The fairy tales' killer

Coil)

CHAPTER 1

The phone call came to the police station of Turin shortly after half past seven, on a cold monday of mid-january.

There's a corpse in an abandoned farmhouse, in Corio, said on the cornet a disguised voice. The sleepy cop stopped paying attention to the plastic cup of hot coffee clutched in his hand and, rapidly awakening, put the cup down on his side of the table. Take the second dirt road after the sign of the village, you will find it after about three hundred meters away from it. It's been there for some days, judging it by its state.

The cop had no time even to utter a syllable: the click that rung indicated that the call had been closed.

A patrol car with three men aboard sailed immediately to check the veracity of the call, employing nearly fifty minutes to arrive at the small village on the hills. After the sign they peaked a gravel road surrounded by bare trees, to soon see the rustic house getting closer and closer. They parked the car about 10 metres from the entrance, under a gray sky that threatened snow. With their hands ready to take guns, and trying to make the less noise they can on the gravel road, they entered in a silence broken only by the croak of a ravens in flight,that covered completely that piece of countryside. The oldest of the group gestured to the other two to stop, then shortly walked the distance that separated him from the wooden ajar door.

He leaned against it his hand and floated it slowly, opening it to as little as enough to allow him to enter the room.

The two colleagues stayed back, seeing him pass the door and stop for a few seconds. They noticed the arm that held the gun slip on his side, and then they kept looking him turn with his face completely bleached.

He came out, leaned against the wall and vomited his breakfast under their eyes.

CHAPTER 2

The bedside phone rang for about half a minute before Inspector Luca Morelli was able to understand what was the noise that was waking him up. He stretched his arm out of bed without even opening his eyes, following the lines of Haka Maori which he downloaded as a ringtone and that continued to issue those cries of war, very annoying at that moment, in his bedroom.

His numb fingers stretched out toward the mobile and squeezed it, then he brought it close to the ear and pushed the call button.

Who is it?, he asked with a voice still kneaded by alcohol that had wetted his last night, relieved by the interruption of the ringtone.

Inspector, I'm agent Bassi, said a hoarse voice that, at that time, seemed to him the most annoying thing in the world.

What the fuck do you want at this time....

Um .... The agent cleared his voice with a vague sense of embarrassment. I am sorry to bother you, Inspector, but ... it's almost eleven o'clock in the morning.

Morelli slowly opened one eye, founding himself in a room slightly illuminated by light that penetrated the cracks of the blinds. A confirmation that it was late morning.

Ok, he gave up, passing a hand over his face. What do you want from me.

We have a problem. There's been a murder in Corio. We received a call early this morning, a patrol went to see and ... . The voice was hesitant. Well, there's a huge mess, Inspector. Apparently it is not a great scene to see.

I've never seen a scene of a murder that was a nice to see, said Morelli, trying not to appear too abrupt. Bassi was young and newly arrived,and before him he felt always in awe. In Corio, you say?.

Yes, Inspector. They're waiting for you there, the second street after the sign of the village, until you reach a rustic. You can't go wrong, there will be a lot of movement in those areas.

Agreed, snapped Morelli. He pushed on his elbow to rise on one side, a movement that caused an annoying twinge in his head. It's a quarter of an hour from home. Warn people in the area that I'll dress and I'll reach them. Without hurry. He shut down the phone without waiting for an answer and put it down with little delicacy on the wooden cabinet, accompanying the gesture with an expletive, and then softly pulled off the covers to get up. But the resistance from the other side of the bed made him turn.

Fuck, he swore again, seeing a mass of blonde hair on a head turned toward the wall. The prostitute with whom he had spent the night was still asleep, despite the ringtone and the conversation of shortly before. He decided it was not yet time to worry and got up, making another movement that brought him a new thick pain in his head and behind his eyes, and walking barefoot on the cool floor tiles, headed to the bathroom.

He pressed the switch and the light in the mirror over the sink beat him as if he looked directly into the sun, forcing him to close his eyes and squeeze them many times to push through the discomfort. He thoroughly rinsed his face with cold water, hoping it would have effect, and after drying himself, he looked inside the mirror.

