Free Death in Sardinia by Marco Vichi Page B

which, behind the flimsy curtains, gave on to a long perspective of rooftops and, in the distance, Arnolfo’s tower. It had taken Rosa a long time to find the right place for her. All her life she’d worked in brothels, winter and summer. Then MP Lina Merlin had come along and said, That’s enough, ladies , and Rosa simply couldn’t see herself pounding the pavement … 6 It seemed so sad, so vulgar … As she’d always been thrifty, she’d managed to set aside a decent nest egg. She deserved a hard-earned rest in a flat looking out over the rooftops. The light in her place was always warm and welcoming, and always shone from the corners of the room
    ‘Are they only for this Christmas, or do they include next year’s presents as well?’ asked Bordelli, seeing the dozens of gifts covering the table. Rosa was tying a bow and started singing.
    ‘ Non essere geloso se con gli altri ballo il rock … ’
    ‘Are you talking to me?’
    ‘ Non essere geloso se con gli altri ballo il twist … There’s a present for you too, you big ugly monkey.’
    ‘You shouldn’t have, Rosa.’
    ‘Liar. You always love my presents.’
    ‘That’s not what I meant.’
    ‘Why don’t you ever say what you mean?’
    ‘That’s not what I …’ Bordelli began, but he stopped before he repeated himself. Rosa kept on singing.
    ‘ Con te, con te, con te che sei la mia passione / io ballo il ballo del mattone …’ 7
    Bordelli swallowed a sip of wine and lit his cigarette. It was past midnight, and it was already an achievement to have smoked only six all day.
    ‘So you’re not going to tell me who all those presents are for?’ he asked.
    ‘Don’t you know I have a lot of girlfriends?’
    ‘Colleagues?’
    ‘They’re not all whores, you know. D’you think that’s all I ever did in life?’ Rosa’s lips were enlarged by her lipstick, and when she wasn’t speaking, her mouth looked like a heart.
    ‘Just curious,’ said the inspector. She kept on wrapping presents, using a nice sharp pair of scissors to curl the ribbons.
    ‘You know, Rosa, that guy who was murdered not far from my house was killed with a pair of scissors rather similar to those.’
    ‘How nice of you to tell me,’ she said.
    ‘Sorry, but I can’t stop thinking about it.’
    ‘If you ask me, you’ll never catch him.’
    ‘Thanks, Rosa,’ said Bordelli, still ruminating. That afternoon he’d passed the list of the usurer’s debtors to Porcinai, the police archivist, asking him to find all their addresses and telephone numbers as soon as possible. It was merely a first attempt to get the ball rolling. The only name he’d struck off the list was that of his friend Fabiani, whose address he already knew. He also knew Rosaria Beltempo’s, which was written on the envelope of that painful letter addressed to the
    ‘Distinguished Totuccio Badalamenti, Esq’.
    Rosa finished wrapping a tiny little box, which she then held in the palm of her hand, arm extended, to have a long look at it.
    ‘This is for Tiziana,’ she said.
    ‘It’s a lipstick you can only find in Paris.’
    ‘So how’d you get your hands on it?’
    ‘Somebody sent it to me from Paris for my birthday, and since it doesn’t look good on my own lips, I thought …’
    ‘Rosa, it’s not nice to recycle presents from other people.’
    ‘So you think I should have just thrown it away? I redid the tip, and now it looks as good as new … And this way, someone else can get some use out of it.’
    ‘Well, when you put it that way, it sounds like a fabulous gift.’
    ‘You’ve got too many outdated ideas in that ageing head of yours,’ said Rosa, wrinkling her nose. Putting the little box aside, she turned her attention to another. Bordelli blew smoke at the ceiling. He saw again the scissors planted deep in Badalamenti’s neck, and the thought of the killer elicited some very ambiguous feelings in him.
    ‘Hey, what’s with the long face tonight? … Are you hungry? Shall I make