Day of the Dead Read Online Free

this favor. But remember, you owe me one.”
    Ricciardi grimaced in a way that was vaguely reminiscent of a smile.
    â€œFine, I owe you a favor. When the warrant for your arrest finally lands on my desk I’ll take the long way around the city when I come for you, that way you’ll have time for one last visit to the bordello where you take your pleasures.”
    The doctor burst out laughing.
    â€œYou know that the whores in this city couldn’t live without me, eh?
Guagliu’
, hold up there, there’s a change in destination. Take the child to the hospital for me. He’s a client of mine, now.”
    Once the cart had set off, Maione stepped closer to Ricciardi.
    â€œCommissa’, I don’t get what you’re doing here. Hasn’t that poor child suffered enough already? Is it really worth it to inflict more cruelty on him now that he’s dead, if there weren’t any marks on the body?”
    Ricciardi said nothing; he stood watching the dog, which had never once taken its eyes off them and had stayed where it was, even after the cart with the corpse had departed. He shrugged his shoulders.
    â€œWhat can I tell you, Maione. It just seemed wrong to put him in the ground without even knowing what killed him. Come on, let’s head back to headquarters, so that we can finally draw this night shift to a close.”

IV
    In a break with his routine, the deputy chief of police Angelo Garzo was already in his office at 8:15. This had thrown special patrolman Ponte, who had been promoted to serve as the official’s personal assistant, into a panic.
    Was it really a promotion after all? Ponte had serious doubts about the benefits of the new post. Sure, they’d tacked on a few lire to his salary, which didn’t hurt when it came to making ends meet; and he no longer had to go out on patrol, which eliminated the discomfort and inconvenience of braving the elements, with all the aches and pains that inevitably resulted, especially on damp days like the ones they’d been having lately. And finally his new position had won him a certain grudging respect from his colleagues, who, well aware that the main reason for Ponte’s promotion was his willingness to rat out his fellow officers, steered clear of him.
    In exchange, Ponte had to put up with his superior officer’s moods, the most unpredictable elements in all creation. Moments of groundless euphoria came on the heels of bouts of depression, during which poor Ponte had to guess what Garzo wanted from the expression on his face. Arrogant benevolence, which might prevail for example after some words of praise from the police chief, would quickly give way to furious dissatisfaction, and at those times it was best for Ponte to make himself scarce, because Garzo invariably took it out on him with memorable tongue-lashings.
    But this was by far the worst period he could remember. This is how matters stood: a month earlier, word had come down by telegraphic dispatch from the Ministry of the Interior announcing the Duce’s decision to deliver the address to the nation from Naples. Prime Minister Mussolini, accompanied of course by the highest-ranking government officials, would be visiting the city on the third and fourth of November. Local government officials would be expected to provide the maximum cooperation, and the spotlight would be focused first and foremost on the local police and judiciary, of course.
    Ponte had been the first to read that dispatch, handed to him by the telegraph operator at police headquarters so that he could take it directly to the chief of police; but since he knew very well that Garzo would skin him alive if he failed to tell him about a matter of such importance before he informed anyone else, Ponte had run headlong to his office.
    He wouldn’t soon forget his commanding officer’s reaction. First Garzo had turned pale, then violet, and then white again, with a few lingering