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Latest News
- MannCup 2013 – Kudos to those behind the scenes September 16, 2013
- Kudos on a Great MannCup2013 September 14, 2013
- Six Nations Chiefs – 2013 Mann Cup Champs September 13, 2013
- Game 6 and 7 (if nec.) Ticket Release September 13, 2013
- Chiefs take their first series lead, 3-2 September 12, 2013
- IL Indoor's Stamp and Jenner Mann Cup Musings September 11, 2013
- Games 5 & 6 Ticket Information September 11, 2013
- Chiefs dominate and even series September 10, 2013
- Jenner's POV on Mann Cup Matters September 10, 2013
- Shamrocks jump ahead with 8-6 win, lead series 2-1 September 9, 2013
Follow WLA on Twitter by Carly RigbyMy Tweets
Follow Commissioner Casey Cook on TwitterMy Tweets
Tag Archives: Under Armour
MannCup 2013 – Kudos to those behind the scenes
The 2013 Mann Cup is in the books as they say, and what a splendid event it was. For the host, the Western Lacrosse Association and it's representative the Victoria Shamrocks, the outcome was not what we had hoped for, … Continue reading
Posted in Mann Cup 2013 Tagged Carly Rigby, Casey Cook, Chris Hall, Chris Welsh, Chuck Miller, Dave McIlroy, Duane Jacobs, IL Indoor, John Horgan, Judy Teasdale Photography, Kevin Alexander, Kevin Light Photography, Major Series Lacrosse, Mann Cup 2013, Neil Doddridge, Patrick McMillan, Paul Gait, Playfullscreen, Rick Lum, Ross Manson, Six Nations Chiefs, Stephen Stamp, Ted Higgins, Teddy Jenner, theboxrocks.com, Under Armour, Victoria Shamrocks, Washington Stealth, Western Lacrosse Association Comments Off on MannCup 2013 – Kudos to those behind the scenes
Kudos on a Great MannCup2013
After a long and exciting series, MannCup2013 has drawn to a close. Lacrosse fans who were in Victoria, and those who watched our superb webcast production of the games, were treated to a series that was intense, highly entertaining and above … Continue reading
Posted in Mann Cup 2013 Tagged Art Webster, Bear Mountain Arena, Casey Cook, Chris Welsh, Chuck Miller, Cody Jamieson, Dave Lowden, Duane Jacobs, Harold Corbett, Jim Hartshorne, Jordan Sundher, Major Series Lacrosse, Mann Cup 2013, Paul German, Rich Kilgour, Rick Lum, Six Nations Chiefs, Sohen Gill, Ted Higgins, Under Armour, Vancouver Stealth, Victoria Shamrocks, Western Lacrosse Association Comments Off on Kudos on a Great MannCup2013


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Your cart is currently empty!
Our ivory tapered candles can be used with a number of our candle stick holders.
The candles are ivory in colour and measure 10" / 25cm tall.
We suggest using them with our bronze candelabra, mercury silver candle sticks, as well as silver, bronze and copper candle sticks.
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Probably it was asked before, but I can't find it.
Is it ok if my friends will submit PSD design from his account, and then I'll code it to HTML template and submit it from my account? He of course will know about it and I will share with him earnings, but, is it ok from TF's point of view? Or does one design in all forms (like psd template, html template, or WordPress) need to come from one user?
It's ok. Just he might need to contact support telling them that you agreed on that.
Yep, when you upload theme just tell to the reviewer you have permission to sell that theme here.
Also it would be better if you sell both PSD and coded designs on the same account – this will help you market your files and you'll both earn more due to earning rates increasing from sales
thanks for quick answers


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George Parker: It Isn't About Reach, It's About Rejection!
In case you hadn't realized it, I am a multi-tasking, uber-achieving prince of the blogosphere… Meaning that apart from writing this weekly column for psfk, I also write a US blog, a UK one, and I also bore the shit out of people with various articles and books. The rest of the time I drink, smoke and am generally obnoxious. Anyway, I do have a certain propensity to piss people off when I rant about what I consider to be the slavish insanities of users of such phenomena as MySpace, Facebook and Twitter. Please don't get me wrong here; I am not saying that they don't have a certain appeal to people who can only express themselves in less than 140 characters, or want their home page to look like some art directional nightmare designed by your grandmother. Think email here… Isn't 80% of the stuff that ends up in your inbox total shit? So why would you want to multiply that with Tweets, friends, pokes, virtual teddy bears and messages on your wall? There are only so many hours in the day. But, if your life is so pathetically barren you need to tell total strangers what you had for breakfast, so be it. I am only raising questions about their current ephemeral (as in short-lived) popularity. Who knows, one day they might be recognized as having been as important factors in the epochal changes of civilization as gunpowder, movable type and indoor plumbing. I doubt it. Think Second Life here… But, moving on…
As I say in the introduction to Chapter seven of my groundbreaking new book, The Ubiquitous Persuaders… At the time of writing – mid to late 2008 – what I am describing as "New Media" will, by the time you read it probably be "Old Media." And will without question have been replaced by "New-New Media," or "Uber-Uber New media." But rest assured, whatever the practitioners of these black arts choose to call them, they will be relentlessly promoted as the next big thing. Something you should definitely climb aboard before the express train leaves the station and you end up in penury for the rest of your miserable life because you didn't jump aboard. Personally, over the years I've realized that sometimes it's better to grab a cup of coffee, or a beer, in my case, relax, and wait for the next train. Most of the time, you'll be far better off having missed out on the sheer exuberance and froth of whatever was on offer.
But then, I am somewhat of an old fart (people never fail to tell me this in comments and emails) But, as I mention in chapter one of the aforementioned blockbuster, when Vance Packard wrote The Hidden Persuaders, it was in the halcyon days of low-stress, two parent families, pre-equal rights legislation, and let's just smoke and drink ourselves into happy oblivion. It was also possible to reach eighty percent of the American population via three TV networks and three national magazines. In the fifty years since, this situation has radically changed. Not just because of the explosion in TV choices via cable and satellite, the hundreds, if not thousands of magazines that now pander to virtually every niche interest, and the deluge of guerilla, new media, CGC, or whatever marketing opportunities are increasingly available. The single most important development in advertising and marketing, is not the number of new ways you can choose to reach potential customers, it's the number of ways those potential customers can choose to tune you out.
George Parker is a guest columnist for psfk.com. He the perpetrator of adscam.typepad.com, which is without doubt, one of the most foul and annoying, piss & vinegar ad blogs on the planet. He is the author of MadScam and his new book, The Ubiquitous Persuaders, which is currently setting the ether ablaze (and which you can order now on Amazon). He will continue to relentlessly promote the crap out of it until you are forced to stab yourself in the eyes with knitting needles.


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You can be for whatever you want to be, this is America and I am a patriot, but there are people that will have difficulty ever getting my vote<quoted text>I agree, a woman should have the right to use her body in any way. I'm for prostitution to be legal too. So you don't mind paying for your neighborhood slut that uses abortion as birth control? YOu want BIG Gov. out of your life but want BIG Gov involved in your life? And you voted for big Gov the last election? lol...
Those people are for
Tax breaks for people that least need tax breaks, on the backs of the middle class.
Restrictions on a womans rights to her own body and reproductive system.
Religion in front of established science in education
Restricting people from marrying who they choose
The list goes on, but those usually will rule out at least one candidate.
No candidate fits everything I would want them to represent me on, so I pick the one that comes closest.


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Purported video of mayor causes stir
TORONTO (AP) — A video purportedly of Toronto Mayor Rob Ford smoking crack has caused an uproar in Canada. Ford on Friday called the allegations "ridiculous."
The video has not been released publicly, and there is no way to verify whether it is authentic. Reports by the gossip website Gawker and the Toronto Star said it was taken by a man who claimed he had sold crack to Ford.
The Associated Press hasn't seen the video.
The conservative mayor of Canada's largest city refused to take questions Friday.
In brief comments outside his office, he said it was "another story with respect to the Toronto Star going after me. And that's all I've got to say for now."
A lawyer for the colorful, often unscripted Ford didn't respond to messages seeking comment.


