Free Vita Nuova by Magdalen Nabb

daughter’s story about a staffing agency explained it.’
    ‘It does, though, officially. It’s his cover. Perfectly legal operation—only there’s more staff coming into the country than you’ll find on the files in that office, if you follow me, and we’re not talking cooks and cleaners.’
    ‘Prostitutes?’
    ‘From Eastern Europe. Leopard never changes his spots. The staffing agency’s useful because he can give a few girls real jobs and word gets around that it’s legit.
    And I think there’s more to it than that. I’ll be going back there. I reckon there’s a story in it, and a big one.’
    ‘And will it produce a murderer?’
    ‘More than one. If somebody’s out to punish Paoletti— and attacking the family is just their style—it’s because he’s overstepping the mark. Importing prostitutes from ex-commie countries for his own place is one thing, but supplying other clubs, if that’s what he’s doing, that’s Russian mafia territory.’
    ‘Well, if that’s the case, I can sleep easy. Nobody will expect me to deal with that.’
    ‘True. Might get me the front page, though.’
    They were about to part company when they heard running footsteps in the dark and a woman’s voice screaming.
    ‘Bit of business for you, Guarnaccia. . . .’
    The woman came into view, still running, as she passed under a lantern on the other side of the road. It was impossible to make out what she was screaming: Her voice was too high-pitched and hysterical. She was escaping from a big man who was running after her in silence.
    The marshal was about to cross the road. Behind him, Nesti remarked, laconic as ever, ‘I wouldn’t like to be in his shoes if she turns on him.’
    The marshal stopped. ‘You know them?’
    ‘Seen them around. They’re rubbish. Drugs, smalltime theft, pathetic.’
    ‘Even so. . . .’ The marshal was inclined to agree that the overweight silent man pursuing her might well be in danger from the woman’s fury. Her rage seemed to make the air vibrate.
    ‘Get away from me! Fucking bastard! Get away from me!’
    He had caught her and blocked her in the doorway of a bank.
    ‘Leave them to it,’ advised Nesti.
    ‘Come across with me. If he sees us watching, he’ll not hit her.’
    They went and stood close.
    ‘Come on, now,’ the marshal said quietly, ‘let her be. Let her calm down.’
    The big man ignored him. He clutched her arms.
    ‘Let me go! Get away from me!’ Her face looked a yellowish white. She wasn’t breathing properly. She tried to protest, but her eyes turned up and she was collapsing.
    ‘Nesti, call an ambulance.’
    She was down on the pavement, her whole body rattling in a fit. Her legs began to jackknife. The marshal knelt and tried to keep her mouth open.
    ‘Is she epileptic?’
    The big man was kneeling, too, but all he did was to keep hold of her arm in a vise-like grip. He didn’t answer.
    ‘Is she epileptic? Answer me!’
    ‘She takes some pills . . . or else injections. Injections . . . maybe she’s asthmatic. . . .’
    ‘Lift her feet up! Oh, for God’s sake . . . Nesti, lift her feet up. Is the ambulance coming?’
    ‘On its way. I think she’s coming round a bit.’
    ‘Let go of me.’ But the man kept his grip on her arm. ‘Let me go! I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!’
    ‘You can breathe,’ the marshal said. ‘You are breathing. You’re talking, so you’re breathing, aren’t you? Just lie still. There’s an ambulance coming.’
    ‘No! No! I’m not going to hospital! I don’t want to go to hospital! Let me go!’
    But her voice was feebler now and she didn’t move.
    When the ambulance turned up, it took some time to calm her protests sufficiently to get her onto the stretcher, but the ambulance men were very patient and they at last managed to loosen the man’s grasp on her as they lifted her inside. He tried to get in with her, but they blocked him. After some argument, the ambulance left and the piazza was silent