Читать книгу Crocodile Tears онлайн

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A policeman stands at the door, picking his teeth, spitting out pieces of wood or bits of food.

Diego, waiting for his lawyer, has taken a seat as far as possible from the other prisoners, in a gloomy isolated corner. 10He’s wearing faded blue overalls, his stubble is flecked with grey, his fists are clenched. His throat is tight.

The women open old ice-cream tubs filled with cold pasta stew, tough breaded cutlets and polenta with meat sauce; they bring out bananas, packets of yerba mate and tobacco, lemons and mandarins, soft-drink sachets. From outside comes a dry repetitive sound, a ball bouncing against a hard floor, while inside the voices grow, the volume and pitch rising. The world is a little worse in this place, Diego thinks.

That man walking down the corridor, with his hair combed and slicked with gel, a burgundy tie and Ray-Ban glasses, that is Antinucci. The small scar above his right eyebrow, halfway between his nose and his hairline, looks as if it was made by a fist, although it must have happened a long time ago because the skin is tight and shiny around the mark. Although he isn’t ugly or old, that’s the impression he gives; it’s hard to say why. His eyes are his most noticeable feature, large, bulging, pale grey and with fleshy lids. Sometimes they become smaller, flattening, narrowing until they are just two lines. Right now they are hidden behind the Ray-Bans, very dark in this half-light. He carries a briefcase that the guards don’t check. Ever.