Esoteric Crimes. Stefano Vignaroli

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СКАЧАТЬ the following morning, I found myself at the station in Florence, ready to go back home. The short vacation was over, but I still thought about the embrace of the previous evening: I kept feeling the hand that touched mine. Was I in love? Maybe.

      When I got home, I found my father and mother engaged in yet another quarrel, and this turned off all the poetry created in the previous days. How is it possible, I thought, for two people who had loved each other, who had shared their lives for over twenty years, to come to treat each other like this? At that moment, I realized that marriage was not for me.

      I was almost 19 when, on a warm early autumn day, my father killed himself, shooting himself in the temple. How had he come into possession of a gun, I would never know. The fact is that his life has been marked by a tragedy, which occurred about twelve years earlier, a tragedy in which my little brother of about three years died.

      On Sundays, my father liked to cook, preparing embers in the fireplace, where he cooked everything, meat skewers, sausages, grilled vegetables, skewered chickens, and other delicacies. On the day of the accident, as usual, he had lit the fire and prepared everything he needed on the table. Alfonso, as a joke, had taken a grill and started running around the room. Trying to prevent an accident, my father chased him, but my brother stumbled and fell to the ground. The grate flew in the air and fell on the back of his nape. The metal point had found the space between two cervical vertebrae, slipping into the spinal cord and causing the immediate death of the child. Dad had never made peace with himself for this episode. Together with my mother, they had decided to have another child to compensate for their loss. So, after some time, the twins were born. Naming one of the two children Alfonso, again, has not been a brilliant idea at all. Every time my parents spoke his name, they remembered that tragedy all over again. Over time, my parents quarreled more and more often. Every time, my mother pinned the fault for the death of the child on her husband, who had gone into depression, to fight which he had started attending psychotherapy sessions. At one point, his therapist had stuffed him with psychiatric drugs, which, instead of making him feel better, led him to the psychic meltdown and, eventually, to suicide.

      I had heard a loud noise coming from the study, and I rushed into my father’s room with a bad feeling. I found him slumped on the desk, with a laconic note beside him, where he had written just the following: «Forgive me.»

      I hadn’t been able to shed a tear. My mother didn’t seem too sorry for the loss: indeed, perhaps it has been a liberation for her. I felt the need to speak with someone other than my mother, with someone who understood me, and the only one who could do that was Stefano. I joined him in his Veterinary Clinic, on the outskirts of Jesi, and only in his arms, I did manage to unleash all my tears.

      «I’ve suffered too much in the last years. I’ve seen too much evil around me. I would like to remedy this by engaging myself in a job that is useful to someone and, at the same time, that could be a personal satisfaction. Give me some advice, please!»

      He smiled at me, trying to wipe away my tears.

      «You have recently graduated with honors, you have a good knowledge of psychology and sociology, plus you love animals and dogs in particular. If you may be interested, a client of mine, a superintendent of the State Police, illustrated me a few days ago a project for the construction of a dogs’ unit. It will depend on the Ancona Police Headquarters. Waiting for the funds and equipment to arrive, he was assigned a German Shepherd, to use as a drug-sniffing dog at the port. Why don’t you try the police force career? I can see you doing that! Then, once you enter, you will have the opportunity to assert your qualities as a skilled dog expert. I am here and will always help you when you will need it!»

      At the time, I judged the idea a bit bizarre. But then, considering that I didn’t think of myself as a marriage kind of woman, given my parents’ bad experience, a few days later, I presented myself to the Police Headquarters in Ancona. I filled in the application for admission to the course for student agents.

      After the course, the career hadn’t been as easy as I had thought. Some time passed before I was called into force. In the meantime, I had enrolled in the Faculty of Law in Macerata, dedicating myself mainly to criminology.

      I hadn’t even been able to sit an exam when finally, the employment letter arrived. I was to be a chosen agent stationed at the Police Headquarters of Ancona. At first, it seemed that nobody cared about my qualities as a criminologist, and about my knowledge on how to work with dogs. I spent long days behind the wheel and around the city, stopping cars at checkpoints or arresting drunks, drug addicts, and prostitutes. It was certainly not the job I had expected and, after the shift was over, I was so exhausted that it was unthinkable to go back to the books to study.

      But I didn’t let my guard down, and I always looked for an opportunity to demonstrate my true abilities to my superiors. After a couple of years of service, the advancement to the rank of superintendent was automatic. Thus the possibility for me to follow my fellow inspectors in some investigation had opened up.

      The idea of a dogs’ unit dependent on the Ancona Police Headquarters had been monopolized by a colleague, by superintendent Carli, posted at the port. He did nothing but make some tourists pass by his German Shepherd, to occasionally pull out from, of the moment, unfortunate person, a few grams of drug from his underwear. But the real drug, the one, we knew very well, was passing through the port of Ancona in kilos he never intercepted it.

      Finally, one day my great opportunity knocked on my door. Together with Inspector Ennio Santinelli, a smart guy, but who lacked that edge necessary to stand out from the others, I was investigating the trafficking of stolen dogs. We believed they were being exported abroad after being cleaned up of their tattoo, that is if they had one. According to my colleague, they were mostly hunting dogs, marketed in Greece, Albania, and Turkey. In my opinion, there was more to it because they were often half-breed dogs, and of all ages, there were even old dogs. I asked Stefano, and he too, as a veterinarian, said that it didn’t add up much.

      «If one wants to speculate with international dog trafficking, the dogs are to be hunting dogs of high genealogy and young or trained to fight. There’s something wrong here,» he told me on the phone.

      One morning in March fax from Greece arrived at the station. An animal welfare association reported that in Patras, a lorry, that officially transported horses, had been embarked on a ferry with Ancona as its destination. But, among the horses, there were at least a hundred dogs transported in inhuman conditions. Superintendent Carli was not on duty that day. Inspector Santinelli, partly because of the bitter cold of the morning, and partly because he did not want to invade his colleague’s camp, was reluctant to head towards the port.

      «I don’t think this interests us much,» said Santinelli. «You go, Caterina, have a look and, if you find it necessary, get the Public Veterinary Service to intervene.»

      When I arrived at the pier where the ferry from Greece was docked, I immediately noticed a hustle and bustle of animalists, who demanded the immediate appropriation of the animals. On the other hand, the captain of the ferry claimed that on board, as per international conventions, the Italian authorities could not intervene, and he had received a message from the Greek shipowner not to land the lorry, which would return to Patras. All this convinced me more and more that there was some shady traffic in there. I asked for the lorry documents, the travel plan, and the animals’ accompanying documents. Trucks, engine, and trailers came from Turkey and were headed to Hanover. From the transport documents, it appeared that the vehicle had to transport only horses intended for slaughter. Trying to express me in English with the Greek driver, I managed to get information that some dogs were being transported among the horses. He showed me some health certificates, attesting to rabies vaccination and other treatments, but which, being written in Greek, were very difficult to understand. The driver claimed to have about forty dogs on board, while animal rights activists claimed there were at least СКАЧАТЬ