Original published in the collection Vorrei essere il pilota di uno Zero ( Faenza : Mobydick , 1994 ) and in Il lato sinistro del cuore . ( Quasi ) Tutti i racconti ( Milan : Einaudi , Economici , 2003 ) . Translated for promotional purposes for Einaudi ( 2003 ) . I remember that she was dangling a slipper poised on the toes of one foot , and that she was holding her terry - cloth bathrobe tightly closed with her arms , in front , as she sat on the arm of the chair . Her long , dark hair , gathered over her shoulder , was still damp because she had been taking a shower when I arrived at her house forty minutes early . I 'm not sure if I was the one who got the time wrong when she called me that morning , but it didn 't matter . The customer is always right . " Look , I 'm not a private investigator . . . not exactly . My business is debt collection , automobile title transfers , leases , installment payments . . . people who don 't want to pay " . " True , I was a police officer , but the thing is . . I never did investigative work . And then too , the story you 've told me . . . " " Okay , the incident that you 've reported , then . . . I 'm really not clear about it . That man , was he in a dream you had , or was he really here ? " She looked at me - I remember that , too , all too well - she looked straight at me and I think it was the first time she had done so since I entered the room . I , on the other hand , had looked her over right away : very attractive , with a dark tan , a round face and those feverish eyes , dark like her hair . There was something strange about her gaze and for a moment I thought she might be somewhat cross - eyed , but no . . . her mouth , too , the lips pressed tightly together , with a slight downward cast , had something odd about it . . . I don 't know , a childish set to it . She was twenty - three years old , she later told me , but she looked a lot younger than that . " No , you don 't believe me . But I wouldn 't have called you just for this . There have been other incidents , concrete ones . For at least a month I 've been getting phone calls , at all hours , but always when I 'm alone . A male voice that speaks very softly . I pick up the receiver and he whispers just one word " . She had lowered her eyes , looking at the slipper that was swinging back and forth , its cloth edge caught on the tip of her big toe . A flap of her bathrobe had slipped over her knee , uncovering her leg to the ankle , and I felt uncomfortable watching her . She was so small , her shoulders hunched , and that worried look about her , that I found her . . . touching . In any case , when I think back on it , I tell myself that that must have been the first thing I felt for her . " Okay . . . I mean , not okay . And then ? What else happened ? " " No , you 're right , no . . . That 's why my advice is to hire a real private investigator , even though it will cost more . I was with the police for five years , it 's true , but I was in the riot squad " . She continued staring at the slipper , but her lips were half - open in a sly smile that made me realize that she knew very well - God knows how - why I was no longer on the police force . I had killed a young man at the stadium , during an assault . " That 's why you were the one I called . . . because I want someone who won 't cost a lot and who is able to defend me " . " Go to the police , then . They won 't cost you anything at all . Why don 't you call the police precinct ? I 'll give you the name of someone I used to work with . . . " At that moment she opened her robe and I closed my eyes , like I used to do when I was at the precinct and my buddies would come out of the shower without a towel . When I reopened them , she - that is , he - was as before , arms tightly crossed in front . Except that the slipper had dropped to the floor . " I live alone , I work here at my home two nights a week , and I only have a few hand - picked clients . I can give you their telephone numbers if you promise to be discreet , but none of them appears to be the man who . . . who is . . . oh God ! I 'm so afraid . . . Will you help me ? " She kept looking at me with an expression that was so desperate , so vulnerable , those lips pressed tightly together and those big eyes like a frightened little girl 's , that I couldn 't say no . Even if she wasn 't a little girl . And so I accepted the job . I advised him to lock himself in the house and I went away with the advance in my pocket and a vague sense of uneasiness over having looked at his legs . I remember thinking - oh yes , I remember this too , all too well - what a fine couple ! A transvestite and a police officer ousted for manslaughter . Oh yeah , a truly fine couple . . . If you excluded the clients ( there were only four of them and they did not correspond to the neighbor 's description ) and some sinister deal involving pimps and Mafia types , whose behavior is not usually that complicated , that left rejected lovers . The phone calls , the boyfriend 's tires , the strange story about the mailbox . . . the nocturnal visits , if they had really happened . . . it all seemed pretty clear to me . A morbid jealousy , that of a madman , a love that had turned sick . . . Rita - that was my client 's name - remembered three significant love