The Marshal's Own Case Read Online Free PDF

astride the little chair himself. ‘I call my mother in Salerno every week, otherwise she’d be up here banging on the door.’
    ‘In that case you know what I mean. Do you know the other tenants in this house?’
    ‘By sight, but apart from me they’re all families except for an old pensioner on the top floor. He never goes out because he can’t get down the stairs. The woman in the flat next to his does his shopping but I sometimes fetch him a packet of fags when he’s run out. He lets a basket down as far as my window and we have a natter. He enjoys the music, says it cheers him up. Nice, that. Some people grumble because I play most of the day.’
    ‘You’re a professional musician?’
    ‘You could call it that!’ His round smiling face had such a cheerful pink shine on it that it was easy to believe he cheered up the housebound top-floor tenant. ‘I play in clubs when I can, and when I can’t I go out and play in the streets. Florence is a good outdoor theatre, made for it. I’ll stay if I can find somewhere to live . . . Listen, Mirella—that’s the real tenant of this flat—has only had it for about six months. She might have got it from this what’s-his-name. If you want, I’ll ask her when she gets back. It’ll be a month, though.’
    ‘You can’t get in touch with her before then?’
    ‘Not really. She’s a jazz singer—that’s how we met— and she’s touring round with some group. There’s no phone here so she can’t ring me. I’m sorry not to be much help.’
    ‘That’s all right. I’ll leave you to your practising. Just in case she does turn up here’s a card with my number— you don’t know where she comes from, this Mirella?’
    ‘Sicily, I think.’
    ‘Then you may be right. Luciano’s from Syracuse; so they might know each other.’ The Marshal went to the door.
    ‘Any time you’re passing.’
    He hadn’t closed the door behind him before the music had started up again but when he was going down the stairs it stopped and the young man called after him.
    ‘Hey! you don’t happen to know of an empty flat by any chance?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘OK. Just thought I’d ask. You never know!’
    And the cheery notes of the saxophone followed the Marshal down the narrow street. Well, he’d done what he could.
    Back in his office there was a message from his commanding officer and he was looking at it thoughtfully when Lorenzini knocked and looked in.
    ‘Your wife . . .’
    ‘Salva!’ Teresa pushed in, dressed for the street. ‘Surely you haven’t forgotten? We’ve to go to the school! We’ll look well being late when it’s only across the road. Go and get changed, for heaven’s sake!’
    It was, as Teresa had said, only across the road. The Nic-colò Macchiavelli Middle School was housed in one of the palaces facing the Pitti. But when they climbed the broad stone staircase they found long queues outside every classroom and a crowd of parents around a list on the wall telling them where to find the teachers they had to see. It was Teresa who pushed her way through and copied down the room numbers on a bit of paper. She seemed to know all the other parents and had something to say to them all. The Marshal stood on one leg and then the other and waited.
    ‘Right,’ she said, pushing her way out and consulting her list, ‘the main thing is to see Totò’s class teacher. You go and queue outside Room No. 5 while I try and see some of the others, but don’t go in without me. Giovanni’s having trouble with maths as usual, so I think I should queue there first . . .’
    The Marshal waited outside room No. 5. He recognized some of his neighbours but only a few of them noticed him or recognized him without his uniform. After twenty minutes had gone by and he had edged forward less than a yard, he began to wish he hadn’t put an overcoat on. It was only a light one but he was too hot, even so, and embarrassed to take it off. He hardly ever came to the school, and when he