might have nothing to do with that. Plus, bear with me: what’s the point of killing both of them and bringing down all this attention on the case? The Mafia, as I know and you know, always takes care first and foremost to keep business front and center. They could have arranged for the boy to vanish, leaving the girl safe and sound, and no one except his mother would have noticed a thing. Why unleash all this mayhem?”
Piras listened closely, then shook her head. “Maybe the kids saw something they shouldn’t have. Maybe they were planning to rip off the dealer. Who can say? Still, you have to admit that this contact is the only thing we have right now, isn’t it?”
After a moment’s consideration, Lojacono said, “I guess it is. When you have a concrete piece of evidence, you have to follow it; you certainly can’t chase after a vague hunch. But I continue to believe that this case has nothing to do with the Camorra.”
Piras insisted, “But all the hallmarks of a murder committed by a professional are there: the long-term stakeout, the painstaking selection of the time and place. No one saw a thing, no one heard a thing. He probably used a gun with a properly made silencer. A single shot, from close range, to make up for the lack of accuracy of the weapon itself, a .22—easy to carry, easy to hide.”
Lojacono replied, “Certainly. But you know as well as I do that this isn’t the sort of hit we see from the organized crime families we have around here. They’re much more arrogant and theatrical, especially when they’re interested in teaching someone a lesson. Plus, this guy left tissues on the ground and didn’t bother to pick up the shell casings. It’s not exactly the work of a professional. I’m still baffled.”
Piras sighed. “You’re telling me. And these dickheads seem incapable of providing any help at all. What do you think of Di Vincenzo?”
Lojacono smiled. “I don’t know him at all. I’ve met him twice: the first time when I got here, the second the night of the Lorusso murder, and I think I might have run into him in the men’s room another couple of times but he never even gave me a nod of the head. But he doesn’t strike me as a yokel, I’ll say that.”
“No, he’s no yokel, but right now he doesn’t know which way to turn. He’s sticking to this theory of the Camorra connection, but only because he has nothing better. And the other station captain, the one from Posillipo, keeps passing the buck. This Ruggieri, the dealer who recruits children, is a lowlife. We grilled him but he’s got nothing to tell us; he whines and denies everything. If you ask me, he really doesn’t know anything. And I don’t know which way to turn now. As you’ve probably seen, the press is ripping us to pieces.”
Lojacono nodded. “Yes, I saw that. Unfortunately, I doubt they’ll stop, at least until they know we have some real leads.”
“That’s right. Which is why we’re going to call a press conference and announce that we’re following a lead on Camorra involvement, in connection with drug dealing at the girl’s high school. There will be a collective circling of the wagons in the city’s highest social circles, a few indignant protests. But if nothing else, it’ll drive the pushers out of the area for a while.”
Piras got to her feet. Lojacono understood that the conversation was over. He was sort of sorry: the woman knew her business, as well as being easy on the eyes.
“That might even be the right solution, who can say? There’s only one thing that can prove us wrong.”
“What’s that?”
Lojacono was already on his way to the door. He paused. “Another murder.”
CHAPTER 29
She lies motionless on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Eleonora decides that she’d rather die. And so she prays for that.
The most absurd thing, the strangest thing of all, is that she feels guilty. As if she had been the one, all by herself, who had decided; as if she had laid
Piras listened closely, then shook her head. “Maybe the kids saw something they shouldn’t have. Maybe they were planning to rip off the dealer. Who can say? Still, you have to admit that this contact is the only thing we have right now, isn’t it?”
After a moment’s consideration, Lojacono said, “I guess it is. When you have a concrete piece of evidence, you have to follow it; you certainly can’t chase after a vague hunch. But I continue to believe that this case has nothing to do with the Camorra.”
Piras insisted, “But all the hallmarks of a murder committed by a professional are there: the long-term stakeout, the painstaking selection of the time and place. No one saw a thing, no one heard a thing. He probably used a gun with a properly made silencer. A single shot, from close range, to make up for the lack of accuracy of the weapon itself, a .22—easy to carry, easy to hide.”
Lojacono replied, “Certainly. But you know as well as I do that this isn’t the sort of hit we see from the organized crime families we have around here. They’re much more arrogant and theatrical, especially when they’re interested in teaching someone a lesson. Plus, this guy left tissues on the ground and didn’t bother to pick up the shell casings. It’s not exactly the work of a professional. I’m still baffled.”
Piras sighed. “You’re telling me. And these dickheads seem incapable of providing any help at all. What do you think of Di Vincenzo?”
Lojacono smiled. “I don’t know him at all. I’ve met him twice: the first time when I got here, the second the night of the Lorusso murder, and I think I might have run into him in the men’s room another couple of times but he never even gave me a nod of the head. But he doesn’t strike me as a yokel, I’ll say that.”
“No, he’s no yokel, but right now he doesn’t know which way to turn. He’s sticking to this theory of the Camorra connection, but only because he has nothing better. And the other station captain, the one from Posillipo, keeps passing the buck. This Ruggieri, the dealer who recruits children, is a lowlife. We grilled him but he’s got nothing to tell us; he whines and denies everything. If you ask me, he really doesn’t know anything. And I don’t know which way to turn now. As you’ve probably seen, the press is ripping us to pieces.”
Lojacono nodded. “Yes, I saw that. Unfortunately, I doubt they’ll stop, at least until they know we have some real leads.”
“That’s right. Which is why we’re going to call a press conference and announce that we’re following a lead on Camorra involvement, in connection with drug dealing at the girl’s high school. There will be a collective circling of the wagons in the city’s highest social circles, a few indignant protests. But if nothing else, it’ll drive the pushers out of the area for a while.”
Piras got to her feet. Lojacono understood that the conversation was over. He was sort of sorry: the woman knew her business, as well as being easy on the eyes.
“That might even be the right solution, who can say? There’s only one thing that can prove us wrong.”
“What’s that?”
Lojacono was already on his way to the door. He paused. “Another murder.”
CHAPTER 29
She lies motionless on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Eleonora decides that she’d rather die. And so she prays for that.
The most absurd thing, the strangest thing of all, is that she feels guilty. As if she had been the one, all by herself, who had decided; as if she had laid
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