The Lost Girls of Rome by Donato Carrisi Page B

the handles, unlike David who always put them over his shoulders. One on the right, one on the left, which always made him sway as he walked.
    ‘You look like a pack mule, Fred.’
    ‘But you still love me, Ginger.’
    As she had feared, the sight of those bags hit her like a punch in the chest. Her David was in those bags, they contained his whole world. If it had been up to her, they would have stayed in thestoreroom until someone had unthinkingly sent them to be pulped along with all the other things that had outlived their usefulness. But last night Schalber had given substance to the questions that had been clinging to her heart ever since she had discovered that David had lied to her. She could not allow anyone to harbour suspicions about her man – and that included her.
    ‘Here they are,’ her colleague said, placing the bags on the counter.
    There was no need to sign a receipt. After all, they had been doing her a favour by keeping the bags there. They had arrived from Rome police headquarters after the accident, and she simply hadn’t collected them.
    ‘Do you want to check if anything’s missing?’
    ‘No, thanks. I’m sure everything’s fine.’
    But her colleague continued to stare at her, his expression suddenly sad.
    Don’t say it, she thought.
    But he did. ‘Be brave, Vega, Daniel would have wanted you to be strong.’
    Who the hell was Daniel? she wondered, forcing herself to smile. Then she thanked him and walked out with David’s bags.
    Half an hour later, she was back home. She put the bags down on the floor by the door and left them there. For a while she stood at a certain distance from them, looking at them like a stray dog inspecting its food, trying to figure out whether it was suspect. What she was actually looking for was courage to confront the test. She walked towards the bags and then moved away again. She made herself some tea and sat on the sofa, cradling her cup and looking at the bags. For the first time, she realised what she had done.
    She had brought David home.
    In all those months, part of her may have hoped, imagined, believed that sooner or later he would come back. The thought that they would never again make love drove her crazy. There were times when she forgot that he was dead, something would come into hermind and she would say to herself, ‘I have to tell David.’ A moment later the truth would hit her, in all its bitterness.
    David would never come back. Full stop.
    Sandra remembered the day she had first been confronted with that reality. It had happened here, at the door of her apartment, on a quiet morning like this one. She had left the two policemen standing at the door, convinced that, as long as they remained there, as long as they did not cross that border, then the news of David’s death would not materialise. And she would not have to face what was about to come into her house. A hurricane that would devastate everything, even though it left everything intact. She didn’t think she could do it.
    And yet here I am, she told herself. And if Schalber is interested in this luggage, there has to be a reason.
    She put the cup of tea down on the floor and resolutely walked towards the bags. First she picked up the less heavy of the two: the one containing only clothes. She emptied it on to the floor. The shirts, trousers and sweaters tumbled out. The smell of David’s skin overcame her, but she tried to ignore it.
    God, how I miss you, Fred.
    She held back her tears as she rummaged among the clothes in a desperate frenzy. Images came back to her of David wearing them, brief moments of their life together. She felt a mixture of nostalgia and anger.
    There was nothing among these things. She even checked the pockets. Nothing.
    She was exhausted. But the worst part was over. Now it was the turn of his work things. They represented the reason David was no longer here, but they weren’t part of her memories. So looking through them ought to be easier.
    First of