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From the WABI-TV5 & CW Forecast Center:
High pressure will continue to bring colder than average temps to Maine today through Wednesday as the high slowly drifts east across southeastern Canada. Temps will slowly modify the next couple of days, but still run several degrees below average today and near average Wednesday.
Over the next couple of days a storm will move from the Pacific Northwest towards the Great Lakes. The storm will likely pass up to the west of New England later Wednesday night and Thursday and that will cause the temps to warm up a bit Thursday. As the storm's warm front approaches Maine light snow and mixed precipitation will likely develop across in our area later Wednesday night, but with the storm passing up to our west a southerly wind will bring milder air and a change to rain across much of the Pine Tree State Thursday. Temps in Maine Thursday will likely reach the mid to upper 30s north of the Bangor region, with highs reaching the low to mid 40s from Bangor on south.
Weak high pressure will produce generally fair and seasonable conditions here Friday. A new storm will approach New England from the southwest over the weekend and that will likely bring a new round of precipitation to our region later Saturday into early Sunday. The exact track of the storm will determine whether the precipitation falls as rain, snow or a mix. More unseasonably cold air will spill into New England as the workweek begins next Monday.
Today: Mostly sunny and still cold, with high temps in the low 20s to low 30s from north to south.
Wednesday: Partly sunny then increasing clouds, with possible snow and mixed precipitation later at night and high temps in the 30s.
Thursday: Morning rain and snow, with high temps in the mid 30s to mid 40s from north to south.
Friday: Partly sunny, with high temps in the 30s.
Saturday: Mostly cloudy, with snow and rain likely developing and high temps in the 30s.
Chris Ewing
WABI-TV5 & CW Meteorologist


text: The Green Project The Green Minute: Reduce, Reuse, Repair By Christal White • Jan 30, 2014 Mysid Reduce, reuse and recycle — or the three Rs — are well known as the pathway to green. But there is an R that has been routinely left out. The R for REPAIR. Unlike our grandparents, we regularly replace items rather than opting to fix things. While their motto was, "use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without", we've relegated our broken stuff to the trash pile. The Green Minute: Vampire Power By Christal White • Oct 16, 2013 wikipedia With Fall finally in the air and the calendar page turned to October, it's time for ghosts, goblins, witches and mummies. But keeping the real vampires away will take more than garlic and crosses. There are vampires hiding in plain sight right this very moment, and they even live with you. Vampire power is the energy drawn from devices while they are in standby mode, and it's a real drain on the grid. Nationally, standby power accounts for more than 100 billion kilowatt hours of annual electricity consumption, and more than $10 billion in annual energy costs. Don't Fall For Greenwashing! By Christal White • Aug 31, 2013 Listen Listening... / 0:59 Christal white speaks the truth about 'Greenwashing', and how to avoid falling into the trap. As the drive toward more environmental sustainability in our daily lives increases, businesses have responded by offering more eco-friendly products, services and policies — or at least, they say they have. Greenwashing is a term used for companies that claim to be acting in an environmentally responsible way, but in reality are not. Green Tips On 'Hypermiling' By Christal White • Jul 30, 2013 Listen Listening... / 1:00 The Green Project's Christal White delivers this week's Green Minute. You know the old saying: "If you give him an inch, he'll take a mile." There couldn't be more perfect of a way to describe hypermiling. Not familiar with the term? It's the science and craft behind squeezing every possible drop out of your car's gas mileage. Summer Energy Saving Tips... You Know You Want 'Em By Christal White • Jul 3, 2013 flickr.com Listen Listening... / 1:00 The Green Project's Christal White serves up tips on saving energy (and money) this summer. It's summertime and the livin's easy, but in the South, we know that it's down right hot. To save money on energy bills, try these tips. Buying In Bulk? There's An App For That By Christal White • Jun 14, 2013 flickr.com Listen Listening... / 1:00 The Green Project's Christal White talks purchasing food in bulk on this week's Green Minute. With the cost of makin' groceries steadily increasing every day, maybe it's time for us to revisit buying in bulk. I'm not suggesting that we all run out to the big box warehouse store for 20 dozen eggs and some snow tires, but rather hit up your local farmer's markets, food co-ops and grocery stores for beans, rice, pastas, olive oil, maple syrup, honey, flours, soaps, nuts, granolas and even tofu. To find the best local selection, there's a free app simply called Bulk. Styrofoam: Everyone's Enemy By Christal White • Jun 9, 2013 People who say that nothing lasts forever are dead wrong when it comes to Styrofoam. Styrofoam (or polystyrene, as the men in white coats call it) is a petroleum based product that will likely outlast us all — and that's not a good thing. Environmentally it's non-recyclable, and refuses to break down, even when exposed to light. Combine that with the fact that Styrofoam is lightweight and floats, and you've got massive quantities accumulating along coasts and waterways around the world, which makes it a health hazard for marine life. Junk Food Is Bad For You, And Junk Mail Is Bad For The Environment By Christal White • Jun 2, 2013 Listen Listening... / 1:00 Christal White delivers the Green Minute. Got too much junk in your trunk? Don't think pants size, think all that unsolicited bulk mail that clogs your box each day. And if you think a little junk can't hurt, we seriously have a badonkadunk of a problem. Here's junk mail by the numbers: Tips On DIY Cosmetics For Easy, Healthy Beauty By Christal White • May 28, 2013 nist6dh (flickr.com) Listen Listening... / 1:00 Christal White delivers the Green Minute. You've likely heard the expression "beauty is only skin deep", but with the estimated 11,000 unique chemical ingredients we are exposed to through our personal care products every single day, the results go way deeper than that. Deet-Free Ways To Ward Off Bugs By Christal White • May 2, 2013 Listen Listening... / 1:00 Christal White Delivers the Green Minute. The thunderstorms are rolling through, the humidity's rising, and we all know what's next… bugs. Ones that bite, ones that sting, ones that just gross you out. Nonetheless, they all have one thing in common: they will do whatever they can to get up in your home and all over you and your precious skin. But, as The Green Project reminded us this week, the simple solution isn't always the best solution. Pages1 2 next › last »


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Long Stay Foundation
Chairman's Remarks
Since travel restrictions were lifted in 1964, overseas travel has become firmly entrenched as common leisure activity and a part of people's lives that is every bit as essential as food, clothing and shelter. These days, however, Japanese people are becoming increasingly interested in extended trips in which they stay in a single overseas region for a longer period of time, enabling them to experience another culture, get to know local people and become involved in other activities as part of their daily lives, thereby contributing to the local community in some way.
We are dedicated to promoting and educating people about long-term extended overseas trips such as these, which are more than mere vacations whilst stopping short of emigration or permanent residence. As the number of people going on what we refer to as "long-stay" trips increases each year, we believe that the long-stay lifestyle is becoming established as one of the options available to retired people in particular, not least with the impending retirement of the baby-boomer generation.
Despite the fact that Japan has developed into an advanced industrialized nation and is even considered to be an economic superpower, it takes more than just economic achievement to be truly regarded as a first-rate country. It is also essential to be genuinely understood and respected by the rest of the world. To achieve this, we believe that we need to familiarize people with and foster an understanding of Japanese culture and Japanese people.
Although the term "globalization" has been in use for some time, we are only now entering an era of wide-ranging exchange on a global scale as more and more overseas travellers are visiting Japan and getting to know the country better.
More and more Japanese people are travelling to other countries, and their reasons for doing so are increasingly diverse. As travellers set off to play, learn, have fun, discover, share their knowledge and skills or seek fulfilment, long-stay trips in particular incorporate a broad array of elements that really enable "long stayers" to achieve spiritual enrichment in line with their chosen lifestyle. In addition to broadening people's horizons by learning about other cultures, interacting with local people in other countries also provides an ideal opportunity to tell them about Japan's own proud culture, history and natural beauty. Long-stay trips frequently offer Japanese people a unique opportunity to rediscover everything that is special about Japan.
It would be fair to say that this sort of two-way exchange between countries helps people understand one another better and enables them to make their own individual contribution to world peace and international friendship.
With this in mind, we hope to enable as many people as possible to experience long stay trips in the future and will continue to improve the long stay environment through a variety of study, research and other projects. We aim to ensure that every single person remains safe and healthy, has fun and feels that they have had a worthwhile long-stay experience and achieved their goals. We look forward to your continued support in the future.


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Big Story
Separate names with a comma.
Discussion in 'ACFriends' started by winga, Dec 4, 2012.
Rho needs to get laid. Nothing personal, we all do.
Oh yeah... that's the stuff
Oh hell no... I will NOT do this...
Things people find interesting =/= generic girls google would provide in 2 seconds. You dont see anyone posting the first 10,000 google results for "rainbow." It's boring to anyone who isnt a lonely old man
Apparently, it's he whole PICTURE/VIDEO part that you find difficult to comprehend.
100% in agreement with this.
I'm declaring a jihad on @levgre for posting a picture.....
...oh sorry that's Jesus.
After I learned how family oriented elephants were I appreciate them differently. Sucks that even if you were raised with a family of elephants you could still be trampled if something scared them.
HAHAHAH harrassed by The Man.
I've only had one beer!


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- Admissions
- Academics
- Research
- University Life
- Alumni
- About
American University is committed to complying with all applicable laws regarding copyright. When using the university's network, students, faculty, and staff are expected to abide by the Computer Use and Copyright Policy. Copying or sharing music, movies or computer software, without the copyright owner's permission or a copyright exception, is not only a violation of the university's policies, it is illegal. Users who have been found to infringe copyrighted materials on the university's network are subject to disciplinary proceedings under the Computer Use Policy, Faculty Manual, Student Code of Conduct, and Staff Manual of Personnel Policies.
To educate the AU community about the basics of copyright law, the Office of General Counsel developed an educational program entitled Copyright School. It is our hope that Copyright School creates a greater campus awareness of the basic concepts of copyright law.
Below are links to components of Copyright School. However, the information presented here is intended for informational purposes only, and nothing on this webpage should be construed or relied upon as legal advice.
U.S. Const., Art. I, Sec. 8
17 USC 102 (Subject matter of copyright: In general)
17 USC 106 (Exclusive rights in copyrighted works)
17 USC 107 (Limitations on exclusive rights: Fair Use)
17 USC 302 (Duration of copyright: Works created on or after January 1, 1978)
17 USC 504 (Remedies for infringement: Damages and profits)
17 USC 505 (Remedies for infringement: Costs and attorney's fees)
17 USC 506 (Criminal Offenses)
Computer Use and Copyright Policy
Copyright Basics, U.S. Copyright Office, Circular 1.
The U.S. Copyright Office published a wonderful overview of the basic concepts of copyright law.
Copyright School – Presentation
The Office of General Counsel created an oral presentation for classes and campus organizations. If you are interested in having someone speak to your class or campus organization, please contact Justin Perillo (x3285) at the Office of General Counsel.
Copyright Quiz
Do you know the basics? Take the Copyright Quiz challenge.
Copyright Quiz Answer Sheet
Have you mastered the basics?
Copyright Assignment
As a result of a violation of the University's Student Conduct Code or of a referral from the Dean of Students Office, a student is required to complete the attached copyright assignments.