The glass sent back the image of a man of forty, with eyes reddened, a hint of wrinkles on the forehead and a two-day beard on cheeks and neck. On his shaved head, a hint of balding, a legacy of his mother's side of the family, was getting on his temples. He decided that the razor would have waited the next day, then came out of the small bathroom of his apartment and went to the kitchen, where he turned on the coffee maker. Until it warmed, he opened the shutters of the window and began to observe the sky that began to fill with gray clouds, fast-approaching. He looked them for a few seconds, hoping that the fresh air could help him wake up. The porphyry cobblestones road was deserted, but it was not a novelty. Living in the upper part of the old town had its advantages.

He shut the window and poured a teaspoon of sugar into his cup, then put a stronger mixture capsule in his Nespress and filled it at half. The strong smell and taste of coffee was a panacea, after an awakening like that. He left the dirty cup in the sink, where already stationed a couple of glasses and dishes – things to be done later - and returned to the bedroom.

Moving with an empty bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand, he grabbed a pair of jeans and tee-shirt from the floor, pulled his linen from the drawer and began to get dressed with movements gradually faster as he woke up. He opened blinds of the window, then those those of the balcony, then went over to the bed and, with a sudden movement, pulled off the duvet that covered the girl, suddendly awakening her. She lifted her head jerk, surprised, finding herself suddenly naked and without shelter.

I have to go, said Morelli without even giving her time to speak. Then, while she was grabbing the duvet to cover, he continued with a smile. As if I had not seen you naked ....

Where are you going?, asked the girl, with an obvious eastern accent in her voice, still asleep, watching him as he dressed and moving, with an instinctive gesture, the hair that fell on her forehead.

At work, answered him, wearing the coat grabbed from the hanger and settling his scarf. He came close to her, and stooped to kiss her quickly on the lips before she could deny it. When you exit, pulled behind you the door. And don't waste time looking for something to steal, first because there is nothing valuable and, second, because I notice immediately if something disappear. And Andrei wouldn't be happy to receive my complaints... .

CHAPTER 3

When he arrived at the entrance of the narrow street that had been reported to him, Morelli thought that all the country had gathered there, ready to attend a show. A police car was parked nearby, and two uniformed policemen controlled that no one logged on the site of the crime, but when they saw his metallic gray Bmw X 1 with tinted windows get closer, they went aside to let it pass, without even a question.

He napped off the radio, which was broadcasting at high volumes the last single by Bon Jovi, and relaxed his speed, while the shape of the house approached more and more. In the distance, snow-capped mountains of snow, fallen the week before, were offering a postcard backdrop. He parked next to the Scientific van, getting offd without bothering to lock the safe door. Even if there was no sun light that bothered him, he pulled from his pocket his RayBan sunglasses with oblong lenses and placed them on his nose. He looked around for a moment to observe the scene: the Scientific van, two police cars, another van that was clearly that of forensic medicine and another black machine that made him curious more than anything else, because he did not understand whom it could belong. To discourage him from those thoughts, there was an agent that came towards him.

Inspector, greeted the man, handing him the hand gesture that Morelli reciprocated. Measurements have started about half an hour ago.

What happened?, asked him, his breath coming out as a speech bubble in the cold air. He put his hands in his pockets, silently cursing himself for not taking gloves.

It is difficult to explain. I guess it's better to go see with your eyes ... even though it's a rather revolting scene. The agent who came first has not felt well, his colleagues had to call an ambulance to take him away.

Promising, muttered Morelli. He took a pack of cigarettes from inside the coat and lit one, pulling some puffs while approaching to the rustic. The door was opened, and he saw a figure dressed in white move inside. The blinds of the windows were wide open, to allow greater visibility, but he understood the full situation only when he came to the door.

Holy shit, he muttered, stopping for a few seconds. He threw down his half consumed cigarette and squashed it with a foot, then made a couple of steps into the room, that smelled of blood and decaying flesh.

It was a unique environment of just over twenty-five square feet, clearly abandoned for years: dirt everywhere, debris and pieces of wood, an old broken mobile, and, in the middle of the room, something that looked like the remnants of a small bonfire, lit days earlier. At the end of the room, against the wall and not far from the window, an old iron bed with a mattress thrown on.

And, on top of the mattress, what remained of a corpse. On the walls and on the floor around, blood splatters and matter.

Collect that butt, please, you want to contaminate the crime scene?.

The voice had a touch of irritation, interrupting his remarks, came from a woman who was approaching. A youthful appearance, not very tall, brown eyes and an olive complexion, brown hair falling over her shoulders, she had an accent that betrayed her sardinian origin. She was wearing dark jeans and a sweater with crew neck, and her hands were covered by a pair of latex gloves.