affairs that had ended badly . . . badly for them that is . A guy who lived in the city and was a sales rep , a tennis instructor who had gone away with a broken heart soon after the breakup , and a third one , a younger man , a student who was a little strange . The student had been the first of the three in chronological order , and my client spoke to me about him only as I was about to leave , and then almost hesitantly . All she said was that he was someone who liked to watch her . Watch her ? Yes , as she read , as she put on her makeup , as she ate or as she got dressed . Or as she slept . Right . I began with him . But a family from the south was now living at the address I had for him ; they couldn 't tell me anything , except to show me a bill for a payment to be made for the second year of engineering school , which no one had ever picked up . I can 't say if I would have had better luck with the sales rep or not , since he had died three weeks earlier , in a car accident . The instructor , on the other hand , had left his new address with the post office and I had directory assistance give me his phone number . I called the number , but there was an answering machine with Ravel 's Bolero in the background that said he would not be back until the following day . So then I went to see the current boyfriend , but I didn 't get much from him either . He was a painter and he received me in the top - floor flat that he used as a studio . There were portraits of my client on all the walls , in every possible pose . They were all looking at me . " I 'm glad Rita decided to call someone . . . that way she 'll get these fantasies of hers out of her head . As far as I 'm concerned it 's those pills she 's been taking since she had the nervous breakdown that are making her this way . She attaches importance to a whole lot of things that have nothing to do with anything , like my car tires " . " Punctured , not slashed . Look , the car was in the garage , with the garage door locked . I must have driven over a nail . . . okay , a couple of nails , without realizing it . As for the mailbox , you get around quite a bit , you know how many thugs there are all over , even in good neighborhoods . They even destroyed mine , you know ? Hasn 't it ever happened to you ? " " Lucky you . It 's not the idea of the mailbox , that only costs a few bucks . . . but the letters . Rita and I write each other the most beautiful letters , very profound . Sensitivity is one of her most distinctive qualities . . . sensitivity , a tender , pervasive sensuality , a fragile , poignant gentleness . . . and a natural unfaithfulness , almost instinctive . Can I ask you a question ? " He had the longest , most delicate hands I had ever seen and he held them joined together in front of his face , sucking the tips of his thumbs . He was older than my client , much older . I understood what he wanted to ask me as soon as he bit his lip , as though searching for the right words . " No , don 't worry . I 'm just a private detective paid to solve a problem and that 's it . I 'm not after anything else . And then . . . he 's not exactly my type " . " Don 't speak too soon . And please don 't say " he " , say " she " . Aside from a small detail , my Rita is a woman . . . or rather , a little girl . Don 't you think so ? " No , I didn 't think so , but I didn 't tell him that . I had him show me the garage door , still locked and without any sign of a break - in , and I went away convinced that he was right , that they were all coincidences and that the man in the night was only a dream resulting from an excess of tranquillizers . I also made the rounds of the neighbors again , since the man had to have lurked in the area a long time to know just the right moment to phone or enter the house , but no one had noticed anything . I intended to call my client the next day to close the case , persuade him to let me keep the entire advance , and recommend that he get another doctor , since no one was out to get her . To get him , him . . . and I had to keep repeating it to myself as I drove , as I recalled the curves of her hips outlined against the cloth , him , him , him , until I got home . Then she called me . At night , unexpectedly , in the middle of a confused dream that was making me sweat . Her voice was shrill , like the ring that had awakened me , and she was talking hurriedly , between sobs , and gasping . " He was here ! He was here , I saw him ! " " That man ! The man who watches me ! He was here in my room ! I woke up , I opened my eyes and I saw him ! oh God . . . " She didn 't answer . She was sobbing and then she hung up the phone . I got dressed in a hurry , climbed in the car and raced to her house . The door was partly open , secured by a chain . I rang , but no one came , so I grabbed the door jamb with both hands and ripped off the chain by shoving my shoulder against the door . Inside it was dark . I heard crying at the end of the hall , behind a closed door . " Open up ! It 's me , open the door ! " She had triple - locked the door , and when I flung it open she had already gone back to the center of the room . She was wearing a flimsy slip , almost transparent , that grazed her knees and left her shoulders bare . She was hugging herself tightly and she was trembling . She was about to start crying again . I shrugged and turned away , so that she wouldn 't see from my expression that I didn 't believe a single word of what she said . But as I moved closer to the armchair , a cold shiver stiffened my back , running down between my shoulders like a drop of iced water . It was the smell that struck me , a different smell , more musty than the sweetish scent that was in the room . Someone else 's smell . Then I saw the cushion , crushed in one corner and at the edge , as if someone had sat on it . I ran my fingers over it , and though I knew it wasn 't possible , I seemed to feel its warmth . " What is it ? What did you feel ? " I had straightened up with a start , as abruptly as if I had gotten an electric shock . Rita was looking at me with such a frightened expression , with those incredibly big eyes , that I couldn 't help reaching out and touching her shoulder . She slipped into my arms , quickly , pressing herself against me . She was trembling and when she raised her chin I realized that even her lips were trembling , pressed tightly together in that thin - lipped pout , like a frightened little girl . I don 't remember if I was the one who kissed her or if she kissed me . We slid down onto the bed and made love , it doesn 't matter how . " Sure , sure , great mouth , great tits , great . . . the best fucks I ever had in my life , but that 's all it was . And then , Christ , he 's a transvestite . . . Breaking the rules is one thing , but I 'm no queer ! " " Fine , good for you . . . Anyway , a few months ago I nearly got killed , on the highway . The mechanic says they loosened something under the steering wheel . I didn 't believe it , but after a week the same thing happens with the dealership 's loaner car , so then I start shitting my pants . You know how it is , in my business I know so many easy women , wives of important people . . . So just to be on the safe side I leave town and get them off my back . What do you think , did I do the right thing ? " I didn 't answer . I made some notes in my notebook and walked away . As I was paying at the cashier 's desk , he took his parting shot from the table , where he was sitting beneath the big umbrella . I had to dig my nails into my palm to the point of really hurting myself then . " Did you really think I was in love with Rita ? Imagine . . . She was in love with me but I . . . Sure , a great body , but Christ ! And then , take my word for it . . . as far as blow jobs went , she wasn 't worth a fuck " . I had a friend at the highway police and I went to see him as soon as I left the Club . He showed me the reports of the tennis player 's accidents and that of the sales rep who had been killed in a head - on collision with a truck . The accidents were identical . A bolt unscrewed beneath the steering wheel . The man in the night existed . The student , on the other hand , had disappeared without a trace . I had the department secretary give me his home address , but at the house his parents told me he was living here , in his own apartment , although they hadn 't heard from him in quite some time . But a couple with two kids was living in the apartment ; I knew that because I had already been there . The landlord told me that he had rerented the place after he had been given notice by phone , without anyone coming to claim the deposit . A strange character , said the landlord . Rita said so too , as I held her in my arms , there on the couch , at her house . " I never understood him , that Alessandro . He had so many fixations , he was always so anxious . . . or depressed . He took a bunch of pills , to sleep , to eat , to study . . . but he never studied . He would hang around here all day and watch me ; he 'd be sitting at the table , his chin resting on his hand . Sometimes he would lean against the bathroom door as I was putting on my makeup and I would see him reflected in the mirror , motionless . . . but most of all he liked to watch me sleep . I would wake up during the night and there he was , raised up on his elbow , leaning against the pillow . . . Would you believe it ? In all the months we slept together , he never touched me . He would hold me in his arms and caress my hair until I fell asleep , but we never . . . it 's the truth . Easy , you 're hurting me . . . " I was holding her tighter and tighter , without realizing it . There was something about her tone of voice that provoked me , making my nerves and muscles tense . . . something tender and languid , which had clouded her eyes as she spoke about him . . . the student . Something that made me jealous . " I don 't know . I couldn 't take him anymore . . . I didn 't like the way he looked at me when I came home late at night . He made me feel guilty . And then too he had become obsessive , he wanted me to stop working , he no longer accepted what I . . . what I am . I cried for a week when I left him . . . I was the one who sent him away and yet I cried , isn 't that dumb ? " " At times I miss him . At times , when I think about it , I miss Alessandro . I miss him a lot . But I love my painter , he 's intelligent , caring , charming . . . a little morbid , maybe . . . " " Yes . . . Sometimes he almost scares me . Do you know he likes to tie me up ? ow . . . you 're crushing me again . . . