Читать книгу Death Brings Gold - Nicola Rocca - Страница 24

CHAPTER 17

That’s all he needed that morning: a flat tyre.

Lucky for him, there was a garage a couple of hundred metres away. He walked almost half a kilometre to get there. To him, walking was a bit like smoking: it helped him to relax and think. He was a born walker. Even his surname confirmed that. Walker, the one who walks.

David congratulated himself because he was still in the mood for making jokes even during times as unlucky as this one was.

When he saw the bald man in the mechanic’s overall, he explained the situation to him. The man didn’t waste time. He retrieved his breakdown van and headed towards the Inspector’s Audi.

While waiting for him to come back, Walker lit a cigarette. It had been a pleasant walk, but it hadn’t helped with the fact that he was pissed off. It was going to cost him a fat one hundred euro note, apart from all the wasted time.

Bloody tyre.

He had just caught sight of his Audi on top of the breakdown van, when he felt his pocket vibrating.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed seeing the extension of a Police Headquarters number. “You can’t have something unexpected happen to you, because they can’t get by without you.”

He swiped the screen with his finger and accepted the call.

“Walker,” he answered.

Bassani’s voice was on the other end of the phone.

David’s face froze in surprise. The phone call was brief. But as painful as a punch in the teeth. He hung up and stood staring at the mechanic without seeing him. His mind was processing images of men laying on the ground, dead, with gold coloured neckties wrapped around their necks as a decoration.

Shortly after, his Audi A3 was ready to go again.

The mechanic had done him a big favour by helping him immediately. Well, truth be told, he did charge him, and quite a lot. But Walker didn’t feel like arguing about it, he had other priorities. Bassani had been succinct, but clear.

“The killer has struck again.”

Then he had given him just enough time to write the new victim’s address down.

Absorbed in the vortex of his own thoughts, Walker almost didn’t notice the traffic light was red. He jammed on the brakes, causing the tyres to squeal.

“Fuck!”

He lit a Marlboro and waited for the traffic light to change; then, he engaged first gear and flattened the accelerator. His A3 took off like a flash, becoming a white dot lost in the traffic of Milan.

The entrance of the building was blocked with the usual red and white tape.

Inspector Walker marched in resolutely, until a man in a uniform signalled him to stop.

“Police,” Walker said, showing his Police ID.

The police officer apologised with a movement of his arms and lifted the tape, inviting him to cross it.

David climbed the stairs, two steps at a time. He had no difficulty identifying the flat, with two policemen guarding the entrance.

Even before he’d pulled out his Police ID for them, the policemen stepped aside, clearing the way for him. He thanked them ,nodding, and pushed the door open.

The sound of the door creaking open caused another uniformed man to turn.

“Chief, welcome!,” he said.

“Good morning, Bassani.”

“Something wrong?”

“Next question, please! I’ve had an awful start to the day” admitted Walker.

“Well, I don’t think you’ll find anything relaxing here, Chief.”

Walker immediately understood what his subordinate meant.

Not far from them, on a filthy floor , was a man lying in an arranged position.

The Inspector moved closer and stood staring at the dead man. It wasn’t the necktie that was troubling him. He’d expected to find that. The dead man had two body parts missing: a hand and a foot.

Of course, the amputations were not the work of the killer. They were covered with two identical socks. Therefore, they were old wounds.

The same couldn’t be said about his own shoulder. Fuck, it hurt!

He bent over the dead man, careful not to contaminate the scene. The mouth was half-closed. The temperature inside the flat had contributed to slow down the process of stiffening the body, the Inspector noticed. The rigor mortis hadn’t yet set in . Not completely, at least.

Walker pulled a pair of latex gloves out from the small box the Forensic agents had left almost beside the dead man. He lifted the end of the necktie to get a glimpse of what interested him. He smiled bitterly, seeing MODADUOMO clearly on the label. A serial killer was having fun behind their backs.

“A tough nut to crack.” A voice said unexpectedly. “Two dead bodies in a couple of days.”

Walker and Bassani turned. Then, David stood up.

The Public Prosecutor had his eyes fixed on the dead body.

“Good morning, Fini”,Walker and Bassani greeted him in unison.

Antonio Fini waved at them. Then the three men moved further away, the Forensic specialists were there to collect evidence.

Before the Public Prosecutor could ask , Bassani gave him an account of the facts.

“We were called by a neighbour. An old lady that used to come here to bring him breakfast every morning”. He gestured in the direction of the dead body. “She told us he was a poor devil. He never had a penny in his pocket and she was doing all she could to help him. However, I was informed by Headquarters that he was no saint. He’d been inside on several occasions for theft and drug dealing. Between us, it’s no great loss.”

He could have omitted his last comment, thought Walker. Especially in front of the Public Prosecutor.

“Well, at least somebody took care of a guy who could still have caused us trouble,” said Bassani, trying to make amends.

Fini said nothing, and moved on to the matter at hand.

“I’ve read the report on the first victim. No abnormalities, if we consider that we live in a crazy world. The only thing I don’t understand is what was Super Glue doing under his tongue.”

“Super Glue?” repeated Bassani.

“Methyl cyanoacrylate,” Fini informed him. “Glue.”

“Oh, yes. Now I remember,” Bassani said, annoyed over the bad impression he was making.

Then Fini continued talking, but Walker had stopped listening to him. His brain was now following other trajectories.

When the Inspector came back to earth, he did it with a tone of voice that froze everyone present.

“Glue!” he shouted. Everything was clear to him now.

Fini and Bassani looked at him dumbfounded. So did the others.

“Don’t move!” Walker ordered to the Forensic agents, who had just closed the bag, after the Public Prosecutor had given them permission with a nod of his head.

Without waiting for anyone to ask for explanations, Walker moved closer, but an agent of the Forensic team tried to stop him, catching the attention of the Public Prosecutor.

“Let him go,” Fini said firmly, “Inspector Walker knows what he’s doing.”

David smiled at him, pleased. Then, regaining his serious look, he made sure that the gloves he had taken earlier were still intact. As a precaution he took them off, pulled a new pair from the box, and put them on.

The body bag opened with the metallic sound of its zip.

Trying to ignore the pressure of everyone’s eyes on him, Walker’s hands disappeared inside the bag.

Anyone who had seen his arms fussing around inside that bag would have thought that he was playing with the dead person’s face.

Then, unexpectedly, Walker’s voice rang out. Tinged with triumph.

“Bingo!”

Bassani took two steps towards him, trying to identify what Walker was holding in his hand. He thought he’d caught sight of something sparkling. He narrowed his eyes to slits and, when he was a few centimetres from the Inspector, he repeated his Chief’s exclamation.

“Bingo?”

Walker opened his hand, showing Bassani what he had recovered from the mouth of the dead man.

“Yes, bingo!” he repeated satisfied. “Forget about the gold necktie. This is the killer’s true signature.”