text:
Ontario's Health Minister has asked for an informal review of medical tourism in the province after The Globe and Mail reported on a major Toronto hospital's plan to solicit a small number of foreign patients as a way to raise revenue.
Deb Matthews has asked officials to examine the practice of publicly funded hospitals offering non-urgent care to wealthy or well-insured international patients.
She said in an interview that she is looking for recommendations on how to ensure that no public money goes into treating patients from outside the province; that no Ontarians wait longer for care; and that all money generated from fee-paying foreign patients goes back into the system.
"We have to make sure that we can be very, very clear and demonstrate that this is a benefit to Ontarians," she said. "If we can't demonstrate that we won't be doing it."
Ms. Matthews made her comments on the same day five health-care groups called on Ontario's Premier to ban medical tourism.
Canadian Doctors for Medicare, along with organizations representing the province's nurses, midwives, community health centres and some doctors and medical students, has sent a letter to Premier Kathleen Wynne asking her to provide a "clear signal" that Ontario's operating rooms and clinical facilities will not be used to treat international patients except in rare compassionate cases.
"We call on our government to protect Ontario's public health care system, to focus on need – not ability to pay – and to close the door on two-tier health care. Please end this experiment and say that Ontario is closed to Medical Tourism," the organizations wrote.
Opening Canada's publicly funded health system to medical tourists is a divisive issue.
Supporters see it as a new, if limited, source of revenue for cash-strapped hospitals, especially in Ontario, where hospital budgets have essentially been frozen for three years.
Lisa Purdy, national health leader for Deloitte Canada, said Canada's strong global health brand, skilled physicians and respected health-care management mean the country would have little trouble attracting patients from abroad. "We can create access for Canadians by using the revenue we receive from foreign tourists who want to come here for services," said Ms. Purdy, who co-authored a 2011 Deloitte analysis of Canada's medical tourism market. "That's really a win-win."
But opponents argue that allowing international patients to pay for Canadian care – whether the money comes from private insurance, foreign governments or the patients' own bank accounts – sets the stage for wealthy Canadians to follow suit.
"We understand why hospitals are scrambling for revenue sources," said Ryan Meili, a Saskatoon family doctor and the vice-chair of Canadian Doctors for Medicare. "It's just that we ought not seek a cure that's worse than the disease."
The other signatories to the letter are the Association of Ontario Health Centres, the Association of Ontario Midwives, the Medical Reform Group and the Registered Nurses' Association of Ontario.
The Globe reported April 1 that Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre had approved a pilot international patient program that, as of the end of last month, had treated two foreign patients: a woman from Barbados who paid $60,000 for radiation for breast cancer and a Jamaican man who paid $20,000 for radiotherapy for prostate cancer.
Sunnybrook declined an interview request Wednesday.
Toronto's University Health Network has a longer-standing international patient program which has treated 380 patients since 2011.Report Typo/Error
Follow @kellygrant1on Twitter:


text:
Rating: 4.0/5 (Total votes: 2)
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Breeders' Cup Classic (gr. I) winner Mucho Macho Man returned to his Gulfstream Park base just before noon Nov. 6 following a cross-country flight from Southern California.
Upon arriving at Palm Beach International Airport on a flight that originated in Los Angeles, the horse owned by Reeves Thoroughbred Racing rode in a van to Gulfstream, where he was greeted by trainer Kathy Ritvo.
"He looks great," said Ritvo, who became the first woman in the 30-year history of the Breeders' Cup to saddle a Classic winner.
A Florida-bred 5-year-old by Macho Uno out the Ponche mare Ponche de Leona, Mucho Macho Man will winter at Gulfstream. He will make an appearance at the track Nov. 9 in conjunction with the eight-race Florida Sunshine Millions Preview program.
A decision on whether Mucho Macho Man will race again next year or be retired to stud has not been made.
"We're going to let him get settled in this week and then start talking," Ritvo said.


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Love envato & been a member for a while. Lots of purchases.
The problem is that when I follow an author, my profile only shows like the latest 9 people I'm following and the others vanish.
I wish there was a way to have a favorites list or a full list so I could see them all in one place. Bookmarking is extremely useful but having the follow feature not limit the number of authors would be great, especially with all the different marketplaces.
Thoughts appreciated.
Items will show up on the main page from those authors. But I do agree with you, its annoying only being able to see the latest 9 people we follow. Every site with followers, friends, etc allows you to see them all. I don't have a clue why Envato hasn't implemented this yet.
Agreed. Thanks for the support. I was hoping that I wasn't being too picky.
No, I think alot of people are in the same boat. I wish I could see all of the people I am following. I like to regularly check up, see new items, and comment, etc. I hope Envato is atleast thinking about this! haha
Agree, I wish we could see all our followers and people we follow.
Ideal time to make … Clickable.
Staff not reacting to that request? Pretty, pretty, pretty please?
Crakken said
Staff not reacting to that request? Pretty, pretty, pretty please?
I don't think staff needs to respond to every request made in the forums. But this is a thoughtful request so I'm sure someone will make note of it.
Yes like codingjack said, support can't always comment on this. Also, this has been requested before, its nothing new Let's just say it's in the pipeline


