Lucia took in one gasping breath, then began to speak. "I... I heard a knock at the door. I ran so fast, I thought it might be my little... my little..." She took another deep breath. "There is no-one there. I look down, I saw the box, the cardboard one. It was sealed with brown tape. I pick it up, bring it inside. I cut it open with the scissors from the kitchen. Inside there is layers of newspaper. I move them, and I find, find, find..." She couldn't help herself. She burst into tears.
The policeman stared on impassively as the lovely policewoman nodded sagely. "It's alright. I know this is hard."
The lovely policewoman handed Lucia a box of tissues. Lucia choked out her thanks and quietly blew her nose. Stupid little slut. Obviously they didn't suspect her, or Bad Cop would be coming down a hell of a lot harder.
The lovely policewoman (Good Cop, Lucia thought contemptuously, what with all the American television, everyone knew that trick) prompted her: "And then you called us?"
Lucia shook her head, concealing her smile. It was so easy. Call one of her old contacts from home in Sicily. One with a reputation all of Europe was terrified of. Get him to knock off the silly little bitch, pay him a large check, call the police and report her darling little stepdaughter missing. Sob for the police, sob for the cameras, plaster that hideous school photo all over the media. Call the police again when the package arrived, do a little more sobbing and act like she'd forgotten how to speak French. Maybe an ordinary French housewife would find it difficult, but Lucia had been training for moments like this her whole life.
"No, I yell for my husband. He calls the police."
"What did you do?"
"I... I could not breathe... I don't remember... It all went black. Perhaps I faint."
Bad Cop nodded. "That's what your husband said."
Good Cop asked, "Is there anything else?"
Lucia shook her head. "I remember nothing else, until I wake up on couch, and polizia are there. They drive me down here, and here I am." Was that too much? She'd been living in France for ten years, maybe she was laying the terrible grammar on a bit thick.
Good Cop's 'compassionate' face didn't waver. Safe, then. "You're free to go, madame. If there's anything else, we'll call-"
The door was flung open.
Bad Cop stood up and scowled. "This had better be urgent."
The scrawny young policeman standing in the doorway flushed. "Err... it's about this case..."
Bad Cop snatched a sheaf of papers from him and flicked through them. "Lab results." He sat down. "Madame Parisi, we have news."
For the first time today, Lucia genuinely found it hard to breathe.
"The heart you found was not your step-daughter's-or any human. It belonged to a pig."
Lucia gasped. Difficult to do when your lungs are already out of breath.
Dimly, she could hear the police muttering about copycats, scare tactics and juvenile pranks, but all she could really hear was one word-Pig.
Pig.
Pig.
Pig.
Pig.
Pig.
Pig-
That lying cazzo.
In case your wondering, that last word means 'dick' in Italian. I didn't know anything stronger.
