Ailanthus. Antonio De Vito

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      Right after 7:00 A.M, Stacie decided to go out and look for a Starbucks. Maybe a coffee would have revived her. She hadn’t sleep at all and keeping her eyes open was a real challenge. She was meaning to go to the District Attorney’s office and have a chat with Prosecutor Douglas. She couldn’t and wouldn’t hide her state of mind and hoped that Douglas was willing to give her a chance.

      She slowly drank her coffee trying to get slowly back in her shoes. A multitude of thoughts and images went through her mind before her eyes. She didn’t cry but, maybe, just because she didn’t have any tears left.

      The Starbucks was already quite crowded at that time and Stacie tried to look around to observe people’s faces. She really liked it. Sometimes she dwelled so much, risking being even misunderstood. She liked finding details, analyzing the uniqueness. Often, even simple moves captured her attention. This habit distracted her and deflected her thoughts from the daily routine. This time she needed a huge concentration exercise, but her commitment was very laudable.

      She went to the DA’s office by cab; it was only a few miles far from there and, once reached her destination, she went almost running towards Timothy Douglas’ office.

      â€œStacie! You have no idea how much seeing you in this office fills me up with joy. First of all, how was Switzerland?”

      â€œUnfortunately Sam didn’t make it. I’m here about this, too. I know that it’s more than two months that I’m away. I don’t expect any special treatment and I don’t think that you could afford such a low-efficient coworker...” Stacie started off like a shot. She didn’t even look the Prosecutor straight in his eyes. It was the only way. On the other hand, she didn’t release the frustration since the moment when the doctor had stated Sam’s death to her.

      â€œKeep calm; let’s have a seat, so you can tell me what happened.” Douglas was extremely understanding, like a father. They sat close for almost one hour. He poured her a cup of coffee and Stacie could tell him everything she had lived in Geneva, from hopes to harsh reality. Douglas knew how to listen and understand Stacie’s state of mind and she felt like having in front of her a man able to understand pain.

      â€œI can only imagine how you feel. You don’t have to feel ashamed of your pain, but try to draw strength from this situation. I met you a few months ago because you were mentioned by Detective Cross. I didn’t know how you were, and even less if your decanted abilities were real. But I came to know a determined woman, almost stubborn, without for this reason renouncing to her fragilities.” Stacie was listening to him inebriated. “From this meeting I understand more than ever how complicated it is to let live together work and emotions. What I can assure you is that, the day that you’ll fully make it, you will be able to say you have control of yourself and live totally your life without having to necessarily sacrifice a part of it.”

      Stacie listened impressed to Prosecutor Douglas. His words hit the mark. They weren’t advices, but traced a road that seemed already covered. It was her turn and she had to get back in the game taking all the risks of the case.

      â€œI thank you a lot for your words, and even more for the way you welcomed me. To me that’s an extra reason to show you all my gratitude. If and when you consider it appropriate, I still will be available to give you my professional help.”

      â€œGood, that’s how we talk. You are so needed here. Frank Berrimow already called twice in the last hours to get informed about you. You know, he works at the Detective Bureau now and he’s the one who will help you on your next case. In your absence I’ve been designated as Prosecutor of New York Southern District. Now, we’ll deal with the cases happened in Brooklyn or in the Bronx, too.” Douglas poured more coffee in Stacie’s cup.

      â€œAre wheels already in motion?”

      â€œUnfortunately yes. A murder in the Flatbush neighborhood in downtown Brooklyn. A man’s throat was cut and the right eyeball was taken away.”

      â€œOh my God!” Stacie seemed horrified at Douglas’s words.

      â€œUnfortunately given the details, everything makes us think of...”

      â€œâ€¦ Of a psycho cut-throat around New York’s streets.” Stacie finished Douglas’s sentence.

      â€œExactly! And now it’s on you. Do you feel like diving out there again?”

      â€œYes, absolutely! I’ll go to Frank, so we can start as soon as possible. Prosecutor Douglas, remember that I owe you one.” Stacie, even if she was still recovering, seemed to take stock of Timothy Douglas’s words.

      -5-

      Frank Berrimow was sat at his desk and had in front of him a pile of papers through which he nervously went looking for something. There inevitably was his cup with the New York Police Department’s emblem on it. Frank was a Policeman proud of his work and proud of serving his country. The redundancy of symbols that reminded him his affiliation with the Community was so easy to find such in that Police Office as in a simple bar. Frank didn’t escape the stereotypical American guy at all.

      When he saw Stacie coming closer, he jumped. It was equally exciting to her. That experience together following the De Sena case, during which they both staked their lives, had the effect of creating between the two a strong complicity. They had worked together just for a few days but their relationship seemed to last long before. Frank didn’t know yet anything about what had happened in Geneva, so Stacie told him right away how it went and tried to let him understand how hard was for her to get back to work now that Sam wasn’t there anymore. Obviously she left out the whole nightmares that were haunting her thing; she wasn’t into the idea that she could be considered crazy, depressed or something like that. They had the chance to talk for a few minutes. You couldn’t consider Frank such a deep man as Timothy Douglas and Stacie knew this. She also knew that what could seem simple set phrases, the only ones that Frank could pull out during their conversation, came straight from his heart.

      â€œFrank, thank you for your words. If I’m here it’s to start working together again. Forget what happened in Switzerland, I’m trying to get over it quickly. I know I will need some time, but also with your help, I’m sure I’ll make it. Douglas told me about the terrible murder in Brooklyn, about your engagement at the Detective Bureau and gave me free reign. Now, tell me everything you know and let’s start without further delay.”

      â€œGreat. I’ve been here reading papers for two days, but you’re way better than me in this stuff. Now I’ll tell you. Do you already know the details of the murder, from the throat-cut to the injuries inflicted?”

      â€œYes, Douglas mentioned something, it’s terrifying.”

      â€œThe man murdered doesn’t have criminal records, there was no robbery of money and from the documents we know whose corpse it is. He was a forty-years-old married man. Besides the wife, he left also two daughters, ten and twelve years old. He lived in a nice apartment in Brooklyn. Basically an almost perfect life which didn’t suggest this kind of end.”

      â€œAnd why was he in that area in the middle of the night? That’s not a nice place.”

      â€œI interviewed his wife very tactfully, given the situation. It seems that that evening they had had a small argument, nothing flagrant, СКАЧАТЬ