And who are you? Morelli asked without kindness to the agent, taking off his sunglasses and pointing with a nod of his head to the woman.

Alice Valli, she said, taking off the glove from the right hand and offering it. He returned the salute with some hesitation. The close of women was decisive. The coroner.

You're joking, right?. Morelli turned back to the agent behind him, raising her eyebrows. What happened to Dr. Geroni?.

He retired, replied Alice, seeing him in the eyes with a pugnacious light What bothers you in seeing a woman do the work of coroner?.

I do not care if it's male or female. But in my investigations I'd rather have a coroner who just came out from elementary school .

Her lips rose up in a slight smile. You can be serene, Inspector. I look younger but I have thirty-three years, and I did an internship with Dr. Geroni. Be quiet, I know to do my work.

We'll see, said Morelli. Then, let me see what we have.

They headed towards the bed, being careful not to step on the chalk marks that Scientific had done for its tests, tracks that looked like wallpapering the floor. The stench that permeated the whole environment, at that point, was even stronger.

Good heavens, commented the Inspector finally being aware of the scene. The corpse was in a state that made him virtually unrecognizable, disfigured and in an advanced state of decomposition This is the first time that I see a havoc like that.

Man, 40-45 years. He was tied hand and foot on the edge of the bed. The woman pointed out before the ties that held the remnants of the arms and legs and lay still the X-shaped man, then two bottles of wine on the floor, next to the bed.He definitely drank and probably he was drunk. I believe it because the bottles are clean, compared to the rest of the room, and have a very little layer of dust on the surface, and, inside, there is still a few drops of wine, so they've not been here for long

Morelli nodded, leaning to observe them better. Without gloves, he carefully avoided touching them, for not leaving his fingerprints.

Blood splatters on the wall behind the bed and on that side, said Alice pointing with his hand what she was explaining. But they don't have a precise direction, they are random. AND ... . She had a moment of uncertainty, prompting Morelli to look at it with curiosity. The wounds were not caused by cutting weapons or even firearms.

The perplexity of Morelli was increasingly evident. I doubt you are formed by themselves..., replied ironically, getting himself up.

Come and see. Alice motioned him to follow her and turned around the bed, giving her back to the window. Take a look here, she said, pointing to what remained of the thorax.

Morelli masqueraded a grimace of annoyance to what the woman showed him, and had to hide his nose and mouth to not breathe that stench. What he was seeing was what remained of a ribcage.And what should I see?, he asked getting up and looking in the eye of Alice. with a puzzled expression.

She stretched out the hand covered by the glove and pointed to two ribs. These are bite marks.

Bi ... bites?, replied he, increasingly incredulous.

Alice nodded. There are clearly signs of canines bites. These are animal bites, by a dog or a wolf. For sure, something like that.

Wait a minute. Morelli passed a hand over his face, his damn headache was returning. It means that someone came here with this man, they drank, tied him to the bed ... and then ... something ate him? .

The doctor pursed her lips. Something like that. We are looking for any traces of the person who was with him. I think it could be a woman: the body was completely naked, then I do not exclude that they secluded themselves here for ... .

Yes, I understand, he helped her, noting her embarrassment. He looked around, tossing a glance out the window. An isolated Place, nobody around, all the privacy that you want. His gaze returned to the corpse on the bed. But something has gone wrong.

There's more, though, said the woman. Come and see.

Toward the opposite end, they were working tools and keys, and, on the ground, objects enclosed in plastic bags. She moved a couple of it and took what was interested, ginving it to the inspector.

He took it in his hand and watched him for a moment. Inside the bag, the Little Red Riding Hood, an old Edition by Malipiero kept in almost perfect conditions: a perfect cover, back pages slightly yellowed by time, and no bloodstain. The perplexed gaze of Morelli rested on the frowning face of the coroner And what does it mean? .

We found it under the bed, he explained. This is not dirtied. I do not know what you think ... but to me it seems impossible to have been there for some time or to be founded by chance, having regard to the circumstances .

Under these circumstances.... Morelli squinted, realizing what she wanted to say. He rubbed his chin with dubious air, turning towards the bed.

What are you thinking?.

But Morelli was no longer listening. It wasn't put there by accident, he observed, talking more to himself than to her, his gaze fixed into the void. The presence of that book next to the corpse had lit an alarm lamp, and he truly hoped that his assumptions were unfounded.

