Sibylline Greetings (Book 2, the LiteraTours Cozy Mystery Series)

Chapter 5 - Da Bruno

"No, no, Signora!"

The policewoman speed-waddled towards Ike like an overweight avenger, her bust nearly bursting from her midnight-blue uniform jacket. She wore a curious flat-crowned hat, the brim turned up at both sides and a light blue skirt with red stripes that stretched over her fleshy thighs. The soles of her sturdy shoes slapped on the stone floor of the Questura, the echo of her steps ricocheting from the domed ceiling of a corridor as endless and draughty as it was ill-lit.

The wooden bench Viktor, Graziano, the local archaeologist, and Ike were sitting on dug into her buttocks, and her mood soured as the minutes crept on. They had been biding their time for over an hour, waiting until the Commissario finished grilling the husband of the dead woman and it would be their turn.

"No, Signora," the woman repeated and waggled an admonishing finger. "No telephone at police station."

She stopped in front of the bench and glared at the black rectangle in its lime-green pouch.

Ike sighed, snapped the lid shut and pocketed the gadget.

"Sorry. Scusi, I mean."

She could only hope Gary got the message she sent while clambering out of the catacombs. Reception had been crap, but with luck, that missive still reached its destination.

No chance afterwards. Police cars appeared to be just as no-go when it came to modern telecommunication as the cop shop itself.

The woman threw her another peeved look before returning to her chair placed in front of the glass door that partitioned off the next section of the corridor. The door was set into walls of dirty white plasterwork that arched above them, supporting an equally dingy ceiling at least four metres over their heads. At regular intervals, grey pillars jutted from the walls together with light fixtures that spread a dim glow on their immediate vicinity, but no more. Globes hanging from the ceiling bore the brunt of the lighting job but failed just as miserably. Everything in this place seemed as over-dimensioned as it was under-illuminated, a historical palace gone to seeds.

Perhaps, it was all deliberate, designed to awe the visitors. Or would that be prisoners? Well, nobody had said anything about them being arrested.

So far.

Ike shifted on the bench but got no more comfortable. Her back hurt. Her buttocks ditto. Her eyes itched. The bottle of water Shalon had pressed into her hands before they got taken away was almost empty. And thoughts kept buzzing through her head like a swarm of carrion flies.

What would yet another dodgy death mean for LiteraTours? For herself?

Well, it wasn't one of their guests who had tumbled to her death.

That didn't make things any better.

I'm a corpse magnet.

From corpses, her mind somehow leap-frogged to Boris, the Corgi, hopefully, restored to Brigitte by now. Heavens, Brigitte.

She needed to know matters had gone distinctly pear-shaped. Ike could only hope, Shalon put her in the picture when handing over the leash of the dog. That was assuming, the poor girl would find the time now she had a death on her hands. For a moment, Ike felt guilty for not being there to help. The moment passed. Like so many before it.

She peeped across the corridor at the industrial clock hanging over the fire extinguisher.

Only five minutes since she last checked.

The two archaeologists didn't seem to mind the wait. They were speculating what sort of place the dead tourist might have crashed into and kept talking shop.