Death of an Englishman by Magdalen Nabb

By Magdalen Nabb

It's only earlier than Christmas and the marshal desires to move South to spend the vacation along with his spouse and kinfolk, yet first he needs to get over the flu (which has left the Florentine caribinieri short-handed) and in addition remedy a homicide. A doubtless decent retired Englishman, residing in a flat at the through Maggio close to the Santa Trinita bridge, used to be shot within the again throughout the evening. He used to be well-connected and Scotland backyard has sent officials to "assist" the Italians in fixing the crime. however it is the marshal, a quiet observer, now not an highbrow, who manages to determine what occurred, and why.

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Go to the British Consulate first, they may be able to tell us something, and telephone your report to me as soon as you get back here. Don't disturb the Marshal, the more rest he gets the better. ' This was the sort of person Carabiniere Bacci wanted to work for, elegant, authoritative, precise. And the Marshal out of the way in bed. Carabiniere Bacci was ecstatic. The little cleaner still stood there after the Captain had left. 'You can go home,' Carabiniere Bacci told him. ' The cleaner still looked uncertain what to do, he kept glancing at the door through which the Marshal had disappeared.

The Marshal drank half a litre of red every day with his evening meal, never more nor less, and a drop of vinsanto on Sundays. ' The Professor was reading the Marshal's mind as he wrote. He passed him the prescription and gave a pat to the enormous shoulder. ' One of the technicians was crouching in a corner of the room, examining some object there. The Captain went over to look. A blue and white majolica bust, the head of an angel. The technician was gently brushing away some dust to reveal a piece of string encircling the neck.

The cars he was holding up, some of them far out of sight, were blasting their horns in fury while a patiently despairing vigile in a tall white helmet tried to help him back up without breaking a shop window, and to persuade the owners of the parked vehicles to come out of the bar and move them. 'Can't even have breakfast in peace in this city,' remarked one of the latter loudly, dabbing delicately at his mouth with a paper napkin and ostentatiously taking his time. ' pleaded the young vigile, looking in from the doorway.

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