information.”
The assistant DA shook her head. “You never know where you’ll find useful information. Please, remind me of your name.”
“Inspector Lojacono, Giuseppe.”
“Ah, now I remember—the Sicilian. I seem to recall reading something, a few months ago. I like to stay on top of things when it comes to the staff of the various police stations I might have to work with. What exactly happened? Some police witness, I think, must have mentioned your name . . .”
Lojacono stood up suddenly. “So sorry, dottoressa, but I need to be getting back. I can’t take time off my real work to sit here listening to fairytales I already know by heart.”
Piras smiled again, openly satisfied. “Whoa, calm down. No one’s trying to insult you. I was refreshing my memory. I don’t want to pry into your personal affairs, heaven forbid. Bad things happen to everyone, but there’s a solution for everything. So what exactly do you do, here at the San Gaetano police station?”
Lojacono decided to give the woman another chance and sat back down.
“I’m in the Crime Reporting Office. But that’s a front. I’m actually spending my days fighting a bloody poker duel with my computer. My weapon of choice is five-card stud.”
Piras smiled again. “I see. Effective allocation of human resources, as they say. Make the best possible use of all personnel to ensure that we give the criminals a generous head start.”
Lojacono shrugged. “No problem. Mine not to reason why, mine but to do or die. It’s sort of like being in purgatory; you take it and wait. And the truth is, I’m not dying to get back to where I was before, so it’s really O.K. ”
The woman sipped her cup of coffee. “I have to say, even in the least appetizing dives, the coffee in this city is first rate. No argument. Now tell me, Lojacono, as one islander to another—what’s your theory about these two murders?”
“Me? What evidence would I have, from my privileged vantage point in the Crime Reporting Office, that would even allow me to develop a theory? I’d have to be able to read the reports, go over the documents, see the transcripts of interviews. And consult with the station captains who have oversight, hear what forensics has to say . . .”
Piras snorted and lowered her voice. “Stop pulling my leg, Lojacono. I know you have a theory; I heard you tell your colleague you did. Tell me more.”
“I really couldn’t say. It’s only an impression, but we cops don’t work on the basis of impressions; we base everything we do on facts. I wouldn’t limit my investigation to the world of the Camorra, that’s all. But as I say, it’s nothing more than an impression.”
Piras studied him at length. That man with his strange almond-shaped eyes provoked her curiosity. She sensed he was strong and also a little dangerous, but certainly intelligent. A rare quality, intelligence, she decided. Especially in this police station.
“In fact, there is some information you lack, Inspector Giuseppe Lojacono. That’s because you have no reason to know, since this is a high-priority investigation and it’s off-limits to almost everyone. And so I’m not authorized to tell you—and I’ll take care not to—that from a number of interviews it emerged that Mirko Lorusso, the first victim, had only recently been recruited by a drug trafficker, a two-bit Camorrista from the outskirts of town called Antonio Ruggieri; that this same Ruggeri had sent him to push baggies of cocaine outside a high school in the better part of town; and that it so happens that among the students attending this high school was Giada De Matteis, the second victim. A set of facts that are intriguing at the very least, wouldn’t you say?”
Lojacono turned his glass of mineral water between both hands. “I don’t know any of those things. But if I did, I wouldn’t stop at appearances. Unless there’s evidence of some deeper link between the two kids, then the murders
The assistant DA shook her head. “You never know where you’ll find useful information. Please, remind me of your name.”
“Inspector Lojacono, Giuseppe.”
“Ah, now I remember—the Sicilian. I seem to recall reading something, a few months ago. I like to stay on top of things when it comes to the staff of the various police stations I might have to work with. What exactly happened? Some police witness, I think, must have mentioned your name . . .”
Lojacono stood up suddenly. “So sorry, dottoressa, but I need to be getting back. I can’t take time off my real work to sit here listening to fairytales I already know by heart.”
Piras smiled again, openly satisfied. “Whoa, calm down. No one’s trying to insult you. I was refreshing my memory. I don’t want to pry into your personal affairs, heaven forbid. Bad things happen to everyone, but there’s a solution for everything. So what exactly do you do, here at the San Gaetano police station?”
Lojacono decided to give the woman another chance and sat back down.
“I’m in the Crime Reporting Office. But that’s a front. I’m actually spending my days fighting a bloody poker duel with my computer. My weapon of choice is five-card stud.”
Piras smiled again. “I see. Effective allocation of human resources, as they say. Make the best possible use of all personnel to ensure that we give the criminals a generous head start.”
Lojacono shrugged. “No problem. Mine not to reason why, mine but to do or die. It’s sort of like being in purgatory; you take it and wait. And the truth is, I’m not dying to get back to where I was before, so it’s really O.K. ”
The woman sipped her cup of coffee. “I have to say, even in the least appetizing dives, the coffee in this city is first rate. No argument. Now tell me, Lojacono, as one islander to another—what’s your theory about these two murders?”
“Me? What evidence would I have, from my privileged vantage point in the Crime Reporting Office, that would even allow me to develop a theory? I’d have to be able to read the reports, go over the documents, see the transcripts of interviews. And consult with the station captains who have oversight, hear what forensics has to say . . .”
Piras snorted and lowered her voice. “Stop pulling my leg, Lojacono. I know you have a theory; I heard you tell your colleague you did. Tell me more.”
“I really couldn’t say. It’s only an impression, but we cops don’t work on the basis of impressions; we base everything we do on facts. I wouldn’t limit my investigation to the world of the Camorra, that’s all. But as I say, it’s nothing more than an impression.”
Piras studied him at length. That man with his strange almond-shaped eyes provoked her curiosity. She sensed he was strong and also a little dangerous, but certainly intelligent. A rare quality, intelligence, she decided. Especially in this police station.
“In fact, there is some information you lack, Inspector Giuseppe Lojacono. That’s because you have no reason to know, since this is a high-priority investigation and it’s off-limits to almost everyone. And so I’m not authorized to tell you—and I’ll take care not to—that from a number of interviews it emerged that Mirko Lorusso, the first victim, had only recently been recruited by a drug trafficker, a two-bit Camorrista from the outskirts of town called Antonio Ruggieri; that this same Ruggeri had sent him to push baggies of cocaine outside a high school in the better part of town; and that it so happens that among the students attending this high school was Giada De Matteis, the second victim. A set of facts that are intriguing at the very least, wouldn’t you say?”
Lojacono turned his glass of mineral water between both hands. “I don’t know any of those things. But if I did, I wouldn’t stop at appearances. Unless there’s evidence of some deeper link between the two kids, then the murders
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