Blue Grade: Azure
The Last Case
She wants to know about the car. She knows about the car, but he’s thankful anyway. And he tells her all there is to know about the car. Someone noticed an old vehicle parked not far from where the camera and the tripod had been left, an old Panda like every single decrepit vehicle forsaken in Sardinia.
Contempt
When did the contempt start? Wrong – long before that. It was perhaps one of those viruses people carry with them, dormant, cloistered in their cells over all these decades, one she didn’t care to notice until it got activated.
The Commissario Carlo Varfjell Mysteries
Carlo Varfjell at your service. Overly prone to dally with all sorts of vices, long married to the tumid obese Firmina, an ever-nagging former low-life Brazilian actress, and loving father of Nina, an amber-eyed basket-case nympho with a recurrent propensity to happen upon corpses on her bed in the morning.
As Time Goes By
Almost fifteen years had gone by. First impressions didn’t really lie, as thick and shallow as they come. He abhorred the sleazy gold digger from the day the dimwit ferreted her out from sluttyland.
Lipstick on Pigs and Other Techniques to Doll Up a Corpse
For the hundredth time, and I’ll say it slowly, it is not about changing things, nothing is going to change. You’ve kindly ensured that would never happen. It’s about making them less repulsive, less disgusting, less nauseating.
The Coolest City in the World
Most of Europe is undeniably drab and dreary, rarely disposed to the glee of an overt sunshine wrapped up in a shroud of plain, gleaming sky. But they don’t seem to suffer from that malaise here.
Green Girls Are Not Forever
He. Set on being unmoved by the advent of the wet furrows that seep down towards the corners of her lips, compels his mind to jump over the frame of the scene and hides in Tavolara for some timeless enormous seconds.
The Incident in Piombino
After one-too-many hours of blazing tarmac and an eventless, tedious ferry journey that landed them in Arbatax – ecco Sardinia. Not that she was expecting things to start singing from a more radiant hymn sheet just because. They didn’t.
Black, White and All Those Grey Areas in Between
Early-seventies, he thinks, not sure. It doesn’t matter, apparently. It was during the time he worked as a postman. So, seventy-five, six. Maybe earlier. We pace the seventies to and fro for a while and settle on seventy-four. Or six. Definitely one of the two.
Becky's Hen Do
He can’t avoid taking a fancy to one of the nurses. The slim one. She’s strikingly good-looking. A mournful pair of amber irises coupled with assertive plumpish lips, all enshrouded by a jumble of large curls. And a swarthy bronze skin hue that had fortunately escaped the contagious orangey pigmentation the others have caught.