text:
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For my mother, Marion Deane
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Perugia UMBRIA Pescara AB RU ZZ O
ic S
Avernus Naples
Tyrrhenian Sea
Lamezia airport
Messina Locri Sanctuary of Polsi Palermo Regio Calabria
Ionian Sea
75 100
100 miles 150
200 kilometres
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Wednesday, 26 August
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1 Milan
efore we begin,' said the magistrate, 'I want you all to know that there is no chance of a happy ending to this story.' A policeman stepped forward. He was a young man with an accent full of the unclosed vowels of southern Italy. He said, 'Sometimes these cases work out for the best.' 'How old are you?' 'Twenty-eight, Giudice.' 'I am almost twice your age, Agente. I have had experience of cases like this before. Just one is enough to change your outlook on life and stop you from hoping.' The other four police officers filling the small room nodded, which had the effect of isolating their outspoken colleague. The magistrate regarded them with a hint of disdain, and pressed the tips of his fingers against the polished wood of his organized desk, then shook his head in sadness at the open laptop in front of him as he set forth the essentials of the troubling case before them. 'At four o'clock yesterday, after spending two hours in the "Aqua Felix" swimming pool, Teresa Resca, fourteen years of age, was waiting for a bus that would take her back home to San Donato. A car drew up, and for some reason she climbed into it. The whole scene was captured by a CCTV camera located on the outside wall of an office block here.' The magistrate spun his laptop around on his desk so they all could see, and hit the space bar to start the video. 'There she is, holding her pink sports bag. The camera has a narrow field of vision. She seems to be talking to someone, who moves out of frame. Now you can see the car pull up and, before you ask, yes, the
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camera is too high up to capture the number plate. The car is probably a grey Yaris, which might or might not be relevant at a trial held some day in the far future, but is not enough for us now. An unidentified older-looking woman goes over to the car, and you can see her talking to the driver, but we get no picture of who he or she is. She might be the same person Teresa was talking to a moment before. My instinct says it is, but let's wait for the technicians to analyse the images more carefully, see what they say. This woman starts getting in and, at the last moment, beckons to Teresa. The girl, who, her parents and friends tell me, is not rebellious or unhappy or stupid enough to do something like this, climbs willingly into the car. The car drives off. Imagine being her parents seeing this video. Imagine being her as she realizes her mistake, which happens within half a mile, because it is then that her phone goes dead and vanishes from the network. Imagine the worst, because that is what will happen.' They watched the girl get into the car, and the car driving away. He hit replay, and they watched the scene again. 'It makes you want to reach into the screen and pull her back,' said the southern policeman who had spoken up before. 'It's like being an all-seeing but powerless god,' said the magistrate. 'We need to get through a lot of detestable business first. We need to check the father. We need to look deeper into the family and its friends. That is the most promising hypothesis of all. Why would Teresa climb into a car like that? Our first idea must be that she knew the driver. Father, all family friends, relatives, all the girl's friends, and then the mother. We rip into the lives of those who are suffering most. Let's do it immediately and quickly. We strike when the nerves are raw and the pain is greatest, and we try not to drag it out for longer than we must. Next, we look into the father's activities. He appears to be a failed journalist, but perhaps he is wealthier than he seems, and a ransom demand is in the offing, though twenty-four hours have now passed. Perhaps he owes someone something. Find out everything about his colleagues, past jobs, employment records. Go through the girl's diaries, if she had any. Her phone records have already been checked, and every contact she had needs to be questioned. Check out boyfriends, if she had any. Check out fights with teachers, with classmates and any disputes involving her or her family, no matter how trivial: a fight over an apartment-block boiler bill, an unpaid dentist bill, a broken fence. 4
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Then, when we have done all that, we pass on to the worst scenario, worse for us because it leads to a dead-end: a random attack. Remember, though, this is a story that will not end well.' Magistrate Francesco Fossati of the Fifth Section of the Criminal Court of Milan dismissed the police officers, and replayed the video, willing the girl not to get into the car and watching helplessly as she ignored the thought waves he was sending back in time.
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2 Milan
tanding on a white pebble path at a quarter to eight in the morning towards the end of what had been another uneventful working week in an almost empty office, Matteo Arconti, now deputy head of the actuarial division of the insurance company, pulled out a pair of folding glasses to consult his new book. He pushed the glasses down his nose and raised his eyes to focus again on the tree in front of him. He had a lot of things to take in. Pale grey bark with deep fissures, a wide crown with sinuous low branches, entire leaves in alternate pinnate pairs. He was not sure about how deep a deep fissure was supposed to be, nor what 'pinnate' meant, but surely there could be no mistaking the round green fruit which, the book told him, ripens slowly over long hot summers. This was almost definitely a walnut tree, a Juglans regia. He had been walking past it, under it, for fifteen years and had never thought to examine it, or any of the other trees in the Indro Montanelli Gardens. He lowered his eyes to read the botanical name again: Juglans regia. He skimmed through the pages to see if he could spot an illustration of the taller and thinner tree on the other side of the path, but he was already running late. He gave himself a certainty score of 85 per cent with regard to this probable walnut. In need of more data, he reached up and plucked one of the bright lime-coloured fruits. He split the outer skin of the globular casing with his thumbnail, causing it to release a scent that cut through the air like the aromatic volatiles of a synthetic detergent. He tried to prise it open to get to the walnut inside. Unexpectedly, fluid squirted out, hitting his white shirt cuff, which poked neatly out from beneath his business suit. Damn. Watery as it ran into the webbing between his thumb and index finger, the fluid quickly 6
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became sticky. He stopped off at a drinking fountain to wash his hands, and tossed away the unsplittable case. Through the railings, he could see his dark-blue BMW 5 Series. A dirty white van drove slowly past. He rubbed his hands under the flowing water and then stared at them in puzzlement.The juices from the smooth green fruit had tanned his skin with shades of yellow and brown. His fingers seemed nicotine stained, and the purple and black streak across his thumbnail was so similar to a bruise that he fancied he felt it throb as he looked at it. The more he washed his hands, the darker the stain became. His wife had set him a challenge as she handed him the book: identify every tree in the park by the end of September, before the leaves fall. He liked the idea, and had even figured out how to set up a spreadsheet on his laptop to keep track. He had decided to locate the trees he identified on Google Maps, and mark the date too. Walnut tree, August 26. It would be the first thing he did when he got to the office. In these dog days of late summer, he had plenty of dead time. 'You need to change your priorities a little,' Letizia had told him that morning as he stood frowning at the unexpected gift. 'We've plenty of money. You said yourself there was no need to continue with the pretence of being a dynamic young manager. So take it easy. Spend time with your children, who love you. Sofia is fifteen already. She's going through a bad patch now, coming to terms with not being as goodlooking as she once thought she was.' 'What do you mean?' 'Well, she's hardly perfect. She seems to have inherited your legs, for a start, which, well, and her chin is pointy sharp and her nose – I think that must come from your side of the family, too.' 'She's absolutely beautiful. She always has been, always will be.' Now he glanced at his vintage Breitling watch, a gift from Letizia six years ago to celebrate his fortieth birthday. The watch lost twelve to fifteen minutes a day, but he had never had the heart to tell her and continued to wear it, surreptitiously righting it every morning against the clock on his mobile phone. One minute to eight, lied the watch. That meant it was already at least one minute past. He slipped the book into his pocket, exited the gate on the side of Via Daniele Manin. He opened the back door of his BMW and tossed his briefcase in. Shutting it, he noticed a van, the same one he had glimpsed earlier, reversing down the road at 7
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speed. Idiot driver. He was going to have to get out of the way quickly if he didn't want to get knocked down. The van braked just in time, and its back doors burst open, to reveal a man with short straw-coloured hair, who half nodded at him, then leaped out and smiled as he landed nimbly on the road. Matteo stood absently fingering his car key, wondering if he was supposed to know the man standing next to him. Now the driver was coming around from the side, and for a split second, Matteo was worried that he had made a gesture of some sort to protest at the reckless driving. But of course, he hadn't. He was proud of his ability to resist road rage. Even so, it almost seemed as if they were coming for . . . Someone, it must have been the driver, pulled a thin plastic cord around his neck and jerked it tight, strangling his cry. The other man, or perhaps the driver again, grabbed his hands, and twisted them behind his back with speed and violence, then jerked upwards, causing extreme pain in his shoulders, and propelling him towards the van. He went straight into the side of one of the doors, hitting it with his mouth, and felt a crack, a shooting pain, and a sudden rush of salt and slime in his mouth. He felt the van tilt down slightly as someone jumped into it. The man who had nodded in that friendly way seconds before was now grabbing a fistful of Matteo's thinning hair at the back of his neck and dragging him in. He could not breathe. The floor of the van felt strangely yielding, as if his face was metal and the floor was soft flesh. Now thousands of tiny ball bearings seemed to be rolling beneath his hands. He clutched at them desperately with his fists as if they were pearls of oxygen. A tingling sensation passed through his chest and he felt his body beginning to float upwards. Just before he lost consciousness, the cord was released from around his neck. He could hear gasping and coughing, and it took him a while before he realized he was making the sounds himself. He became aware of the man beside him and the movement of the vehicle. He was bringing his eyes into focus and getting ready to speak, when a bag was pulled over his head. Silently, the man bound his wrists with duct tape. He could hear the squeak of the sticky plastic being pulled from the roll as it was wrapped over and over his wrists and hands, stretchable at first, then tighter and tighter.
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3 Milan–Sesto San Giovanni
he journey took somewhere between half an hour and an hour. Or maybe more. He had lost track of time but sensed the distance was not great. It was a short transfer from the vehicle to a damp room via a short few steps that he managed to negotiate without falling. He was thrown nose first against a crumbling wall. Still they left the bag over his head. He asked for it to be taken off, then scrunched up his face waiting for the blow that would inevitably follow. But no one answered and he realized he was alone. He could hear the muffled voices of the men speaking some Balkan or East European language. Probably Romanian, he thought. It sounded like it made sense. Romanian was full of Latin and Italian-sounding words; Albanian was unlike anything else. Thought fragments and oddly irrelevant questions were forming a disorderly pile in the back of his mind, but they had to wait. He needed to concentrate on not dying from suffocation, on expelling the blood that kept welling up from inside his mouth and making him nauseous. To vomit would be to die. Finally, as an overwhelming question of dignity, he had to concentrate on his bowels. He began to get a rhythm going. Breathe slowly, gently, until someday someone would take this stifling hood off his head. Spit softly into the fabric to keep the blood and saliva from sliding down his throat and making him sick. Tighten the sphincter and clench the stomach muscles when the cold rush of liquid fear hit the base of his gut. The thing to remember was that they had the wrong person. As soon as they discovered their mistake, they would let him go. He had to be careful not to look at them and not to hear any names. He was able to move his fingers a little behind his back. He could use his right hand to feel the wedding ring on his left. Inside the ring were his wife's 9
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name and the date of their marriage twenty-two years ago. He closed a finger and thumb over it and started easing it off. He was not ready to die, even though that very morning he had given a thoughtful little speech on the question of ageing and death in front of his wife and his children, sleepy-eyed and outraged at being dragged out of their summer-morning beds. They already felt underprivileged to be in Milan at the end of August when everyone else was still on holiday. The trips to France in June, the holiday camps in July, and the two weeks on the Argentario counted for nothing, evidently. 'Happy belated birthday,' Letizia had said, giving him the book on trees. He had kissed her on the cheek. She moved her lips up to meet his, but he'd gone for the cheek, because, well, the children. But now he regretted it. He should have kissed her on the lips. He felt his wedding band slip over his knuckle. Then he had kissed Sofia on the head, run his fingers through his son's hair, and said, 'Get a haircut, Lorenzo. You look like a girl.' Lorenzo was showing signs of wanting to follow in his father's footsteps. Statistics, mathematics, probability puzzles. He and Lorenzo always had football, number tricks and puzzles to keep them in contact with each other. But his daughter Sofia had floated to a planet so far away that communications between them had become infrequent and asynchronous. His right hand was cramping, and his wrist hurt from the effort, but he had managed to free the wedding ring from the fat of his finger. He crooked his fingertip to stop the ring from falling off immediately. Someone entered the room. Something scraped, thin metal against cement, the hollow tube of a chair leg, followed by a fizz of static as synthetic fibres brushed plastic as the person sat down inches from him. Fingers touched his throat without violence. Then another hand, moved in under his chin, as Letizia sometimes did when she was adjusting his tie before he left in the morning. Behind his back, he straightened his finger and allowed the ring to slip into his right hand, where he nestled it protectively in the hollow made by his thumb and the edge of his palm. The hands left his neck and the hood was lifted. Fresh cool air rushed across his face, down his mouth, up his nostrils, through his hair. It was like riding the waves in a speedboat. He looked up into the face of the man who had freed him from the constriction and darkness, unable to keep the gratitude out of his eyes. His thoughts began to clear as the 10
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oxygen returned to his brain and his eyes focused. He was in an abandoned place that smelled of urine and wet cement. He started talking. 'We don't have much money. I have a ski chalet in Aprica, just one bedroom, not worth all that much. My Generali stock options are worth 172,000 euros. I have 90,000 in the bank plus two online accounts that transfer to that account only, so I would have to be the one to do that. They have about 20,000 each in them. I lost money on the stock market. My parents rent their house and live on a state pension. Even if Letizia – that's my wife, as you probably know – even if she sells the house to get me back, which she could hardly do without the authorities finding out and freezing my assets, you're not going to get much more than a million, and . . . seeing as there are several of you . . .' He thought of the Romanian words he had heard them speak. 'Do you understand what I am saying?' 'Shut up,' said the man. 'I'm not interested. If I want you to talk, I'll tell you to talk.' The voice was plaintive and resentful, as if his captor was the one having the wrong inflicted upon him. The speaker was a terrone, one of those brutal southern peasants whose unwelcome presence in Milan was one of the reasons the Northern League had become so popular. He wasn't so good with the accents of the Mezzogiorno. He knew his captor was not Neapolitan. Neapolitans always sounded enthusiastic and friendly and on the verge of telling a joke. This was a more lugubrious southern accent, not Apulia. Sicily or Calabria – Calabria, probably. Where his own grandfather had come from. 'Working in insurance doesn't mean I can get my hands on money. I don't have access to funds . . . I'm only middle management. I'm not very good at my job. I can't keep up with the latest computer algorithms. I have no knowledge or privileges.' 'Is that what you do, insurance?' said the man. The man had opened his legs a little and bent his head down, like an adult watching a child at play on the floor. Forties, tracksuit, overweight. He smelled of cigarettes, cologne, and something rubbery. 'You don't know what I do?' said Matteo, hope rushing into him like the air had a minute before. 'The Romanians said you worked in an office. They didn't go any deeper than that. No need.' 'Ah, you must have the wrong person, then,' he tried to sound 11
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professional and politely apologetic, like the indemnification guys did when rejecting a claim. The man held out Matteo's wallet, pulled out his frayed identity card. 'You are the person I want. Matteo Arconti, a Calabrian name?' 'My grandfather came from there,' said Matteo. Like a conjurer, his captor produced the book on trees from behind his back. 'This was in your pocket.You like trees?' 'No – yes. I don't know.' The man opened the book, looked through a few pages in the middle, and neatly pulled one out, then crumpled it up in his hand. He stepped over, and slipped the book back into Matteo's jacket pocket. As he did so, Matteo caught sight of a black pistol tucked into the man's elasticized waistband. The absence of a holster caused him despair. It meant his captor did not generally carry a weapon. So, if he had a weapon now, it had to be for a specific and immediate purpose. At the back of his mind, a version of himself was marvelling at the clarity of his thinking, promising to save the memory for later telling once this was over. But how would it end? Matteo bent his head down, muffling his voice against his chest in the hope that a lack of clarity in the question would elicit a lack of clarity in the response. 'Are you going to kill me?' The man pulled up his tracksuit, scratched his stomach, and picked absently at the thick black hairs around his belly button, then pulled down his tracksuit again, slipping the gun into his hand as he did so. Matteo tucked his thumb deeper into his palm and rebalanced the ring. If he launched it behind him and his captor never noticed, it might serve as a posthumous message for the people who came looking for him when it was too late, and it would tell his wife he was thinking of her. At least he hoped she'd take it that way. But throwing away the ring was also throwing away hope. 'Why me? I have no connections to anything. I have never harmed anyone, or stolen anything.' 'We have to bow before the hand of fate.' Matteo flipped his thumb upwards and sent his wedding ring spinning away into the darkness behind him, for anyone who was looking for him. He began speaking to hide any clinking sound of the gold hitting the floor. 'I have . . . I have done nothing all my life. And I'm not ready. I'm still learning things, you saw that. Trees.' 12
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'I don't want to explain it. Basically, from your point of view, there's no explanation,' said the man, standing up and raising the pistol, which had a short fat barrel. He pointed it at him. 'I have a family! Two children!' Matteo's fear was tinged with outrage. 'And I am so obviously not the person you want. There must be another person with the same name! No one is making you do this, you understand that, right? Listen, like me, you probably have children, don't you?' The man shot him in the heart, then the head. Minchia che rumore! The noise in the concrete chamber had assaulted his ears and made him angry. He called in the two Romanians. 'Take this heap of shit down to Rome tomorrow. Do it at night. Dump it at Piazzale Clodio. There are some wide-open spaces there without buildings overlooking. Stay away from restricted traffic zones, cameras, and police, and drive so as not to be noticed. Right, who took his wallet and watch? Come on. Keep the watch, if you want to wear a dead man's watch . . . but I need the wallet.' He held out his hand, not bothering to see which of the Romanians returned it to him. 'Keep whatever money you found, but leave everything else, especially his ID card. Leave the book in his pocket. It's a nice touch.'
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4 Rome
hief inspector caterina Mattiola walked into Commissioner Alec Blume's office and dropped an envelope on his desk. 'The results of the blood test,' she said. 'Good,' said Blume, looking up from the newspaper he was reading. 'Leave them there.' He folded over a page. As always, he was reading the local news. The watch she had given him sat beside him on the desk. He glanced up, and made a show of surprise at seeing her still there. 'I don't suppose you'd close the door when you come in here?' Caterina went back and closed the door. Blume waited till he heard the click, then said, 'I'm sorry I didn't make it over last night.' 'That's fine.' Blume returned to his newspaper. 'So, you're investigating that robbery on Via Giulia,' he said as if reading out a mildly interesting headline. 'Attempted robbery,' she corrected. 'They ran off without getting anything.' 'Sure. No shots were fired. You told me the attempted robbers were probably two middle-class kids out for kicks. So, whose blood are we talking about?' 'Very funny.' Blume pushed the paper to one side with a sigh. 'I picked up your test results on my way in this morning,' she said. 'The pointless test you forced me to do.' 'For your own good, Alec. It's not normal for a man to wake up in the morning and eat aspirin.' 14
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'It is if you have a headache.' 'That's the not normal part,' said Caterina. 'I see you're having difficulty adjusting to my morning routines,' said Blume. 'No, I think it's working out pretty well. I am adjusting.' 'Still, I imagine it's nice to have a break from me now and again. I certainly would like to take a break from myself now and then.' 'We both need to compromise if we're going to be living together,' said Caterina. 'What about my big American breakfasts at the weekend? They seem to disturb you, too. I need to know they can continue.' 'That's a cultural thing. I can accept that. I like the pancakes too. But I don't know how you can bear to eat all that meat and eggs first thing. It'll kill you.' 'Not at all,' said Blume. 'Fat and protein are beneficial.' 'No one will convince me that those fried sausages do you any good. They put all sorts of disgusting stuff in them.' 'I know that,' said Blume. 'You know what's a big ingredient in supermarket pork?' 'No,' said Caterina. 'Aspirin.' He picked up the envelope, gave it an appreciative flick with the back of his hand, and dropped it into the top drawer of his desk, which he kicked shut as he leaned back in his chair. 'Still, thanks for this.' 'You need to take the results to your doctor.' 'Sure thing. Like I said, thanks.' He returned to his newspaper. 'Now.' 'What?' 'I took the liberty of checking your schedule and making an appointment for you. We have no urgent cases . . .' 'You did what? I'll make my own appointments, thank you. Also, I have one with the magistrate this morning.' He picked his watch up off the desk and reluctantly started attaching it to his wrist. 'I saw that. But it's not until eleven,' she said. 'Also, I thought he'd finished with you.' 'More or less. He probably wants to explain where the case is going. A courtesy thing. There's a certain irony in this, isn't there?' 15
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'If there is, I don't get it,' said Caterina. 'Not with the courtesy. Magistrate Arconti is a courteous man. I meant the case itself. It involved Nimesulide, remember? Which is just the analgesic I want for my headaches, so that makes it ironic. Or is it the opposite of ironic? Apt?' 'If I knew what you were talking about I might be able to help you choose your words.' 'The case involved Nimesulide. The drug they make Aulin pills from. Chief Inspector Panebianco tells me it's the only thing that works for migraines like mine.' 'So now it's a migraine.' 'It always was a migraine,' said Blume. 'I just don't like to make a big deal of it, so I call it a simple headache.' Caterina rolled her eyes. 'Maybe you should have taken a few handfuls of the Nimesulide when you made the raid.' 'The thought did occur to me,' said Blume. 'But stealing drugs, even if they're not illegal in themselves, and interrupting the chain of evidence in an Ndrangheta investigation . . .' 'I was kidding, you know.' 'I know. Taking you literally is my way of kidding you back. I expect Arconti just wants to sign off on the investigation. There's not much we can do from here anyhow since the person he's investigating operates in Germany, Switzerland and Milan. And Calabria of course.' 'So the case is being transferred to the DIA?' 'Probably. The DIA isn't what it used to be. Twenty years ago, with Law 41(a) and the Mafia on the run, those guys saw themselves like a cross between the Marines and the FBI, poised for victory and revenge. Now . . . Just another mistreated police force. So the investigation goes to them, or it gets kicked into the undergrowth and left to fester. I suppose the investigating magistrate's been taken off it, too. He probably wants to explain all that to me today.' 'Meanwhile, your original investigation into the "suicide" of the hospital consultant from Naples . . .' 'Stops here. For now. Foul play was not established, but at least the case opened an interesting avenue.' 'That avenue was wide open if anyone cared to look,' said Caterina. 'The consultant had never even practised. For ten years he had been 16
