The Crocodile (25 page)

In the first report, the author ascertained that Eleonora De Falco, born in San Gerardo Valle Caudina in the province of Benevento on September 24, 1974, and residing etc., etc., had been identified by the informant etc., who stated that he had heard a loud thump at about 10
A.M.
, while he was sweeping the atrium of the mansion block, whereupon he promptly dialed the emergency number from the telephone in his flat.

The coroner’s report, with its impersonal bureaucratic language, took Lojacono back to that sidewalk on a cold January morning.

Initial Post-Mortem Examination Report:

Upon removal of the sheet covering the deceased, it was determined that the subject was clothed in a pair of sky-blue pajamas, a long-sleeved blouse, and white woolen ankle socks.

The deceased lies on the ground in a prone position, with head closest to the sidewalk, twisted to the left, immersed in a puddle of blood. The upper left limb is flexed, with the forearm lying on the edge of the sidewalk; the upper right limb is extended alongside the torso; the lower limbs are both slightly flexed and spread.

The cadaver in question is that of a person of the female gender, apparent age corresponding to the chronological age of 23. Skin and muscle mass is normally developed; subcutaneous adiposity present and distributed as one would normally expect; regular skeletal structure in conformity with age and gender standards. Scattered light-red hypostatic marks were in the process of formation, present on the anterior regions of the body, as to be expected from prone extension, responsive to finger pressure. Signs of incipient rigor mortis. Corneas clear. Rectal T of 35.5°C at 11:05
A.M.
; ambient T at the same time in the vicinity of the corpse: 10°C, with light breezes.

The following traumatic alterations were detected:

—Diffuse ecchymotic excoriation affecting the right hemifacial area, with further soiling of dust and grit:

—Upon palpation, evident bony fragmentation is detected, compatible with multiple cranial fractures in the right parietal and temporal region.

—Upon palpation of the thorax, bony fragmentation of the frontal costal arch and of the sternum can be detected, compatible with thoracic collapse.

Taking into account the technical evidence that emerged from the inspection of the cadaver and the external circumstances surrounding the event in question, we can safely state that the decease occurred as a direct consequence of a very grave traumatic shock (cranial and encephalic trauma and thoracic trauma) with virtually immediate arrest of all vital functions in the aftermath of a fall from great height (more than 10 meters). The absence of any further traumatic lesion to the dermal organ, save for that caused by the fall, suggests a conclusion envisioning behavior of a self-destructive nature.

The period of decease, taking into account the thanatological phenomena set forth here, can be established at roughly 2–3 hours prior to this inspection of the cadaver.

Lojacono looked up from the document and his eyes met Piras’s: she was watching him attentively. All his years as a cop hadn’t worn away his ability to feel pity at the picture, in his mind’s eye, of that poor bloody bundle on the sidewalk of an unfamiliar city, on a cold morning many years ago. Behavior of a self-destructive nature, the report said.

Piras pointed to the other flimsy sheet of paper: the autopsy findings. He picked it up and started reading.

Autopsy Report:

Head: Following removal of the pericranial tissues, there was detected an intense subgaleal and subperiosteal haemorrhagic infiltration. Once the extraction of the periosteum was complete, numerous fracture rimae were identified, of various width, diversely parallel and curvilinear, in the right occipital and temporal regions.

Thorax: Following the extraction of the perithoracic tissues, there was identified a vast hemorrhagic infiltration into the muscular tissue as well as a flattening of the thoracic cage, especially marked on the right anterior arch. Upon the removal of the sternal plate, which showed extensive fracturing to the manubrium and sternal body, abundant hemothoraxes in the pleural cavity were detected.

