When Alessandro returned to the station, he faced a repeat of the airport. The news of the “bomb” had arrived before he had, and his entrance was greeted with applause and laughter. His boss, Mario Columbo, lived down his comparison to the gentle American television detective with a dry, sardonic wit that, right now, was drier than usual. “So,” he said, “I hear that, thanks to you, Italy is safe once more from the threat of wind-up toy teeth. You’ll get a medal for this one for sure.”
Alessandro was impatient to get on with business. “Not to worry. Next time, I’ll ignore protocol and let the president and everyone else in the airport take their chances.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Rossi. Of course it was the right thing to do. But we’re busy enough here without the newspapers turning this into another story of how we’re incompetent and a drain on the country’s finances. I can picture the morning headlines now:
Venice Police Take a Bite out of Terrorism with New Top-Secret Weapon. The president’s plane was diverted to Treviso, you know. This is what happens when you try to help someone out.”
Rossi knew the airport security job shouldn’t have been the Guardia di Finanza’s, but the Carabinieri, facing cutbacks like everyone else these days, had them pulled in to help.
Columbo called over the chaos for someone, anyone, to bring him a coffee, before addressing Alessandro again. “I’m going to have to justify this to every fool bureaucrat in the city, if not the country, before I can go home for dinner tonight.”
But it wasn’t just Columbo whose day was taken up with what the office was now calling “The Chattering-Teeth Caper.” Alessandro himself had to fill out a dozen reports justifying his decisions. Determined to finish by the end of the day, he worked straight through lunch, until his partner, Pamela de Vivo, finally took pity on him and brought him a panini.
“You should’ve just asked her out on a date,” she said sarcastically as she handed him his sandwich and a coffee from the café next door. “It would’ve been a lot less paperwork.”
“Not you too, Pamela.” Pamela was the only female who worked in this office of the Guardia di Finanza, and she silenced any lingering sexism in the unit with a glare that Columbo said could turn a man into a pillar of salt. Tall, with a model-like figure and good looks that required no enhancement from makeup, she wore her long blond hair pulled back into a tight bun. The men in the office, having had their advances haughtily rebuffed, declared that her bun wasn’t the only tight thing about her. Still, Columbo, to ensure he didn’t have a sexual harassment suit on his hands, had made them partners, knowing Alessandro Rossi hadn’t given any woman a second thought since his wife’s death. Besides, he remembered Columbo saying, you’re the only guy here who has advanced beyond a caveman when it comes to women.
Alessandro sometimes felt sorry for Pamela. Besides her job with the Guardia di Finanza, she was married with two small children. Her husband Fabio’s family owned a bar near San Marco, and Pamela was expected to work there on her days off, with her kids in tow. And while Pamela could turn the toughest suspect into a crybaby, she was powerless against her mother-in-law, who disapproved of her job and instead expected her to bear several more children and work in the bar alongside Fabio.
“Where’s she staying?” Pamela asked.
“On the Rio de San Vio. And I have to admit that I did give her my card.”
Pamela raised one eyebrow at him before going back to her own desk to answer the phone. Alessandro ran his fingers through his hair and started typing again. It was true that every time he typed the name Olivia Moretti, he couldn’t help but picture her lovely violet eyes. And Pamela would never know just how close he’d come to asking her out on that date. He was going to frame it as an apology: I think I owe you an apology. Can I take you out for a drink after . . . ? But then her cousin had appeared, and he’d panicked.
Pamela called over to him, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m heading home, Alessandro.”
He glanced at the clock. “Bit early for you.”
“I’ve got a stop to make on the way home. Have a good night.”
“You too.” He sighed again and resumed typing.