The rain in Bologna does not fall. It settles. It comes down like something decided long ago, like a verdict nobody appealed, and it stays on the cobblestones of Piazza Maggiore until the stones themselves forget they were ever dry. I had been back in the city for eleven days when they gave me the file, and it had rained on nine of them. My name is Dario Bellini. Inspector, though the rank means less every year. I spent nineteen years as a crime reporter for a paper that no longer exists, and when it folded I did the only sensible thing a man with my habits could do, which was to go over to the other side of the table and start carrying a badge. People ask me why. I tell them it was for the pension. That is partly true. The rest of it is that a reporter watches and a policeman acts, and somewhere around my forty-fifth year I got tired of watching. The file they gave me was thin. That should have told me something. In my experience the thick files are the honest ones, the ones where somebody bled on every page and nobody was trying to hide it. A thin file is a promise. A thin file says: there is nothing here, please go away.It was a disappearance. Twenty-six years old. A woman named Marta Ferretti, twenty-three at the time, who got off the last regional train at a station called Pontevecchio di Sotto, twelve kilometres north of the city, one night in November of 1998 and was never seen again. No body. No witness worth the name. A boyfriend questioned and released. A stationmaster who gave a statement and then died of a heart attack four years later. The original investigation lasted five weeks and produced forty pages. Somebody had written CLOSED - INSUFFICIENT EVIDENCE in red ink on the cover, and the red had gone brown with age, like dried blood, which I suppose it was, in its way. I read it on a Tuesday, in the office they keep for me on the third floor of Via Volto Santo, a room with one window that looks out on a wall.
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Taschenbuch. Etat : Neu. nach der Bestellung gedruckt Neuware - Printed after ordering - The rain in Bologna does not fall. It settles. It comes down like something decided long ago, like a verdict nobody appealed, and it stays on the cobblestones of Piazza Maggiore until the stones themselves forget they were ever dry. I had been back in the city for eleven days when they gave me the file, and it had rained on nine of them. My name is Dario Bellini. Inspector, though the rank means less every year. I spent nineteen years as a crime reporter for a paper that no longer exists, and when it folded I did the only sensible thing a man with my habits could do, which was to go over to the other side of the table and start carrying a badge. People ask me why. I tell them it was for the pension. That is partly true. The rest of it is that a reporter watches and a policeman acts, and somewhere around my forty-fifth year I got tired of watching. The file they gave me was thin. That should have told me something. In my experience the thick files are the honest ones, the ones where somebody bled on every page and nobody was trying to hide it. A thin file is a promise. A thin file says: there is nothing here, please go away.It was a disappearance. Twenty-six years old. A woman named Marta Ferretti, twenty-three at the time, who got off the last regional train at a station called Pontevecchio di Sotto, twelve kilometres north of the city, one night in November of 1998 and was never seen again. No body. No witness worth the name. A boyfriend questioned and released. A stationmaster who gave a statement and then died of a heart attack four years later. The original investigation lasted five weeks and produced forty pages. Somebody had written CLOSED - INSUFFICIENT EVIDENCE in red ink on the cover, and the red had gone brown with age, like dried blood, which I suppose it was, in its way. I read it on a Tuesday, in the office they keep for me on the third floor of Via Volto Santo, a room with one window that looks out on a wall. N° de réf. du vendeur 9787898199238
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