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issuing prescriptions for vast quantities of Nimesulide, using hospital procurement contracts to cover his tracks. It was clear he was supplying the drug to someone who was using it to cut cocaine on an industrial scale. All people had to do was open their eyes. His colleagues, the hospital accountants, the Finance Police . . . he was acting in broad daylight, driving a Lamborghini on a state salary.' 'Disgusting,' said Blume. 'But, eventually overcome with remorse, the consultant beat himself around the face, head, groin and chest before hanging himself from his balcony in what was unquestionably suicide.' 'Are you really happy to leave it at that?' 'It's not up to me. It's Arconti's call. But it's hard to care about the consultant or the verdict on his death. The consultant was a door into a more interesting inquiry. Arconti had retroactive traces put on the calls made by the consultant, which worked just fine, because it led to the arrest of two gallant gentlemen from Calabria.' 'Your appointment with the doctor is for 9:15.' She glanced at her watch. 'So you should get moving now. The clinic is on the way. If you want, you can get painkillers prescribed by him. OK?' Blume shook his head. 'You're kidding, right? You expect me to stand up and go to the doctor, just like that?' 'Yes. You wanted something for your headaches. Go to the doctor, talk to him. I went to the trouble of making the appointment, it's the least you could do.' 'If I don't?' 'If you don't go, I'm going to leave this office, wait for you outside, and then make a scene here in the station, in front of everyone. Maybe in the corridor, you know, with voices raised and all the trappings.' 'You don't scare me. Anyhow everyone's on holiday.' 'I can embarrass you though. All it takes is for me to announce we are half-living together.' 'Everyone knows that.' 'But it's not acknowledged,' she said. 'If I make it official, you'll have to write up a report on conflicts of interest, and one of us will have to be moved to a different department. Or else we'll just have to marry and present it as a done deal.' 'So what time did you say the appointment was?' said Blume.
* 17
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Half an hour later, Blume sat in the waiting room in the company of a desiccated old woman who avoided his eyes and fluttered her hand nervously across her throat every time he looked in her direction. He raised his arm and looked at his watch, and was about to ask her what the hell was the point of doctors setting appointment times for patients if they didn't respect . . . The doctor appeared in person at the door of the waiting room and motioned him in. Too cheap to hire a receptionist. In the office, the doctor unfolded Blume's test results, read them, and burst out laughing. 'What's so funny?' 'What on earth do you eat?' 'Food, normal stuff.' 'I've never seen a cholesterol reading like that. Bad LDL cholesterol, I mean. I'm putting you on statins. Zocor, one a day for the rest of your life.' 'I am pretty sure you have seen a cholesterol level like that in the past,' said Blume. 'No, no. I'd have remembered a reading like this.' 'No, you wouldn't,' said Blume. 'Because I was here five years ago and we had pretty much the same conversation.' The doctor frowned, 'I thought I knew your face.' He tapped at the computer on his desk. 'There you are. I prescribed statins for you then, too. Why did you tell me this was your first visit?' 'I didn't want to have an argument about statins again.' 'Obviously you're not taking them.' 'No,' said Blume. 'My cholesterol is inherited. Northern ancestors. Sweden, Norway, Minnesota. Places like that.' 'Why bother with the blood test then?' 'My partner insisted. Besides, I might have something else.' 'Well, you do. Poor liver function. What's your beef with statins?' 'I don't believe in taking medicine preventatively. I think it's a scam by the drug companies. Scare people to sell them stuff.' 'I remember you now,' said the doctor. 'But I do believe in prescriptions for real pain. I'd like you to write me one for Aulin, please.' 'So you have headaches?' 'Migraines, for which I need Aulin or something even stronger.' 18
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'If I said yes, you'd need repeat prescriptions. You'd have to come back here.' 'Fine.' 'But I'm not going to prescribe it anyway.' Blume pulled a notebook from his jacket and flicked it open. 'What about Migraless?' 'Same stuff, same answer,' said the doctor. 'Let me see . . . he also mentioned Minerol and Edemax.' 'No and no. Still versions of Nimesulide.' 'Hydrocodone?' 'Who is this maniac advising you? Take the statins, come back to me in a month, and then we can talk.' 'I'm not taking statins.' 'And I'm not prescribing Nimesulide to patients I don't know. Try over-the-counter paracetamol, less coffee and a more relaxed attitude.' Blume slammed the door on his way out, startling the little woman in the waiting room. 'That man,' Blume told her, 'is fucking useless.'
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5 Rome
lume drove fast and aggressively through the streets to his appointment in Piazzale Clodio with Magistrate Matteo Arconti. He did not have a headache yet, but he had the intimations of one. It promised to be brutal, and it would be the fault of Caterina and that idiot doctor. When they first met, the magistrate, whose unsteady vibrato voice gave all his utterances a plaintive edge, had asked Blume about his personal life. Blume had simply and automatically lied as he did to everyone who asked questions in that area. No partner, woman, girlfriend or emotional attachment to anyone, he had said. The magistrate seemed so pleased at this information that Blume suddenly had a lurching sensation that this was the prelude to some sort of gay demand. It would fit in with the wavering voice, the ready smile. Jesus, the thought. The guy was white haired and had to be about sixtyfive. Not that that was the issue. Even if he had been thirty-five or twenty-five. 'I was hoping you would say that,' said the magistrate. 'You were?' 'Yes. You see, if the criminals want to get at you, they have to get you, Commissioner. The same applies to me. They would need to kill me in person, since it's going to be hard to find any family. My parents are dead; I have no idea who my cousins are. My wife divorced me and moved abroad ten years ago, and even under torture, I could not say where she is. We had no children. I can be sure that no one innocent is at risk because I refuse to let go of an investigation. We might die, but no one has to die on our behalf. That is important. It gives us freedom.' Blume, relieved to discover his magistrate had suicidal rather than 20
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homosexual inclinations, agreed, even going so far as to add: 'I don't really understand how a policeman can have a wife and family and still be effective.' Caterina was not a wife, or even a proper partner yet. Propped up at his front door, ready to be taken round to her place, was a suitcase of belongings, mostly mementos of his parents, including their wedding rings. He had carefully buried the objects under a layer of his own clothes so that she could not see quite how sentimental he was. The suitcase had been there for five or six weeks now. Once he carried it into Caterina's apartment, the die would be cast. Apparently, her coming to his larger and nicer apartment was out of the question, because of her son, Elia, who was not to be traumatized by a change of house and school. Also, her parents lived up the road. His dead parents and lack of children gave him no counterarguments. Saying he did not like her apartment much, which was true, was not an option. She seemed to think they could rent his out, but Blume did not want strangers pawing their way around what had been his parents' home. 'I can see we will get on well,' Arconti had said after that first meeting. And so they had, but as soon as the case began to get interesting, it had started moving away from them. Now the anti-Mafia magistrates of the DDA and the agents of the DIA were poised to take over. It had started well enough, a trace on the doctor's phone leading to a warehouse next to an abandoned cake factory in north Rome. They set up a surveillance detail, and within a few days, two suspects had turned up in a green van. The registration traced back to a car dealer in Calabria with multiple links to the Ndrangheta. A flag went up at the DIA and DDA, and from there on it was hardly their case any more, but Arconti seemed unperturbed. The actual raid had been carried out at dawn by an eight-man team from NOCS, the Special Forces unit of the police. They were like a rake of eager colts. Trained to stand still as they listened to their commander brief them, each one of them was visibly struggling to suppress his pentup energy. Blume, feeling old, had watched them through binoculars as they burst into the warehouse, pretending he didn't care that the young men in their combat uniforms and boots could all run a hundred metres in fourteen seconds or less, and eight kilometres in twenty minutes. He sometimes 21
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went on long runs that felt like they might be eight kilometres; hell, they felt like fifty. The warehouse haul was 80 kilos of black cocaine and 10 kilos of Nimesulide in five plastic bags. Blume watched as a uniformed policeman wearing surgical gloves lifted one of the fat pill-filled sacks. Blume imagined the sack bursting and the pills bouncing and rolling everywhere as they hit the floor. One quick scoop of his hand and he'd not have another debilitating headache for ten years. The two suspects, two brothers called Cuzzocrea, were cocooned in sleeping bags when the NOCS team broke in. The elder of the two apparently didn't even wake up, the other struggled for a moment with the zip, but lay still when a boot was placed on his throat. The police also recovered 300,000 euros in cash – a good haul. It turned out the Cuzzocrea brothers were first cousins of Maria Itria Landolina, wife of a certain Agazio Curmaci whose name was in one of their phones, though no calls had been placed to or received from him. A trace on both phones revealed a stream of connections in Germany, but the wiretap remit issued by the Italian authorities did not extend across the border. 'I have been after Curmaci on and off for years,' explained Arconti. 'It's almost a hobby. He is based in Germany now, so there is not much chance of my getting him, but this connection via the cousins of his wife was too good to pass up.' 'Who's Curmaci?' 'Is the name completely new to you?' 'No. I looked up some records. The capo of the Dusseldorf–Duisburg locale is Domenico Megale, the crimine is his son, Tony Megale, and the mastro di giornata is Agazio Curmaci. The identity of the contabile is unknown, but may be a guy called Murdolo. Or that's how things stood two years ago, which is the best information I could find. That's pretty much it. Theoretically, those three are on the same level . . .' 'But obviously,' said Blume, 'Tony Megale, who's the boss's son and is in charge of armed operations, is going to be way stronger than the other two.' 'You'd think that, wouldn't you?' said Arconti. 'And you may even be right. But I think the most powerful one is Curmaci. There is a persistent rumour that Tony is not really the old man's son. Then there is the fact 22
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that Agazio Curmaci was promoted straight up to the same level as Tony within a year of arriving in Germany. Shortly after, there was some sort of falling out between them, followed by several years that Curmaci spent in London where it seems he took a degree in history. Old Man Megale remains as ignorant as the goats he used to herd, and Tony, natural son or not, has inherited the ignorance. If I had to guess, I'd say Curmaci was the one who came up with the idea of calling the old man the Prefect. Putting his fancy education to use flattering the boss.' 'The Prefect?' said Blume. 'Isn't that title a bit too judicial-sounding?' 'I think it's more ecclesiastic, like Michele Greco used to be called the "Pope". When the Catholic Church is establishing itself among heathens, it sends out a mission. If the mission is successful, the mission becomes a prefecture. If the prefecture grows in size, it becomes a vicariate. If the vicariate is consolidated, it becomes a diocese. Megale, one of the first missionaries into Germany, obviously sees the Mafia conquest of the Rhine–Westphalia region as being only at the second stage.' 'Let's get back to Tony,' said Blume. 'As the crimine, he has the firepower, access to killers, control over the arsenal.' 'That can be taken away from him, and you should not underestimate the importance of the mastro di giornata, especially when you're talking about a locale operating outside Italy. The mastro di giornata doesn't just call meetings, deal with protocol, and act as an intermediary, he is also responsible for maintaining the traditions of the Society, and that is extremely important for a locale based abroad. The Ndrangheta is not just a criminal organization, it's a system of belief.' 'OK, so Curmaci's important.' 'Agazio Curmaci is almost certainly a santista, or maybe even higher,' said Arconti. 'All the signs are there.' 'I thought a santista was a rank above the boss of a locale,' said Blume. 'It seems weird he could be both above and below the boss at the same time.' 'It's not really a rank. It's more a function. A santista is dedicated to interfacing with the authorities and the world of business. He will be a member of Rotary clubs, Masonic lodges, business associations, political parties, planning committees and so on. He'll exchange political favours and will appear as legitimate as possible. But, and this is 23
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where the Ndrangheta excels, a santista is even allowed to help the police if he sees it as being in the long-term interest of the Society. He can sacrifice his companions. If he is a santista, then he's sort of outside the Society and inside it too. He's allowed to make decisions that go far beyond his official title. Not only could Curmaci overrule Tony, he could even overrule Old Megale if he felt it was in the best interests of the Society.' 'But his comrades don't know he's a santista?' 'Not necessarily.' 'And you do?' Arconti looked flustered. 'No, I don't. But I have a feeling.' 'A feeling that Curmaci can do what he pleases?' 'Not what he pleases. There are rules, and they are intricate. The Ndrangheta has a system that allows for controlled betrayal of parts for the sake of the general preservation of the whole. Cosa Nostra never managed it. In some ways it's hard not to admire these people.' 'Are you saying that because you're Calabrian, too, Magistrate?' 'I am proud as well as ashamed of what my people can do,' said Arconti. 'Look at Megale, the "Prefect of Westphalia", to give the murderous old goatherd his full honorific title. He controls a vast fortune that he made by buying up thousands of offices and homes in East Germany after the collapse of Communism, most of which he did from behind bars. Or take his son, Tony; or better, Agazio Curmaci. They too have untold wealth, but live like they've taken a vow of poverty. Their families live in tumbledown houses in Locri. It's not just money that drives them, Blume. Remember that.' The magistrate paused and raised his left arm in the air as if trying to gauge the weight of something. 'Old Megale was released from prison in Germany last week. Don't you think it's odd that those two clowns with the pills, the Cuzzocrea brothers, should turn up, a few days before the release?' 'No,' said Blume. 'I don't see it as odd. I don't see the connection.' 'Maybe you're right,' said the magistrate. 'I'm just thinking out loud. Old Megale is in his eighties, and maybe he's wondering who should succeed him. Then again, maybe not. Is his adopted son the appointed heir and successor? Somewhere off to the side, above or below Tony and not so easy to place in the hierarchy, is Agazio Curmaci.' 24
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'They sound like the sort of people who want to kill each other,' said Blume. 'Tony Megale and Agazio Curmaci have known each other since for ever, long before Curmaci went to Germany. Perhaps they are close friends. We cannot tell from the outside. And if anyone has reason to be bitter about being overlooked by Old Megale, it is Pietro, who is not only the first-born son, but, probably, Old Megale's only real child. It seems Megale decided a long time ago that Pietro was not up to the job.' 'Where's this Pietro?' Arconti, as if he had been waiting for this question, pulled out a blackand-white photo that looked like it had been taken in the late nineteenth century. 'That's him.' Blume looked at the photo, and handed it back. 'Is he normal? He doesn't seem to have full control over his facial muscles.' 'He's borderline retarded. He's still in Calabria. He and his wife look after Tony Megale's son, a kid named Enrico. They have no children of their own.' 'If they look after Tony's kid, then there can't be too much envy between Tony and Pietro, no? Agazio Curmaci, on the other hand, sounds like a usurper.' 'It's hard to tell. Pietro and his wife live practically next door to Curmaci's wife and children. Tony's son and Curmaci's son are the same age, go to the same school. Yet in Germany the fathers operate in two different spheres. Tony Megale's line of business is criminal, Curmaci moves in very legitimate circles. He's not going to be pleased at having his name linked, however indirectly, to those two we captured.' 'We caught them fair and square, without any tip-offs,' said Blume. 'I don't see how Tony Megale could have planned that to undermine Curmaci.' 'I agree,' said the magistrate. 'Also, it's the sort of ploy Curmaci might use against Tony, not vice versa. Curmaci is subtler. It's just that I can't be sure we really were the architects of that operation. If the doctor had not committed "suicide" and if the death had not been very suspicious, the operation would not have begun. We would not have found the connection leading to the Cuzzocrea brothers, who led us to Curmaci's wife, who led us to Curmaci. All this time I have had a sensation of being led by the nose.' 25
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'By Curmaci towards Curmaci,' said Blume. 'It doesn't really add up.' Arconti pushed himself away from his chaotic desk. 'You're right. I've passed everything into the expert hands of the anti-Mafia magistrates and the DIA. They're better equipped than us to deal with these things. Unless, of course, you think you would be suited to that line of work.' 'My speciality is unorganized crime,' said Blume. 'It's a bit late now to question my career choice.' 'It's never too late for that,' said Arconti. 'And you're still young.' 'Only compared to you,' said Blume. 'See, that's simply not polite. True, but not polite. I have heard people complain about your bluntness, Commissioner. But if you're interested, I know someone.' 'Interested in what?' asked Blume. 'A change of scenery. A new departure in your career,' said Arconti. 'Have you been talking about me to someone?' 'Yes, and that someone has been looking at you and your strange past. He tells me you had American parents. I was wondering about your name.' 'Did he tell you anything else?' 'Not really. Interested?' 'I don't think so,' said Blume. He had once entertained ideas of joining the DIA, but like a lot of other things in life, it had not worked out. Until a few years ago, Blume would have regarded a DIA takeover of a case as probably a good thing; now he was not so sure. Clean, focused and effective in the early 1990s, the DIA and its judicial arm, the DDA, were like erstwhile youthful idealists who had become more tired and compromised as they grew older together, both of them being absorbed into the corrupted political system they had once dared to challenge. 'All right, then. I am pleased to hear you are happy in your current position.' 'That is not what I said.' 'As for me,' Arconti continued, ignoring Blume, 'I have stayed away from the anti-Mafia magistrates, but I don't think they would have me anyway. One needs to come across as a bit more . . . a bit more . . .' He gazed wistfully out the window in search of the word he was looking for. 'Dynamic?' offered Blume. 'Yes . . . or . . .' 26
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'Decisive?' 'Most of all, you need to be a bit uncaring, which is why I thought of you.' 'You're just sore because I called you old. I am actually a very caring person,' said Blume. 'People say you are reticent and secretive. Not very clubbable.' 'I simply believe that you should never tell a friend anything you would conceal from an enemy,' said Blume. 'That attitude is what makes you ideal for Mafia work. I've seen this happen time and again in investigations, and it has happened to me. You seek a confession from a crime boss, and next thing you know he's implicated half your colleagues, three dear friends and all your superiors. It takes a special type of person to deal with that. Someone who can survive alone. Once you have a confession, if you get one, you can't be sure who's telling the truth any more. Maybe you're being played by your informer or maybe you have been fooled for years by colleagues you thought you could trust. Capturing a boss is like holding a rabid wolf by the ears as it tries to bite your balls off.You want to release your grip, but really you'd better not.' He squeezed his eyes shut. 'Are you feeling all right?' asked Blume after the magistrate had not spoken for a while. 'Do you ever get the feeling you are moving in slow motion?' Blume nodded. 'In dreams all the time. Running away, legs getting heavier and heavier. Something dragging you back.' He looked at the magistrate who was sitting very still. 'But not when I'm awake.' The magistrate lifted his left hand. 'Do you ever get the feeling one arm is really light and the other really heavy?' 'If I am wearing a watch, it makes my arm feel heavy and causes my wrist to itch,' said Blume. 'And now you've reminded me.' 'No, not heavy,' said Arconti absently. 'More like it was full of water . . .' His voice trailed off. 'My speciality is blinding headaches, not heavy limbs,' said Blume, pulling off his watch and pocketing it. He stared at Arconti, who now seemed to be stroking an imaginary beard, as if he were a doctor diagnosing his own arm trouble. 'I am stroking an imaginary beard,' replied Arconti. 27
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'I see that.You can stop now,' said Blume. 'Who is your father, Commissioner?' 'My father's dead.' Arconti knew that, damn it. 'No,' said the magistrate, slowly, weighing up Blume's reply. ' "My father's dead" is one of the initiation responses used by a Russian vor. An Ndranghetista at Curmaci's level would reply, "The sun is my father", though there are variations.' 'Is that what the beard-stroking was about? Were you testing to see if I was an Ndranghetista?' 'Of course not, Commissioner. I wanted to see if you recognized the symbolism. The imaginary beard is Garibaldi's. Garibaldi, Mazzini and La Marmora are the three secular saints of the Santa. Apart from all else, Commissioner, including my trust in you and your work as a policeman, racially and culturally speaking, you could never have been a santista in the Ndrangheta. It has to be in your blood.' Blume shrugged. 'I just had my blood tested. It's Mafia-free.' 'Are you sure you don't want to talk to this friend of mine about a career change?' 'The DIA would never have me,' said Blume. 'It would not necessarily be the DIA. There are other groups that combat the Mafia from farther behind the scenes.' 'I would need to think about it.' 'It's a solitary life, but you would not mind, I think. Being alone frees the mind; it allows you to explore areas that others neglect, see things that others miss. Don't you agree?' 'I don't know,' said Blume. 'In my solitude, I have also seen many things that are not true.' There was a knock at the door. 'Avanti! ' called Blume automatically, before remembering where he was. 'Sorry, Giudice, this is your office. I had no right . . .' An elderly man in a blue uniform backed into the office wheeling a trolley filled to overflowing with boxes and binders. 'It's no problem,' Arconti said to Blume and the man shuffled into the narrow space between them. 'We Calabrians tend to avoid the word Avanti. It's what drovers and goatherds shout at the beasts of the fields.' He watched the uniformed porter wipe the sweat off his brow, and carefully retreat from the trolley, lifting a clipboard off the top box. 'When 28
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addressing humans, we prefer to be more respectful. We prefer to say, simply enough, "come in." ' The porter continued his balancing act with the files, and when it became clear that nothing was going to fall off unless there was a breath of wind, he looked at the form in his hand and addressed the magistrate. 'These files are for Magistrate Matteo Arconti. I hope that is you, Dottore?' 'Yes,' said the magistrate. 'That's my name.'
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A Note on the Author Conor Fitzgerald has lived in Ireland, the UK, the United States, and Italy. He has worked as an arts editor, produced a current affairs journal for foreign embassies and founded a successful translation company. He is married with two children and lives in Rome. He is the author of The Dogs of Rome and The Fatal Touch. The Namesake is his third book.
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By the same author The Dogs of Rome The Fatal Touch
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First published in Great Britain 2012 Copyright Š Conor Fitzgerald 2012 Map by ML Design The moral right of the author has been asserted No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the Publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square London WC1B 3DP www.bloomsbury.com Bloomsbury Publishing, London, Berlin, New York and Sydney A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN 978 1 4088 2449 8 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Typeset by Hewer Text UK Ltd, Edinburgh Printed in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc
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Read an extract from The Namesake by Conor Fitzgerald