CHAPTER 4

4 pm had just passed when Morelli crossed the entrance to the police station. As measurements were finished, he had pressed Scientific officers to get as many results as possible within days, and Alice Valli had informed him that the autopsy on the remains would have been made the next morning.

You want to be present when I begin?, she had asked him while, on the clearing in front of the house, remains were loaded on the coroner's van.

You can forget it, he replied litting another cigarette, of which he felt a strong need. He marked his cell phone number on a piece of paper. When you have the results, call me. How much do you think it will take? .

Given the state of the corpse, no less than three days.

I'm waiting your call for tomorrow afternoon, concluded Morelli with a tone that indicated that he did not want to hear replies. He blew down his consumed cigarette, trampling on it to turn it off, and went toward his car, without giving time to the incredulous woman to even respond.

The first persone he saw entering the Commissariat was agent Villani, the same who had answered the call that morning. He was coming out of the switchboard, clumsy and awkward in his little more than a metre and a half height and nearly 100 kg in weight, heading towards Morelli.

In my office, said the latter taking him for an arm and pulling him behind, before he could say anything.

Morelli's Office was located at the end of the corridor; It was a fairly spacious room with a black wood desk at the end, police executives and banners hanging on the walls, and some filing cabinets. The large window with three panes on the right wall had a nice view on the outside, although, now, light began to decline in intensity. Once inside, Morelli closed the door behind him, pointing, to a panting Villani, to sit on one of the two chairs placed in front of the desk, while he took away his scarf and coat, by hanging them to the wooden hangers fixed on the wall.

He took place to his desk, almost completely bare, except for a few cases piled up on one side, a container for biro, a phone and a badge. No pictures of family members was on the table: Morelli had never married and had no children. His family, if you could call it that, was a sister ten years younger, with which he had a rather formal relationships.

So, Villani, attacked Morelli crossing his hands behind his head and rocking back the chair. Call Me.

There is little to say, Inspector. It lasted no longer than thirty seconds, I haven't had time to ask anything before he closed the phone down after giving directions to get to the place of the discovery .

Man? Woman? .

I don't know, admitted the agent shaking his head with disappointment. The voice was evidently masked, as if there was a handkerchief or something like that.

Perfect, snorted Morelli. The chair legs touched the floor with a thud. And I guess the number is anonymous.

Villani nodded. Private number, he confirmed.

Morelli took a pen and started to play with it. Call all telephonic companies. Check the listings to see where the call was from. It will come out if it is from a cell phone or a landline. And check all reports and complaints of missing male persons of the last two weeks. Forget those under forty years old and those over fifty .

The officer nodded, getting up from the chair to return at his place.

'Tell Camogli to come here, if you see her. AND ... Villani? .

Yes, Inspector? The agent blocked with a hand on the door handle.

Try to do something to get you in place, if you want to arrive to retirement alive. Blinking, he made him understand he could go.

Deputy Superintendent Morena Camogli knocked on the door of the Office after less than five minutes. Morelli was busy looking for a number in the phone book, sure too pinned it earlier when he was given it, and its degree of nervousness was reaching worrying heights when those two discrete shots at the door made him raise his head.

Enter, he said, acknowledging beyond the opaque door glass the figure of the person who was waiting.

Thirty-five years, a thick mass of curly black long hair over her shoulders, a tanned complexion and green eyes,elongatedly cut and giving her an almost exotic look, Camogli entered the room heading towards the desk.

Did you call? she asked. They had worked together for four years and for two years they were lovers, until the story was interrupted by too many differences between their characters. Morena was also the first of his subordinates.

Come here, said Morelli beating one hand on the desk before him.

She advanced by holding her hands in the pockets of her jeans, then got on a Chair to get comfortable. You've heard of the murder of the rustic, he said, putting aside a notebook. She nodded. Well. Let us prepare ourselves to have a mass of reporters camped in front of the door to question us, and it is clear that I do not want even a word on any part of the investigation coming from here.

Only at the end, seeing the woman frown, he noticed that he had spoken perhaps too abruptly. I see you worried, she remarked.

Oh yes, you don't know even how much. You have no idea of the shit that will rain on us if just a few details come out. I am surprised that the prosecutor has not yet rang my phone .

It's the situation so ugly?.

