Bitter Remedy (36 page)

‘Lorazepam. I am not against it as such. It may even help a man such as your husband who worries a lot, but I don’t think he should drink, too.’

Jesus, thought Blume.

‘Is that it? Nothing else?’

‘Nothing,’ said Blume.

‘What about that sinus spray I’ve seen you use?’

‘That just clears my head, stops headaches before they arrive.’

She clicked her fingers impatiently. ‘Show it to the doctor.’

Bernardini took the flacon in his hand and shook his head sadly. ‘Alsuma. This is Sumatriptan. Who prescribed this?’

‘A doctor years ago.’

‘And you just kept at it. I asked you if you were on medication.’

‘I didn’t think it counted.’

‘Well, does it relieve the headaches?’

‘Not always.’ He had nothing left to lose really. ‘In which case, I take these and I stop caring.’

‘Lyrica,’ read the doctor. ‘Pregabalin,’ he said by way of explanation to Caterina, who nodded as if she knew exactly what this meant.

‘Come here, Alec, drink this water,’ said Bernardini, not unkindly. ‘Tilt your head back, OK,’ he started humming, ‘follow my finger . . . Very good.
Très bien
. OK, Alec
, t´es pas tout seul, mais arrête tes grimaces, soulève tes cent kilos, fais bouger ta carcasse. . . . Non,
Alec
, t’es pas tout seul, je sais qu’t’as le cœur gros . . .
Here, keep this bottle, fill it when it’s empty, drink as much as you can.’

‘These are my mother’s!’ Caterina had stuck her hand into his pocket and come out with a light blue box. ‘I recognize these. She takes them for that skin irritation. She was complaining about them going missing, and of course I wouldn’t even listen to her.’

‘I just took a pack because of my hives, or shingles. And they are not hers. I bought those by myself.’

‘Without a prescription?’ asked Bernardini.

‘There’s a place in Trastevere,’ said Blume. ‘They give you the benefit of the doubt if you show you have the medicine already.’

‘What hives?’ said Caterina. ‘You don’t have hives.’

‘I do now.’ He scratched his arm to prove it. ‘I think I’m allergic to my new memory-foam bed.’

‘
Mon Dieu
, Doxepin, too,’ said Bernardini, with something like admiration creeping into his voice.

‘And these?’ Caterina was holding up a small pillbox. ‘That’s Provigil,’ said Blume. ‘It’s good for staying up late and focused.’

‘You’re killing yourself, Alec,’ said Caterina.

‘Just keeping my head above water, Caterina.’

‘And that place you live in . . .’

‘Nothing wrong with it,’ he said. ‘I’m still settling in.’

‘Come here.’

He stepped over and she reached her hands behind his back and squeezed him against her. ‘You know I am furious with you?’

‘Quite right, too.’

‘Would you sell that apartment?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘No one will buy it.’

‘I’ll give it away, then.’

The centre of gravity had now shifted towards the villa. Any new vehicle that arrived, parked with its nose pointing towards it, people looked towards it as they spoke. The magistrate gazed at its top storeys as he shouted orders into his phone, or whispered to a new group of plain-clothes arrivals. Still on the bench, the maresciallo dozed. No one saw Nadia slip away.

The magistrate was unworried about who was coming or going. He even seemed puzzled as to why Blume felt he had to ask permission to leave.

‘You’re available whenever, right?’

‘I want to go back to Rome.’

‘Yeah, like I said, available. Rome’s only down the road.’

‘It feels farther away.’

The magistrate chewed gum. ‘Yeah. When the fuck are they going to get here with food?’

Blume turned to leave.

‘Hey, Commissioner. They just picked up Silvana. Bari. Outside Davide’s place. I’ll let you know.’

Blume tapped his plastic water bottle against his temple by way of acknowledgement.

‘Nadia?’ said Caterina. ‘Where has she got to? Help me find her.’

Caterina felt Nadia might have gone down to the villa in the hope of catching a glimpse of the remains of her friend. ‘Not that she’ll have been allowed anywhere near. I’ll go,’ she said. ‘You’re haunted enough as it is.’

Caterina started off for the villa; Blume into the garden.

He found her sitting with her back to Greco’s Madonna, staring at the cliff face. Her legs were drawn up, and she was holding her skirt up against her knees to stop it slipping down her thighs.

He came over and sat down beside her.

‘All those men down there,’ she said. ‘None of them know her. They know nothing. Nothing. I have known her since she was three. They have no idea of the things she did, and then they won’t let me go anywhere near her.’