text:
Nuclear officials are preparing to secretly transport a toxic stew of liquid bomb-grade uranium by armed convoy from Chalk River, Ont., to a South Carolina reprocessing site.
The "high priority" mission marks the first time authorities have attempted to truck highly-enriched uranium (HEU) in a liquid solution, prompting nuclear safety advocacy groups on both sides of the border to sound the alarm for greater government scrutiny.
The Canadian Nuclear Safety Commission (CNSC) has confirmed the plan to the Ottawa Citizen. It follows Prime Minister Stephen Harper's commitment at last year's global nuclear security summit to return HEU inventories to the United States to lessen the risk of nuclear terrorism.
[related_links /]
Officials with CNSC and Atomic Energy of Canada Ltd., which operates Chalk River Laboratories, say federal law prohibits publicly releasing details about the mission, including the number of transport truck trips involved, the routing through Eastern Ontario and…
View original post 971 more words


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I always had to tell Daoud and the family that Christmas doesn't start until the 25th, because before that it is Advent. Stinkin' pagan America. (Speaking of which, we're back in the USA for the time being.)
Anyway, check out John's informative and funny summary of what Christmastide really means. Here is a section to get you going:
So what are the Twelve Days? And why are there Thirteen of them? I have not been able to find easy to hand a list of the Twelve Days of Christmas for 2011-2012. Here is my own list I have gathered from various sources:
Christmas: December 25th–The Nativity of Our LordI liked this part:
December 26th—Feast of St. Stephen, first martyr
December 27th—Feast of St. John, apostle and evangelist
December 28th—Feast of the Holy Innocents, martyrs
December 29th—Memorial of St. Thomas Becket of Canterbury, bishop and martyr
December 30th—Feast of the Holy Family
December 31st—Memorial of St. Sylvester I, pope (in Eastern Church, this is the Apodosis, or final day of the Afterfeast)
January 1st —Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God
January 2nd —Memorials of St. Basil the Great and St. Gregory Nazianzen, bishops and doctors
January 3rd —Memorial of the Most Holy Name of Jesus
January 4th —St. Elizabeth Ann Seton
January 5th —Memorial of St. John Neumann, bishop & St. Telesphorus, pope and martyr
January 6th —Epiphany (traditional)
The Feast of St. Thomas of Canterbury is an optional memorial. The traditional celebration I think is to drink cider and stab a bishop to death in an English cathedral.But read it on your own. At John's Blog.
The Feast of the Holy Family is the 30th of December this year. (The Feast of the Holy Family is celebrated on the Sunday following Christmas, unless that Sunday is January 1st.) I am not sure what the tradition is on this day, either uprooting your family because of a bad dream and fleeing to Egypt or else getting your twelve-year-old lost in Jerusalem and not noticing he's missing for the whole day.


