Darkness for the Bastards of Pizzofalcone by Maurizio de Giovanni, Antony Shugaar Page A

video? A video of my son? And you can see the person who took him? Then it’s possible to tell . . .”
    Palma gestured for him to sit back down: “No, unfortunately it’s not possible to see the person clearly, and he or she is wearing a hood over his or her head, plus the video quality isn’t very good; in any case, we’ll show it to you soon. In the meantime, tell me, when were you informed?”
    Cerchia ran his hand through his hair; he seemed disoriented, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing there.
    â€œIt must have been one in the morning. I was traveling for business, and I was in a hotel. It was . . . was Dodo’s mother. The minute I saw her number on the screen, it scared me. If she was calling me at that hour . . . actually, if she was calling me at all, it meant that something serious must have happened. Something very serious. You see, this woman and I no longer have any relationship at all. The law, which in this country is unfortunately blind, gave her custody of my little boy, though he would actually have chosen to stay with me, which is what I would have wanted with all my heart because he . . . he . . .”
    He made a visible effort to keep from being overwhelmed by his emotions. Lojacono, ill at ease, turned to take in the view from the window; witnessing such pain was too much, even for a hardened cop like him. He well remembered how upset he had been about being far away from Marinella, and that had been no kidnapping. Quickly, in his mind, he thanked his lucky stars that his daughter was with him now.
    Cerchia continued: “He’s my entire life. Nothing, no amount of money, no creature comfort, no luxury, no woman could ever be worth so much as a second of the time we spend together. And she doesn’t even give a damn about him; she’s too consumed by that ridiculous lover of hers, by her girlfriends, by her club, and by everything else in her worthless life. And now no one knows where the boy is. I understand why she wouldn’t have had the nerve to tell me immediately.”
    Palma broke in: “To be perfectly honest, we were the ones who suggested that she might not want to sound what might turn out to be a false alarm. I want to stress that the child seems to have left the museum of his own free will. It could have been a perfectly ordinary chance encounter, I don’t know, some woman who was a family friend, or . . .”
    Cerchia leaned forward: “Some woman? Then it was a woman?”
    Palma shrugged: “The quality of the images isn’t very good, as I told you. But yes, it appears to be a woman.”
    Cerchia slapped his hand on his thigh: “I knew it; it’s her fault, that goddamn slut. It must be some woman who decided to take revenge on her by playing a nasty trick—maybe the wife of one of the men she screwed. And now we’ll see, when I find him—because I’m going to find my son, I promise you that—whether the judge decides to grant her custody again. That whore, that damn whore.”
    â€œI should tell you,” Alex said, her tone cold, “that your wife was here until late last night. And early this morning, when she called, it was clear she hadn’t slept a wink. I assure you that she’s every bit as worried as you are. I wouldn’t be quite so hard on her, if I were you.”
    Romano nodded: “I’m Romano, Dottore, and I’m working on your son’s case. Let me confirm what my partner here just said: Your wife doesn’t have the slightest idea who might have taken the child.”
    â€œShe’s not my wife,” Cerchia hissed angrily. “Not anymore. And if she doesn’t know who it was, that’s just because there are too many suspects to choose from. She and that old bastard of a father of hers manage to generate more hatred than you’d ever believe possible. Now