A Cold Death

Baldi’s expression had changed. Now a sinister light glittered in his eyes.

“Of course I can rely on you.”

The magistrate’s mouth stretched out in a false, menacing smile. “And since I want to rely on you, look, I’d really like to get your version.”

“My version of what?”

“Of what happened in Rome.”

Oh my God, what a pain in the ass, thought Rocco, but he kept it to himself. “You know everything that happened; there are reports and documentation. I’m sure you’ve read them. Why dig into it again?”

“It seems to be an occupational hazard with me. I’d just like to hear your version. You’ve been here for six months now. You can tell me, can’t you?”

“All right then.” Rocco took a deep breath, got comfortable, and began. “Giorgio Borghetti Ansaldo, age twenty-nine, had a bad habit: he liked to rape young girls. I followed him, I stopped him, but there was nothing I could do about him. It just so happens that his father, Fernando Borghetti Ansaldo, is the undersecretary for foreign affairs. You may have seen his name in the news.”

Baldi nodded, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Okay. Giorgio didn’t shake his bad habit, and he kept it up until one day he practically killed a certain Marta De Cesaris, age sixteen, who lost her sight in one eye; a hundred years of therapy will never turn her back into the pretty, carefree high school student who attended the Liceo Virgilio in Rome. So I finally had my fill, I went to see Giorgio, and I gave him a serious beat-down.”

“Translate beat-down.”

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