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MSN and Post-Graduate MSN Certificate Admission Requirements
- Baccalaureate degree in nursing (BSN) from an NLNAC, ACEN or CCNE accredited program. For students with foreign transcripts, a CGFNS evaluation is required with GPA equivalency and TOEFL score.
- Current license to practice as a registered nurse in the U.S. and its territories.
- A grade point average (GPA) of 3.0 or above in the each of these areas:
- BSN cumulative GPA.
- last 60 hours of undergraduate college work (or nearest semester or term break to this). RN-MSN program only.
- A grade of B or better in any graduate nursing course.
- Satisfactory criminal background check after acceptance.
- Three references.
- Professional goals statement of 150 words or less.
- Please go here for complete details on how to apply.
Doctor of Nursing Practice (DNP) Admission Requirements
- Bachelor of Science in Nursing (BSN) from an NLNAC or CCNE accredited program.
- Master's degree in nursing or related field from a nationally accredited program.
- A minimum cumulative GPA of 3.0 or higher in prior graduate-level coursework.
- Current license to practice as a registered nurse in the U.S. and its territories.
- Satisfactory criminal background check after acceptance.
About your location:
Every state in the U.S. creates its own specific regulations about online enrollment of the students who live within the state. Some states require fees and/or application efforts that require a considerable investment of university resources. In an effort to maintain a reasonable tuition rate, Graceland's nursing program does not currently accept students who live in Kentucky, Maryland, New York, North Carolina or Tennessee.
Graceland University is approved by the Washington State Nursing Care Quality Assurance Commission to provide practice experiences in Washington State for RN to BSN, MSN/FNP, MSN/Nursing Education, and DNP programs.