You wouldn’t want to see her now, he thought, keeping his opinion to himself. He allowed some silence to settle between them.

‘How’s Niki?’ she asked.

‘Niki? No idea.’

‘I hope he’s OK.’ She looked at him, and smiled. ‘Niki came back for me. First he took me away, because he was afraid for me. He took me straight to your girlfriend, told me to tell her everything and not worry about incriminating him. I think he was thinking of leaving the country, but when Caterina asked me to call him back, he answered, and came straight back. He put his business and his own freedom second. You never believed he could be good.’

‘He’s not good,’ said Blume.

‘Are you?’

‘Let’s say, I’m not perfect.’

‘I am asking you a serious question. Are you a good man? Sure, with faults and weaknesses, but at your core, are you good?’

Blume thought about it. ‘I can’t answer that.’

‘I can,’ said Nadia. ‘I think you are a good man turning bad, and I think Niki is a bad man trying to be good. I prefer Niki.’

‘That makes sense.’

She looked at him. ‘You look like a 60-year-old. Someone at the end of his life.’

‘Sixty isn’t the end of life. And I am nowhere near that age.’

‘The number is not important. Someone with no generosity left. Always looking back, always judging. I hope you get to keep Caterina. She’s your last chance.’

Blume put down his bottle. ‘I don’t really wish Niki ill any more. But whatever happens, he’s going to be in some trouble.’

‘What am I supposed to do now?’

‘I don’t know. Go back home to Romania, try a fresh start?’

‘Idiot,’ she said. ‘And careful where you put your stupid water bottle. You’ve just spilled it all over my backside.’

‘It was empty.’ He could feel water, too, soaking into his trousers.

‘Then what’s . . . ?’ She stood up. ‘From the statue? It was dry here when I sat down.
Cazzo
, I hate this garden. What on earth are you doing?’

‘Filling my bottle like the doctor said.’

‘Don’t drink the water if you don’t know where it’s come from!’

‘No, I know about this water. It’s famous. It’s supposed to be very good for you. Curative. Magic, even. Here,’ He held out the bottle. ‘Taste.’

‘You taste it.’

‘Go on. You first. Trust me.’

‘Any reason I should ever trust any man again?’

‘How about Niki? He came back.’

She smiled. ‘A drug-smuggling, diabetic semi-pimp, and a doped-up cop. I heard what the doctor said. At least you kept your promise to find Alina, even if it was too late. What a pair.’

She held out her hand and took the bottle. ‘All right, all right, I’ll drink. I can’t bear to see you look so insulted. Now you look like a disappointed child instead of the old man you are. Are you sure it’s safe?’

‘Make a wish, Nadia,’ said Blume. ‘A big one.’

‘OK, old policeman.
Noroc
.’

She brought the bottle to her lips and drank.

A Note on the Author

Conor Fitzgerald has lived in Ireland, the UK, the United States, and Italy. He has produced a current affairs journal for foreign embassies based in Rome, and founded a successful translation company.
Bitter Remedy
is the fifth in his series of Italian crime novels.

www.conorfitzgerald.net

By the Same Author

The Dogs of Rome

The Fatal Touch

The Namesake

The Memory Key

The Dogs of Rome

On a hot summer morning, Arturo Clemente is brutally murdered in his Roman apartment.

Clemente is no ordinary victim. His widow is an elected member of the Senate, and Chief Inspector Alec Blume arrives at the scene to find enquiries well underway. The murder case seems clear-cut and a prime suspect is quickly identified, but Blume must fight to regain control of the investigation, aware from bitter experience that in Rome even a murder enquiry must bow to the rules of politics. The complex and uncomfortable truth he will unravel will shock even him, and his struggle for justice may yet cost more innocent lives...

‘A powerful and hugely compelling thriller. Dark, worldly and written with tremendous style and assurance … Conor Fitzgerald is a class act’

William Boyd

The Fatal Touch

In the early hours of a Saturday morning, a body is discovered in Piazza de’ Renzi. If it was just a simple fall that killed him, why is a senior Carabiniere officer so interested?
 
Commissioner Alec Blume is immediately curious and the discovery of the dead man’s notebooks reveals that there is a great deal more at stake than the unfortunate death of a down-and-out... What secrets did he know that might have made him a target? What is the significance of the Galleria Orpiment? And why are the authorities so intent on blocking Blume’s investigations?

‘Alec Blume is an inspired creation ... Highly recommended’

Guardian

‘Set in Rome in the murky world of art forgery, it’s beautifully written and has a deliciously laconic sense of humour’

Irish Times

The Namesake