Morelli crossed his arms on the desk, watching in silence for a few moments the face of the woman who was in front of him. Three years before those green eyes had made him lost his mind, and even though he knew that their story would not have been able to last, he had tried. He had not a character that made it easy to share his life with other people, and it also lasted longer than he had imagined in the beginning.

There was a book, next to the corpse ... or what remained of it. Little Red Riding Hood. And I'm sure that was not put there by chance. You know when you feel the hairs of your arms stretch for an alleged danger, not exactly knowing why? .

Go ahead, she urged, concerned.

Morelli stood up and approached the window; the darkness beyond the glass was becoming more and more dense. His gaze rested on the Alps in the distance, where snow that dropped in the preceding weeks now assumed a bluish glow in the sunset light. I'm worried that is a signature.

A signature of the assassin, you mean?. The voice of Camogli was doubtful.

Exactly. What sense would have, otherwise, to put a book of that kind near the body? It must be a message, or something like that. I couldn't explain it in other ways .

She moved a hand between her rebel curls, pulling them back. You have to contact someone who knows these things. Do you have any idea? .

Morelli leaned his back to the window sill, turning towards the interior of the room.I was looking for Marini's number. I already worked with her, maybe she could give me some advice .

Morena squinted, trying to remember who he was talking about. You mean the criminal psychologist?.

Morelli nodded. If behind that book there's a message, I need a key. Only at that point I'll start to have at least some clearer idea of what happened.

Ok, nodded the woman. And for the rest, how do we act?.

He explained her of the autopsy on the remains and of the results that he had requested within the next day, and of the orders that he had left to Villani, obtaining her approval. Before having some data, we cannot do anything, admitted her. Maybe tomorrow we'll have clearer ideas. Now what do want to do? .

Now I want to find that fucking number that I had left to call it, then I'll go back home to get some drinks, he said, heading back to the desk.

She snorted, shaking her head. Don't you exaggerate? Lately you haven't a good wax, and it doesn't take a scientist to understand why .

Really?, he said, without even giving her a gaze, poking into drawers, pulling out notebooks, notepads and whatnot, and crowding around recklessly on the desk.

I'm serious, she replied, deliberately emphasizing her last words, while tapering her fingers on the table. To deflect this kind of talk has always been your strong point.

There it is!. Morelli pulled out a business card and waved it with satisfaction ahead of him. I knew it was here around. He rose with a deliberately mocking smile at the woman and walked to the hanger, from which he grabbed his scarf and coat. I would be happy to continue this pleasant conversation but … I have things to do, he concluded dressing, then walked to the door and opened it. Do me a favor, turn off the light when you leave.

And without waiting for reply, crossed the threshold.

CHAPTER 5

Alessandro Fabbri said Villani posing on the desk of Morelli a thin cardboard sleeve.

Morena picked it up first, opening it to peek inside. Forty-four years. Disappeared last Wednesday from Venaria. 6 pm he went out, saying to his wife that he would go with friends to watch the match of Toro, and from that moment he's untraceable. His wife wakes up at night to go to the bathroom and, not seeing him in bed, worried, calls him several times on the phone, but it's turned off. The allegation of disappearance was made just hours after the discovery of his absence. None of his close friends confirmed the appointment to go to the stadium.

It's the only detection of missing persons that can be useful for us? asked the woman to the agent, turning to look at him from the chair on which she was sitting. He nodded. It can be him, then,she said, shifting her attention on Morelli and passing the briefcase.

It can be, admitted the man in a flat tone, pausing on the picture and trying to see some resemblance to the remains seen in rustic. But we need more reliable tests. We'll go to his house and let his wife give us something from which DNA can be extracted, so we can bring it to Valli to make a comparison.

There is the address of the dwelling, in the data at the bottom. His wife is a homemaker, we can hope to find her at home.

Agreed. And let's do it quickly: in early afternoon I want to go to the Institute of forensic medicine to put a bit of a hurry to miss Doctor, and at 4 pm I have to meet Marini .

You found her quickly, commented Camogli, curious.

Exactly. I set an appointment on the first hole that she had ".

And ... at what time have you called her, since 8 am have just passed?. The voice of the woman was betrayed by a slight hint of reproach.

Tonight I had problems sleeping, and then I thought it was a good thing to be helpful to the case.

You did not answer, Morelli....

He creased his forehead in a theatrical frown, looking up at the ceiling and rocking in the chair. Maybe at 2 am, half past 2... I don't remember very well, frankly.