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Setting plastic tubs in concrete
I'm thinking of replacing the bathtub in our master bathroom with a deeper tub. Then my wife can take her baths without the water splashing out of the tub (she likes the water high... ;) ) The "deep" tubs I've seen so far are made out of fiberglass or some non metal material. I heard that plastic tubs should be set in a concrete bed to prevent flexing of the bottom while taking a shower.
Exactly how is the concrete bed made?
1. Poured in a pan? If so, do they sell pans for that or do I have to have one custom made? How deep should the pan be?
2, What are the proportions of sand, cement and water mix that is not too watery but not too hard?
3. Pour the mix and set the tub in it or set the tub and then pour the mix?
4. Any synthetic mix that can be used instead of concrete?
i generally use thinset mortar, just mix up a bag or so and pour it on the subfloor where the tub goes. push the tub into it, level, and let it dry. it gives it a firm base over the whole bottom of the tub
How do you handle the thinset at the drain which will allow separation later if the joint leaks or the tub is replaced?
You just want the mortar under MOST of the tub. You mix it to a consistency so that it wont just spread out on its own (so you can set the tub down into it).
Ayuh,... I shoot for a Peanutbutter consistency, 'n leave a void around the plumbin'...
yea peanut butter is probably a good idea for consistency. remember that most plastic tubs are made for an installation without mortar, i use the mortar to level the surface the tub sits on. the support it gives the tub is only a bonus :laughing:
Thanks guys for your tips on setting the tub. Peanut butter consistency I can remember... :) I have a pretty good idea of how to do it now thanks to you all.
Thanks again and keep it warm!
My two cents
After you set the tub in the concrete plug the drain hole and have a heavy or average person stand in the tub (or sit ) and fill 3/4 way up to top to simulate weight during normal bath/shower.. that way the concrete base would be at the right setting so as not to move or crack at a later date ..leave water in tub until concrete/mortar cures.
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