t even find it necessary to look away from him and he knew as surely as if she’d confessed it that she’d been ready for him, or for whoever else might have brought her this news. The Marshal himself, however, was far from ready for her next move. There was no pretence of grief or anything approaching it. The hard icy glance held his for long enough to establish her hold on the situation and his own irrelevance. Then she turned her head very slightly and raised her voice.
    ‘Gianpiero.’
    One of the silk-suited men at the back of the room detached himself from the other two and approached.
    ‘What’s going on here?’ He took in the Marshal’s uniform and then turned to the Marchesa and took her arm. ‘Has there been an accident of some sort? You look distressed.’
    ‘It’s Buongianni. An accident, yes. This is Marshal . . .’
    ‘Guarnaccia.’
    ‘I do beg your pardon. Dear Gianpiero, thank goodness you’re here, I suppose we must go down and look. Do you think . . . ?’ She glanced down the room to the remaining two grey-haired men.
    ‘They should certainly be with us.’ He addressed the Marshal then in brusque authoritative tones. ‘What sort of accident, and where?’
    The Marshal was nettled. For the moment, at least, he was supposed to be in charge of the situation but he might have been one of the servants.
    ‘It may or may not have been an accident. That’s something we must look into. He’s in the gun room on the ground floor.’
    ‘Dead? Speak up, man, dead or injured? We could be losing precious time.’
    ‘Dead.’ Who the devil did this chap think he was?
    ‘Right. You’ve told them?’ This was addressed to the Marchesa who was coming back followed by the two men. ‘Then we’ll go down.’
    They went down in the lift but not before the Marchesa remembered to complete the introductions. ‘Dear Gianpiero’ turned out to be the chief public prosecutor of Florence. The other two were ‘family lawyers’ who remained nameless. The descent was made in silence. The Marshal, still clutching the brim of his hat, could hear his own heartbeat and his ill-judged words re-echoing in his head. ‘It may or may not have been an accident. That’s something we must look into.’ How could he have been such a damn fool? His only hope was in his not being important enough to matter. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut until he could escape from this house never to return. They’d find some tactful, respectful, high-ranking officer . . . They could hardly get him transferred just for that one remark . . . He wasn’t important, that was the main thing he could count on . . .
    And yet, all the way down in the lift, all the time they were in the room with the body, around which two or three flies were now buzzing, beneath the tension and distress caused by the fear of his own position there was another thought which persisted. ‘Dear Gianpiero’ was a close friend, that was obvious, but even so, as the lady said, how very fortunate that he happened to be here.
    ‘HSA job, is it?’ asked Lorenzini, munching. The usual Homicide, Suicide or Accident report in case of sudden death didn’t seem to him much of a reason to call in for assistance but he was glad enough to find himself eating an excellent pizza.
    ‘This is great.’
    ‘Mm.’ It wasn’t clear whether the Marshal was agreeing about the ‘HSA job’ or the pizza. He didn’t seem to have his usual good appetite, though. Every so often he would cease chewing and stare into space as though his mind were on other things. He had sent for his young brigadier from the station at Pitti partly because he would need his help but more because he found his presence reassuring. At this early hour in the evening very few people in Gino’s, the pizzeria opposite the Palazzo Ulderighi, were eating. Most of them seemed to be friends and relations of the owners and were smoking and drinking coffee around the