The Dark Heart of Florence: Number 6 in series (Michele Ferrara) by Michele Giuttari Page A
Authors: Michele Giuttari
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who had apparently left the scene on a motorbike with false number plates. The cold-voiced officer in the Operations Room acted as go-between and continued to issue orders.
He could also hear the police helicopter preparing to go up.
‘Poli 46 is ready for take-off,’ the pilot informed the Operations Room.
Ferrara took his cigar case out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He put an antico toscano in his mouth and lit it. He took a long drag, then let the smoke spiral up towards the ceiling. He took a second drag before setting it down on the ash tray.
He took a piece of paper from the printer. The time had come to put his thoughts down in black and white. Just a few notes, but they might be useful to him subsequently. When he had finished, he turned his attention back to Costanza’s diary.
11.15 p.m. I met him today and he told me everything was under control. But he doesn’t want to expose himself any further. Idiot!!!
Unfortunately, he thought, time was a hard master. And he might not have much left.
Perhaps they had underestimated the importance of what Berghoff had said in his letter about Sergi’s involvement.
But now the moment to take action had arrived.
First of all, he would have to check whether the inspector had been on duty on 20 August and, if so, what he had been doing.
Then he would instruct Rizzo how to proceed.
24
The main branch of the Florentine Savings Bank was in the city centre, right next to the Santa Maria Nuova Hospital.
At five minutes past eleven in the morning, after taking a moment to admire its beautiful sixteenth-century façade, Rizzo went in through the main door. There were two customers at the counters. At the first window, a young woman rocking a pushchair to send her child to sleep was waiting for the cashier to finish counting out her money. At the next one along, an old man leaning on a stick was complaining to an official about the ridiculous interest rates, which were barely enough to cover the annual fees he paid for the handling of his account. When this customer had moved away, muttering incomprehensibly to himself, Rizzo approached the official.
He was tall and thin as a rake, with white hair and glasses perched at the end of his pointed nose.
Rizzo introduced himself, showed his police badge, and explained the reason for his visit.
‘Do you have a warrant?’
‘Of course,’ Rizzo replied, taking it from his pocket and handing it over. Deputy Prosecutor Luigi Vinci had not made any fuss about issuing it, but had advised him to tread carefully and let him know what happened immediately.
The official took the warrant and read it carefully. ‘Do you really have to do this?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I do. I’ve got my orders and I have to follow them. And I don’t have time to hang around.’
The official sighed. ‘All right, but I’ll have to inform my manager first. Please follow me.’
They went up to the first floor. The official asked Rizzo to wait for him outside the manager’s office while he went in. After ten minutes or so, he came out again and asked Rizzo to follow him down to the vault. When he opened Costanza’s safe-deposit box, Rizzo was baffled.
He had expected to find valuables, important documents, jewellery. Instead, there was nothing but a key. For another safe-deposit box.
‘It’s not one of ours,’ the official immediately clarified.
‘I’ll have to take it away,’ Rizzo said. ‘I need to know when this box was accessed recently.’
‘Within what kind of time frame?’
‘Let’s start with the last quarter.’
‘All right. I’ll check the records.’
From the records, it emerged that the last time Enrico Costanza had opened the box had been the previous week.
‘Was anyone else authorised to access it?’ Rizzo asked.
‘No.’
‘Please follow me to the office,’ the official said once they had returned to the ground floor.
No sooner had they entered than Rizzo asked him for the statements of
He could also hear the police helicopter preparing to go up.
‘Poli 46 is ready for take-off,’ the pilot informed the Operations Room.
Ferrara took his cigar case out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He put an antico toscano in his mouth and lit it. He took a long drag, then let the smoke spiral up towards the ceiling. He took a second drag before setting it down on the ash tray.
He took a piece of paper from the printer. The time had come to put his thoughts down in black and white. Just a few notes, but they might be useful to him subsequently. When he had finished, he turned his attention back to Costanza’s diary.
11.15 p.m. I met him today and he told me everything was under control. But he doesn’t want to expose himself any further. Idiot!!!
Unfortunately, he thought, time was a hard master. And he might not have much left.
Perhaps they had underestimated the importance of what Berghoff had said in his letter about Sergi’s involvement.
But now the moment to take action had arrived.
First of all, he would have to check whether the inspector had been on duty on 20 August and, if so, what he had been doing.
Then he would instruct Rizzo how to proceed.
24
The main branch of the Florentine Savings Bank was in the city centre, right next to the Santa Maria Nuova Hospital.
At five minutes past eleven in the morning, after taking a moment to admire its beautiful sixteenth-century façade, Rizzo went in through the main door. There were two customers at the counters. At the first window, a young woman rocking a pushchair to send her child to sleep was waiting for the cashier to finish counting out her money. At the next one along, an old man leaning on a stick was complaining to an official about the ridiculous interest rates, which were barely enough to cover the annual fees he paid for the handling of his account. When this customer had moved away, muttering incomprehensibly to himself, Rizzo approached the official.
He was tall and thin as a rake, with white hair and glasses perched at the end of his pointed nose.
Rizzo introduced himself, showed his police badge, and explained the reason for his visit.
‘Do you have a warrant?’
‘Of course,’ Rizzo replied, taking it from his pocket and handing it over. Deputy Prosecutor Luigi Vinci had not made any fuss about issuing it, but had advised him to tread carefully and let him know what happened immediately.
The official took the warrant and read it carefully. ‘Do you really have to do this?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I do. I’ve got my orders and I have to follow them. And I don’t have time to hang around.’
The official sighed. ‘All right, but I’ll have to inform my manager first. Please follow me.’
They went up to the first floor. The official asked Rizzo to wait for him outside the manager’s office while he went in. After ten minutes or so, he came out again and asked Rizzo to follow him down to the vault. When he opened Costanza’s safe-deposit box, Rizzo was baffled.
He had expected to find valuables, important documents, jewellery. Instead, there was nothing but a key. For another safe-deposit box.
‘It’s not one of ours,’ the official immediately clarified.
‘I’ll have to take it away,’ Rizzo said. ‘I need to know when this box was accessed recently.’
‘Within what kind of time frame?’
‘Let’s start with the last quarter.’
‘All right. I’ll check the records.’
From the records, it emerged that the last time Enrico Costanza had opened the box had been the previous week.
‘Was anyone else authorised to access it?’ Rizzo asked.
‘No.’
‘Please follow me to the office,’ the official said once they had returned to the ground floor.
No sooner had they entered than Rizzo asked him for the statements of
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