River of Shadows: A Commissario Soneri Mystery (Commissario Soneri 1) Read Online Free Page B

news, and received equally alarming data in reply.
    “At this rate, you’re going to have to sound the retreat in the carabinieri headquarters as well,” Barigazzi said. “But it won’t take much evacuating,” he said, staring at the only carabiniere, a shy young man accompanying his superior officer.
    The maresciallo swallowed the grappa which Gianna had poured for him without waiting to be asked.
    Barigazzi joined him at the bar. “It suits you fine to let your colleagues in Luzzara attend to this other business,” he said gravely.
    “What other business?” came the surly response from somewhere under the officer’s helmet.
    “This business of the barge.”
    The officer’s face brightened. He was evidently relieved. “Why Luzzara?”
    “It will get as far as that,” Barigazzi assured him. “Tell them at the station, if anyone’s still there.”
    Vernizzi went out for a pee. “It brings good luck if you piss in the river,” he said. He lived in the town but he had never got used to peeing in a closed W.C. As he drew near the riverbank, he became aware of just how high the water had risen. There was someone at work with the winch at the moorings, trying to pull ashore a boat still riding at anchor. The clammy
libeccio
wind ensured that the rain drove into the side of his body.
    “You’ve pissed yourself,” Torelli teased him when he saw Vernizzi come in with his trousers wet.
    “Not at all. I’ve salted the sea.”
    The radio announced that the barge was close to the Guastalla bridge.
    “Call them and ask if they can actually see it,” Ghezzi instructed Gianna.
    In seconds the woman was on the line. “Moving slowly … And the lights are still off, right? Ah, difficult to see. The cars have pointed their headlights where it sails in and out of view.”
    Barigazzi imagined himself on the embankment, standing behind the vehicles whose headlights were resting on the surface of the water, picking out glimpses of the hull in the bobbing confusion of barrels, logs, dead animals, tree trunks.
    “It’s going past?” Gianna was shouting into the receiver. “Are you sure? Too dark? In midstream … This bit has gone smoothly as well.”
    Barigazzi looked up at the clock. “It’s all over now.”
    The others looked at him, not sure if he was referring to the river or to Tonna. Probably both. Vernizzi remembered hearing his pee gurgle on the surface of the water scarcely a metre from where he had been standing.
    “Gianna, start packing up,” Barigazzi told her.
    The operator unplugged the radio in preparation for moving out. Everything that could be carried to safety was swiftly put into large boxes, making the club look in no time like temporary premises. Torelli manoeuvred the lorry into place in the yard and for a moment the lights played on the surface of the river without reaching the far shore. Then they started loading. In all the coming and going, the radios on both sides of the river continued broadcasting a litany which became a sort of rosary for all the wrecks dragged away by the current.
    “What about the clock?” Vernizzi said.
    “The water’ll never get that high,” Barigazzi said firmly, noting that it was a few minutes before three. “This is the epilogue,” he reminded everyone.
    Then, in the almost bare room, silence fell. One bottle of white wine remained on a table. Gianna found some paper cups and shared the wine out among the company until it was all gone. A few more minutes of waiting passed, leaving them to listen to the rain hammering on the roof and to the incessant drip drip from the beams. At 3.10, the telephone rang. At the first tone, Gianna got quickly to her feet, but Barigazzi stopped her with a sign and made for the telephone himself. Without waiting for whoever it was on the other end to speak, and without even a “hello”, he said: “Has he run aground?”
    The others watched him only nod. Then, slowly, as though in a trance, he put the telephone down.