Morena was gazing at him with an expression that did not hide her astonishment. Did you call her home at 2 and a half am? You're kidding, I hope! .

Oh no, absolutely. I'm very serious. I was hoping not to wake her husband, but the male sleepily voice that wondered who was on the phone must have been his .

Morena's face was a mask of reproach, as well as his tone. You have a great ass face, Luca. Don't you know that, unlike you, people have a private and personal life? .

Of course I know, he replied with a smile that she knew of mockery, but for a psychologist specialized in Criminology private personal life ends when, as now, he's needed for a case. And now, agent Camogli , he said, standing up and stretching the dossier to Villani, remained silent behind the woman throughout the conversation, How about we stop wasting time to comment on my private life, and go to visit Mrs. Fabbri?.

You missed yourself, admit it.

Morelli refused to answer, while his car proceeded at more moderate speed on the internal roads of the village, trying to find the right way.

I'm not lost, I'm looking for it. There's a big difference . He slowed even more in the vicinity of a crossing to read the plaque affixed to the street wall of the first house, getting one trumpeted by the machine that followed them, then increased the pace by launching dirty looks in the rearview mirror. It should be here, this is the area.

Which means that you missed it, she insisted. Do you know that there are satellite navigators?.

With those I would have certainly lost, he replied without concealing sarcasm. Then, extending a hand, he pointed to the right, toward a road that crossed what they were going through. It should be that one.

I hope so. Your guide has always upset my stomach .

You've always been too delicate, miss, he stimulated her with an amused smirk. He switched to the right and turned down the road watching the street name. Here we are, he satisfied nodded after finding that it was the right one.

Finally ....

They parked in the first free space they found, then headed towards the number they were looking for. The sky was cloudy and blew an annoying cold air that forced them to replace scarves and wear gloves.

That one. Morena pointed with a nod of the head a modest one-family detached house with a small well- tended garden on the front.

Not bad, said Morelli. I always thought that being a construction manager has its advantages. He pushed the doorbell button, and didn't have wait too long before a female voice asked who it was.

We're Inspector Morelli and Deputy Camogli, "he replied. Words came out in a cloud of steam.

The gate opened with one click and the two entered. Closing it behind, they began to follow the driveway paved with stones slightly uphill. A woman on the forties awaited them on the door stop; she had her hands in the pockets and a worried expression on her face.

Mrs. Fabbri?, said Morelli, stretching a hand and receiving in exchange a gentle handshake. The woman was dressed in a home suit; dark circles on her face betrayed the concern that was eroding her in those days, when she had reported the disappearance of her husband.

I am, but please come in. She stood aside to allow the two to enter, then followed them. Do you have any news for me?.

Maybe, replied Morena, taking up the discussion. Can we talk about it somewhere else?.

The woman nodded, and made them follow her. They got through the corridor and, overcoming a room on their left, came into a more spacious salon, warmed by a fireplace. Inside, fire popped, consuming burning embers.

Make yourself comfortable, she invited them, indicating two brown sofas. Can I offer you something? Coffee, tea? .

We are okay, thank you, smiled Morena. She then decided to go straight to the point.We need to ask you something that belongs to your husband, or that he uses. Possibly his toothbrush, maybe even a comb which has entangled some of his hairs. We came just for that.

The woman's gaze darkened even more, starting to rub her hands for nervousness. And why do you need them?.

Normal routine, said Morelli, who in the meantime had turned up and drew near the fireplace, hands in pockets, watching through the glass the wood burning. Cross-checks, verifications in the database ... Stuff, y'know. I would like to not worry you unnecessarily, Lady, telling you things that, at the time, could not find confirmation . He said, maintaining a neutral tone so as not to be suspicious to the woman, as if it was normal administration.

The woman remained silent for a moment, then nodded. I'll bring you all, and walked away from them, heading towards the bathroom.

Lets me talk, and try not to make any damage , said Morena to him, hitting him with a dirty look.Your methods have the ugly downside to awe people.

Morelli moved away from the chimney. Professional deformation, retorted, blining. His attention was captured by some ornaments placed on a vabinet on the other side of the room. He came there, and took by his hands a wooden statuette depicting a crouching Buddha in its classic figure This chubby guy has always inspired me sympathy, he commented, showing it to Morena. He has the expression of someone in peace with the whole world.

You don't know what it is, she replied with a marked acidity note in her voice. "Try to put it