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the pavement. Looking at the poor bastards’ faces he remembered that it was, in fact, during a round-up that he had first met Rosa, right after the war. At the time, three out of every ten women in the poorer quarters practised the profession. Rosa had stopped a few years later. Being one who knew how to economise, she was able to buy herself a nice flat in the centre of town …
    Lost in thoughts of times past, the inspector gave a start when Officer Binazzi came up behind him.
    â€˜Inspector, we’ve found some weapons.’
    â€˜Oh, really? What kind of weapons?’
    â€˜Looks like stuff from the war.’
    â€˜In whose place?’
    â€˜In the flat of a certain Gaspare Mordacci, Inspector.’
    Bordelli shrugged.
    â€˜I know him well,’ he said. ‘Those weapons are souvenirs of his Partisan days.’
    â€˜What should I do, Inspéctor?’
    â€˜Leave him in peace … It’s thanks to him, too, that you don’t live in a country run by Germans.’
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ said Binazzi, and he ran away.
    Bordelli grabbed his packet of cigarettes, then tasted a bitter, disgusting patina on his tongue and put it back in his pocket. Exchanging a glance with Piras, he thought he saw the young man smile.
    â€˜What a pain in the arse,’ he said.
    Indeed. He could only guess the pain Inzipone would cause him after that umpteenth round-up with no arrests.
    â€˜So, monkey, is your big bad headache going away?’
    Rosa was standing behind him and massaging his face up to the temples. She had spread cream all over his skin, and her fingers seemed magical.
    â€˜Yes, it’s going away, but don’t stop,’ said Bordelli. The former prostitute was as pure as a child. After years of hard work in brothels all across the region, she decided to quit when the Merlin law was passed. She didn’t like one bit the idea of spending the whole night pounding the pavement. Luckily she had always been a sort of squirrel and over the years had managed to put away enough to buy herself this little flat with a view of the roofs and Arnolfo’s Tower, 3 and to live on her savings until she grew old. She really had earned it all. ‘I’m the only one of the girls who managed to save up my money,’ she often said with a certain pride.
    It was almost three o’clock in the morning. Bordelli lay on the sofa with his shoes off, stroking the head of Gideon, Rosa’s white cat. The beast had curled up on the inspector’s belly and was purring. After a day like the one he’d just been through, this was exactly what Bordelli needed. The cat had been used a year before as a Trojan horse to kill its owner, and the inspector had given the orphaned animal to Rosa.
    â€˜Are you hungry? Shall I make you a tartine?’ she asked.
    â€˜No thanks. I don’t feel like eating.’
    â€˜You look sad.’
    Bordelli couldn’t get the image of the dead little girl out of his head.
    â€˜This isn’t a good time, Rosa … And tonight I had to conduct a round-up,’ he said.
    â€˜Poor dear, I know how much you hate that.’ Rosa stopped massaging him and went into the bathroom to wash the greasy cream off her hands. Gideon gave a full-mouthed yawn and, stretching, planted his claws in Bordelli’s belly. Before curling up to go back to sleep, he turned round on himself once, his tail brushing the inspector’s face.
    Rosa returned and collapsed in the armchair.
    â€˜Would you like something to drink, monkey?’ she asked.
    â€˜If you’ve got some of that cognac …’
    â€˜Of course I have.’ Rosa got up again, lithe as a young girl, and went and filled two glasses. Handing one to Bordelli, she went to turn on the gramophone. She put Vecchio frac on the turntable and started to dance wistfully, swaying on the carpet. At a certain point she smiled sadly.
    â€˜That poor little girl must have gone straight to