Abdomen: Following opening of the abdomen, the omental apron appeared to be covered with hematic material. Upon inspection of the abdomen there was detected serum stratification in the area of the spleen area and wall, with lacerations of the splenic capsule. Careful inspection of the pelvic cavity allowed determination of the presence of a yellowish corpusculated serosal fluid, with opaque peritoneal serosa. Following the removal of the intestine, which showed no macroscopic alteration, the Fallopian tubes appeared ectatic, congested, and greyish in hue. Upon section, purulent material issued. The uterus, displaying augmented volume, with conserved shape, when cut displays an endometrium slightly accentuated on an irregular basis, with areas of mucosa regeneration. The uterine neck with a slightly dilated external uterine orifice and with areas of erosion of the mucosa.

Diagnosis of death: Polytrauma resulting from a fall from great height (cranial and thoracic fractures, hemothorax, and hemoperitoneum with extremely grave traumatic shock), in the subject in question, with a context of pelviperitonitis and bilateral sactosalpinx of recent date, with uterine mucosa in a phase of reepithelialization. This anatomopathological context, observed in relation to the pelvic organs, is extraneous to the traumatic context and can be ascribed with a criterion of elevated likelihood to infectious complications, which can be correlated to surgical procedures involving revision of the uterine cavity, in all probability in relation to a voluntary interruption of pregnancy.

He read it twice. Aside from the difficult-to-decipher technical terminology, he’d understood the basics: the girl had killed herself, and when she died she was suffering from an infection, the result of the abortion to which she’d subjected herself.

He looked at Piras. “We should contact the Carabinieri in”—he checked the incident report—“San Gerardo Valle Caudina.”

Piras smiled. “I was waiting for you to arrive to do it. That’s why I sent for you.”

My baby girl. My beautiful baby girl.
For Orlando, coming home, climbing the stairs, and picking her up out of her crib has become a wonderful little ritual on those days when he’s able to get away at lunchtime.

Who’d have ever thought it?

He thinks back to the way he was up until a few years ago as he buries his nose in Stella’s tummy and blows raspberries there, making her chortle in delight. He was the kind of guy who lived his life for his own pleasure—or at least he thought it was pleasure. He hadn’t met Roberta yet; he didn’t feel any need for a wife or a home of his own, much less a child.

He liked women, fast cars, and sailboats. His friends were just like him, some of them worse—divorced men with children out of sight and out of mind, appointments on their calendars to spend a weekend with them every five weeks or so, a cost to write down on their personal spreadsheet and nothing more. Their sole concerns were to organize their holidays and to focus on their work and the steady climb to the top. Who gives a damn about the rest of it? he thought at the time. There’s still plenty of time for that.

Now, as he carries his wonderful baby girl around the room, perched on his shoulders as he gallops in circles and trumpets like an elephant, it’s impossible to understand why he was willing to waste all those years. Or perhaps, he thinks, perhaps it was precisely that very chase after the emptiest of vanities that kept him from understanding how important it might be to have some part of him that could live on. To become immortal, in a certain sense.

Stella emits her customary little shriek, an uncertain mix of fright and amusement. Her tiny hands grasp at his ears as he holds her wrists; he can feel her little fingernails scratching away. God, how he adores her. Every smallest detail of her, whether it reminds him of her mother or of himself. She’s his ticket to the future, the bridge built by his love into the years that are yet to come.

A glare of light from the window strikes his eye and instinctively he looks outside, at the wall of the hotel across the street and the line of windows, some with the wooden shutters rolled down, one with the curtains drawn. Through another window, on the top floor, he glimpses a woman languidly cleaning a room.

Obviously, he thinks with some small portion of his brain, the woman swung the window open and the sunlight was reflected off the glass for an instant.

He picks up his baby girl and tells her, “Mamma mia, what a smell on you. We made a little poop, didn’t we? Now Papa will change your nappy, my wonderful little star, my Stellina.”

Less than fifty feet away, the old man carefully puts away his binoculars. He knows how risky the slightest mishandling can be, because at that time of day the sunlight can reflect off the lenses and attract attention. He pulled away from the opening in the curtain in the nick of time: he came that close to getting a glimpse of him.

