Vipers by Maurizio de Giovanni, Antony Shugaar

made to her mother, for the boy. Poor Viper, if she’d known how things were going end up, maybe she would have gone to see her son. Secretly maybe. And there were times when they had the two of us work together, the blond with the big tits and the fiery-mouthed brunette; men are fools, Commissa’. They imagine things and then think they can see them. How we laughed, behind those fools’ backs.”
    She shook herself.
    â€œWe weren’t fond of each other, Commissa’, that’s true. In here people can’t be fond of one another, they can only pretend. But Viper wasn’t a bad girl, she was just like me: someone doing her best to live decently. She certainly didn’t deserve what happened to her. Can I go now?”
    Ricciardi nodded his head.
    â€œYes, Signorina, you can go. But remember to make sure we can get in touch with you, if we should need more information.”
    Once the girl had left, he summoned Madame Yvonne.
    â€œSignora, you can open for business tomorrow. Of course, the room where the murder took place must stay locked, and no one is to touch anything.”
    The woman sighed, in evident relief.
    â€œ
Grazie
,
grazie
, Commissa’. You’ve saved my life. May the Virgin Mary reward you!”
    Maione snickered.
    â€œLet’s leave the Madonna out of this, Signo’, I have a feeling she might not pass by these parts that often.”
    Before leaving, Ricciardi went upstairs and walked toward Viper’s door. He turned the knob and walked in. Everything was exactly as it had been the day before, except for the corpse, which had been removed, along with the murder weapon, the pillow. Like a chilly breath of air, he heard the girl’s hoarse voice, as she stood at the mirror. The voice made the hair stand up on the back of his neck:
Little whip, little whip. My little whip
. What is it you saw, Maria Rosaria Cennamo from Vomero, aka   Viper? What did you think about as you died? As your fantastic body, the fantasy of hundreds of men, gave up its last breath?
    Coppola had been known as Peppe ’a Frusta, Joey the Whip, ever since he was a boy: since the days when he used to run over the fields and through the gardens with his little girlfriend, laughing and dreaming of a happy future. But Ventrone, the slimy merchant who dealt in sacred art, had an unhealthy passion for violent games, and perhaps the whip was an instrument of demented pleasure for him. One of the two, Viper? Or both of them?
    There were blond hairs on the pillow and on the brush. Coppola was blond and Lily was blond, and neither of them had denied spending plenty of time in Viper’s room.
    Who was the last person to be in this room? Ricciardi asked the ghost he could sense there. Why, now that you’ve decided to poison my existence like all the other hundreds of dead people I encounter in the street, won’t you go ahead and tell me who decided to reduce you to this state?
    But the woman turned her dead gaze to the mirror that refused to show her reflection, repeating over and over:
Little whip, little whip. My little whip
. The same thing she’d keep saying until the air had forgotten her emotions, and she’d vanished into the wind.

XVI
    D own in the street, they realized that the rain had been defeated by the wind. The clouds were scudding rapidly across the sky, creating a succession of shadows and light on the wet street.
    At the corner of the
vicolo
, the blind accordionist was taking advantage of the increased pedestrian traffic to run his fingers over the keys, playing a mazurka that drew giggles from the nannies out doing a little shopping with an umbrella well within reach.
    Ricciardi and Maione stood watching the little side door, the one that Madame Yvonne had said led into the kitchen.
    â€œThe murder, Commissa’,” said the brigadier, “took place just after the place opened in the early afternoon. Honestly, I doubt there was enough