The Marshal's Own Case
“The grassy slope, littered with illegally dumped rubbish, ended where an olive grove began and, far below that, the jumbled red roofs of the city spread along the Arno valley with the dome and bell-tower of the cathedral rising in the centre. A blood-red autumn sunset was reflected in glimpses of the river. Had he taken his dark glasses off the sky would have appeared pinker and less ominous, but the Marshal never did take his glasses off until the sun went down because sunlight made his eyes w...ater copiously. So he stood there, a large black figure in a sea of green, watching. He was hungry, but what Bruno had found he had found just before lunch and they would be lucky if they discovered the rest of it before supper.
Bruno himself, unlike the Marshal, was never still for a moment. He darted from the orange-and-green clad group of municipal refuse workers to the line of dog-handlers working their way down the slope, then back again, talking and gesticulating. Lorenzini, who had been on patrol with him, had disappeared.MoreLess
Bruno himself, unlike the Marshal, was never still for a moment. He darted from the orange-and-green clad group of municipal refuse workers to the line of dog-handlers working their way down the slope, then back again, talking and gesticulating. Lorenzini, who had been on patrol with him, had disappeared.MoreLess
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