Some time ago, seeing something orange suddenly reminded me of Laura Pazzi. And the thought struck me: are there any fanfics on Laura? I had not seen any up to then. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I found only one when I started searching. Yet, this side character has always had my attention - and not (just) because of Francesca Neri. With that, I decided to give a fanfic on Laura a try.
It would be very rude not to thank two persons here:
Demeter, for her opinion on Laura - you helped me getting a clear picture of this woman;
Duffie, for you opinion on Laura, for your comments while writing the storyline, for the proofreading done and ahead.
Thank you.
With my previous fanfic ('Anniba!'), I achieved one chapter a week. This time - please forgive me - I planned on posting less frequent. But I hope you'll find this fanfic's chapters worth waiting for. Okay, here we go...
Chapter 1
It took her some time to find the key to the door, it had chosen a most inconvenient time to hide itself from her. She wanted to get inside desperately, the Directtore of the Questura was still at her side and he would not leave. She just hoped he wasn't thinking she would invite him in. Well, most definitely not. Not now. Not ever.
Her hand felt like a twig in a storm. It took considerable effort to keep it steady so she could insert the key in the lock. Once it was in, she turned it at once, opened the door slightly and looked up at the man.
"Thank you for accompanying me home, Direttore, it was very considerate of you," she said, trying to sound as thankful and sincere as possible. She lowered her eyes and hoped he would understand and leave her.
"Are you okay? It has been a rough day. Can I help you with something?"
Apparently not, she thought.
"It has been difficult. And tiresome. But I'm fine. I think I need some rest."
She looked up again, her beautiful black dress rustled.
The man grunted shortly to affirm her words. Laura thought he probably wasn't even aware of the contrary message his posture was proclaiming. Men. All the same. And you really have to tell them what you want them to do.
.
The moment she had shut the door behind her, a sigh escaped her. It was the first outward sign of her discomfort since she had left her house that morning to attend the media-ridden funeral of her late husband Rinaldo. How she would have liked to tell them all to go to hell and stay at home. But it had not been an option.
.
Rinaldo Pazzi had been buried with all possible honor for a Questura Chief Investigator. His horrible murder while he was investigating the disappearance of the longtime curator of the Palazzo Capponi, the predecessor of Dr. Fell; the single Questura computer query to the Lecter VICAP file at Quantico; the disappearance of Dr. Fell and his unmasking as Dr. Lecter from the fingerprints, it all led the media to believe Rinaldo Pazzi, whom they believed had planted evidence in Tocca's house to have him convinced as Il Mostro, had been working in secret to capture Dr. Lecter, serial killer and cannibal at large, to reclaim his lost honor. The media had catapulted him into martyrdom.
Laura smiled strangely at this thought, while she scowled at the thought of that Panar Leopard, Dr. Lecter.
.
The tabloid press got their money's worth, the Questura had made sure of that.
The whole Duomo was filled with Rinaldo Pazzi's family, colleagues, superiors; quite a few local hot shots were present, as well as people whose names were probably in one or more files in Rinaldo's file cabinets at the office; and finally and of course, journalists. Outside, mobile television studios were rigged and ready to broadcast the ceremony live on local television. A summary would be shown on the national evening news.
The first entrance antiphon of the Roman Missal from 1970 was sung, making it a true Requiem Mass, as the priest entered the Duomo where the bier with Rinaldo's body awaited. Laura wept. The clicking of the flashless camera's counterpointed the clicking of the priest's heels on the marble floor.
The coffin was open, to some people's surpise. It showed the expertise of the funeral undertakers, they had done a wonderful job with the abdomen and neck. Photos with the open coffin on the foreground and weeping Laura in the background would cover the front page of many morning newspapers the next day, Dr. Lecter's photo from his Brazilian passport next to it.
After the Mass came the 'Non intres in judicium cum servo tuo' prayer and the responsory 'Libera me Domine' from the choir. Laura, again, wiped away a tear. The 'Kyrie Eleison' and 'Our Father' followed. The celebrant walked around the coffin, sprinkled it with holy water and incensed it then. Then, finally, the prayer of absolution.
At that point, six of Rinaldo's colleagues came forward and carried the coffin out of the Duomo while the choir sung the 'In paradisum'. The clicking of the camera's and of heels was the coda of the service.
The honor bestowed on contemporary Rinaldo Pazzi with this ceremony in the Duomo was what Francesco de Pazzi had hoped for when he stabbed Giuliano de Medici in 1478 in that same building.
.
The authorities had deemed the ceremony at the graveyard of greater risk for incidents. The number of people and journalists allowed was about half of those present at the Duomo. The complete Pazzi family was there, but some of his colleagues went home after the Mass, as did some of his superiors. The director of the Questura was even more present at widow Pazzi's side now.
Laura was thinking about how long, or better said, how short they had been married. They had only done a handful of the things she had wanted to do, only a handful of everything. He had been very busy on the Il Mostro case when she had married him, it had taken a lot of his time, leaving her to take care of the house and such. The two years in America had been bliss. She remembered the things he had bought her. Always buying wonderful things for her, and she liked him for it. It seemed to be his way of showing what he felt for her, it was what she had thought he would do for her. Now, no more expensive presents.
And finally, after the Lord's Prayer and blessing, Rinaldo's coffin was lowered by hand; the six colleagues slowly slacking the ropes. Laura rose, walked towards the grave, took a handful of earth and threw it on his coffin. She was glad her face was hidden behind her veil.
.
Once inside her house, Laura walked over to the windows and closed the lilac blinds. Walking past the table, she dropped the keys on it; when she reached the wall switches, she turned on the ceiling fan. Her cat walked in from the adjourning room. It settled itself on the couch. Laura did not seem to notice it.
She moved to the middle of the room and started to undress. She wanted to get rid of that awful, lying mourning dress. It took her more time than she wanted with her shaking hands. Careful not to tear the delicate fabric, not to ruin the designer dress. It slid down to the floor and she stepped out of it, not looking down so she wouldn't see the dress. It was lying on the stone floor like a shed snakeskin. A mourning dress, but Laura was grieving, not mourning.
.
The Questura knew better than to believe Rinaldo's integrity as the media had thought and told, yet it was better to let them tell their story and have the public believe the Questura was a solid institution, than to have them think Rinaldo was yet another example of corruption and corrosion of the bastion.
Laura knew. The director had visited her the day after Dr. Fell had been unmasked as Dr. Lecter. He told her the story the media had revealed, thinking she would believe it, naive as men can be. But she knew Rinaldo better than they did, and knew he would not have killed himself. The proverbial Sword of Damocles had fallen; he had suffered humiliation - and she with him - but he yielded and did not break. He had not resigned, nor killed himself.
But there was more to it. She had found Rinaldo's letter. She knew all about the true intentions of Rinaldo Pazzi, when he was chasing Dr. Fell in secret. Rinaldo had probably been even more corrupt than the Questura suspected.
It would have made her life really miserable if that secret went public. She acted accordingly and decided to play along, and don the role of mourning widow. She did it with verve, and even liked receiving the adventitious attention.
Panar Leopard: A man-eating leopard, said to have eaten over 400 people, after an injury by a poacher made it unable to hunt normal prey.