For the first time, he betrays an emotion, biting his lip and slamming his fist down on the table. He made a stupid misstep. He’d never have made it this far if he’d started out doing things like that. What a fool. Just an instant, a single instant in the whole day when the sun beats down directly into the window, and that’s the instant when he picks up the binoculars to watch.

Ever so cautiously, after dabbing a tissue at his eye behind the lens of his glasses, he moves over to the curtain. He knows that the instant has passed and that the sun is no longer directly overhead, but still, the risk he ran has made him especially cautious. With two fingers, he gingerly parts the curtains and peers across the way.

In the nursery the father is leaning over the changing table, at the opposite corner of the room from her crib. The old man finished his floor plan of the room a couple of days ago. Thanks to an armoire with mirrored doors that the babysitter opened once or twice, he even knows that on the wall with the window there are only framed pictures or photographs, no furniture.

Now the father, his back to him, picks the baby up from the changing table. Two skinny little legs extend from the nappy, kicking away happily. The father turns, showing his profile and revealing an expression of enchantment.

Unmistakably, the baby is laughing. She’s always laughing, the old man thinks. A happy, untroubled baby. Surrounded by love.

The father joins in his daughter’s laughter, then he acts out a dance, cheek to cheek with his baby girl. The old man imagines that the father is crooning aloud.

They dance together for a while, father and daughter, lost in an imaginary waltz, swaying to a tune that exists only in their intertwined imaginations.

The old man draws the curtains together, closing the narrow gap, and tosses the damp tissue into the wastepaper basket.

The Carabinieri station at San Gerardo Valle Caudina was small but efficient. Piras announced her credentials and was immediately put through to Warrant Officer Giaquinto, the station commander.

Piras quickly apprised him of the urgency of obtaining as much information as possible about the De Falco family, informing him that she was unfortunately unable to provide either the addresses or names of the family members and how many there were. The only detail she possessed was the fact that the daughter, Eleonora, had committed suicide at the beginning of 1997, here in the city she was calling from.

The warrant officer explained that he hadn’t been stationed there long, and that he’d call back shortly. In fact, he returned the call five minutes later, asking Piras if he could put her through to Brigadier Mariani, who had been stationed there for over twenty years and practically knew everyone in town.

The brigadier had a deep rolling voice.

“Dottoressa,
buon giorno
. The warrant officer tells me that you need information about the De Falcos, the family of the girl Eleonora. A very unfortunate family.”

Piras took notes as she listened, then she put the call on speakerphone so that Lojacono could hear the information too.

“Yes, we know about the girl’s death. Who else is there in the immediate family?”

“Let me tell you that at first, no one in the town knew about the . . . the way the girl died. We knew that she was attending university in the city, and that she’d been involved in a serious accident. The father and the mother—she was an only child—went to get the body and held the funeral here. It was only later, with the transfer of the documents, which of necessity included the police reports, that we learned that the girl had killed herself, but since her parents were decent people who kept to themselves, no one ever mentioned it.”

“What do you mean they ‘were’ decent people? Are the parents dead?”

“The mother came down with a nasty disease, something to do with her lungs, a few years after the death of her daughter. Poor woman, she never recovered; she was little more than a ghost.”

Lojacono and Piras exchanged a glance. The man was a bit verbose, but his comments might prove useful, so Piras decided to encourage him.

“Did you know them personally, Brigadier?”

“Yes, of course I did. This isn’t a big town, though in the summer the emigrants come back and the population swells. The De Falcos are good people. He was an accountant for a company in Benevento but, after the daughter’s death, he took early retirement so he could look after his wife. In any case, they were well-off: a few properties here in town, a couple of commercial premises they rented out. They had plenty of money.”

Lojacono broke into the conversation. “
Buon giorno
, Brigadier, this is Inspector Lojacono. What were Eleonora’s parents’ names?”

“
Buon giorno
, Inspector. Felice is the father, and the mother, God rest her soul, was named Gemma.”

“When did the mother die?”

Mariani’s booming voice turned sad. “I think a month and a half ago. She was in bad shape, poor thing. He stayed with her till the very end.”