Vipers Read Online Free PDF Page B

the face powder, the perfume, and the brush, which were on the bed.
    Ricciardi reflected on how grotesque it was to see all this makeup and cosmetics in the grim presence of death. Beauty, cared for, cultivated, and then wiped out with a single act of violence.
    He noticed that on the pillow that had been used to suffocate the girl there were a number of blond hairs, as well as on the brush; he filed away that detail.
    Modo called him: the doctor had completed his initial summary examination. In the meanwhile, the photographer too had arrived; the commissario warned him take particular care with his shots.

VII
    M odo shook his head sadly.
    â€œ
Mamma mia
, what a shame. Believe me, Ricciardi, Viper was a very beautiful woman. So beautiful. I’m so sorry that you had to see her so beat up. She had dark deep eyes, glittering with life, plump lips, and a graceful way of moving that drove men mad.”
    Ricciardi was impressed: he’d never heard his friend so raptly absorbed in a description.
    â€œWhat about you, Bruno, were you . . . I mean, did you see her?”
    A melancholy expression appeared on Modo’s face.
    â€œNo, no. I come here to have fun, to drink and to play cards. The young ladies who warm my skin are more cheerful and unassuming than Viper. Also, from what I heard, she had very few clients. For Madame Yvonne she was like a kind of publicity, a flesh-and-blood advertisement. Certainly, this is a major loss for her.”
    â€œYes, so she told me. I might have some more questions for you about life in this place, that way you can raise yourself from necrophiliac butcher to police informant. But tell me something else: did you notice anything about the girl’s body?”
    Modo, in spite of himself, chuckled briefly.
    â€œThere, now I recognize you: the real Ricciardi, the one who, as soon as the conversation veers onto lighthearted topics, steers it straight back to his world of blood. Well, no, little more than what you’ve certainly already guessed: it must have been over quickly, the murderer or murderess shoved her onto the bed and put a pillow over her face, and that was that. Death by suffocation; nasal septum fractured, bleeding of the upper and lower lips due to pressure against the teeth. She didn’t have a chance to cry out to anyone. She kicked a little: there’s a small ecchymosis on her foot, it must have hit the nightstand.”
    Ricciardi decided that the picture he’d developed matched perfectly.
    â€œWhat about her hands? Did she try to defend herself, did she manage to . . .”
    â€œNo, no scratches on the murderer, there aren’t any traces of skin under the fingernails. Unfortunately, there aren’t any fingerprints: she struggled to get the pillow off her face, that’s the only thing she touched.”
    Modo had immediately caught Ricciardi’s drift: the presence of scratches and cuts on the hands or forearms could certainly have helped to identify the murderer.
    â€œOf course, I reserve the right to come back to you with more information after the autopsy, which I intend to perform with extreme care: anyone capable of murdering such a beautiful woman, a woman who definitely freshened the foul air of this city, deserves the worst punishment possible.”
    Ricciardi shrugged.
    â€œThat’s the kind of attention that we give all murderers. One last thing, Bruno: I’ve heard that in places like this they sometimes, let’s say, play games that can turn a little rough. That some people, in other words, like to use . . . things that could hurt. Sometimes, the games can get out of hand, and lead to uncontrolled violence, even to death.”
    Modo was staring at him, arms folded, and with an ironic glint in his eyes.
    â€œWell, lookie here: the monastic Ricciardi, the high priest of self-mortification himself, the man who never has fun, not even by accident, is all caught up on sadomasochistic