The Killer in My Eyes by Giorgio Faletti Page B

reminding the lovers that, beyond that view that seemed to go on forever, there was still a world with its own agenda. Reluctantly, Maureen broke free of Connor’s embrace and went to pick up the phone from the night-table.
    ‘Hello?’ she said in English.
    ‘Hi, Maureen, it’s Franco.’
    Maureen sighed. The world could not be kept out forever, even from the happiest of rooms.
    ‘Hi, Franco. What’s up?’
    ‘They’ve fixed the date for the hearing. Next Thursday morning.’
    ‘So soon?’
    ‘It’s such a high-profile case, there’s no way they’d have agreed to postpone it any longer. What about your end? Have they suspended you?’
    ‘Officially, no. But I’ve been assigned to the Academy as a consultant. In practice, I’m a kind of janitor.’
    ‘I know it’s hard, Maureen. But if possible, I’d like you to drop by my office today. There are some proxies I need you to sign.’
    ‘How about in an hour?’
    ‘Perfect, I’ll expect you and . . .’ There was a pause at the other end of the line, then: ‘Listen, don’t worry.’
    ‘No, I’m not worried.’
    ‘Everything’s fine, Maureen.’
    ‘Sure, everything’s fine.’
    She put the phone down again, gently, although she would have liked to smash it down on the glass table-top.
    Everything’s fine.
    But it wasn’t.
    It wasn’t fine, because of the work she’d always done with passion and a desire for the truth. It wasn’t fine, because of all the people who’d once assured her of their total trust in her, but who were now keeping out of her way. It wasn’t fine, because of the sunset, and the wonderful man who was with her, and who had come so unexpectedly into her life.
    It wasn’t fine, because just two weeks earlier, Chief Inspector Maureen Martini, working out of the Casilino station of the Rome police, had killed a man.

CHAPTER 11
     
    Maureen slipped into the gloom of the garage 100 yards from her apartment, where she kept her car. When he saw her come in, Duilio, the manager, emerged from his glass-fronted cubby-hole and came towards her. He was a man whose age placed him out of the running, but in his friendly way he had always made it known that he had a soft spot for her. Maureen had grown to accept this fictitious courtship, which had lasted a long time now without ever becoming invasive or suggestive.
    ‘I’ll get the car for you, Signora Martini. It’s always a pleasure to drive a treasure like that.’
    Maureen handed him the keys. ‘Enjoy.’
    Duilio went down the ramp and disappeared into the darkness. As she waited to hear the sound of her Porsche Boxster coming back up, Maureen couldn’t help thinking about what a lucky woman she might be considered, in normal circumstances.
    Her family had owned Martini’s Restaurant for as long as she could remember, and over time her father Carlo had transformed it from a simple trattoria into one of the leading lights of Italian cuisine. When he had met and married her mother, the adventure had even continued beyond the ocean and there was now a Martini’s in New York, a favourite haunt of movie and TV stars. In the meantime, her mother had become one of the best criminal lawyers in that city, spending more and more time over there, with the result that their marriage had gradually unravelled.
    Maureen’s relationship with her mother had never really been close. Mary Ann Levallier’s cold pragmatic temperament left little room for the kind of affectionate give and take that existed between the girl and her father. And so, at the time of the divorce, Maureen had chosen to remain in Rome with Carlo and, after gaining her law degree, had decided to join the police.
    Maureen remembered only too well how badly her mother had taken it when she had told her of her plans. They had been sitting in the restaurant in the gardens of the Hilton, which was where she stayed whenever she came to Rome. Mary Ann was, as always, perfectly dressed, in a Chanel suit, and perfectly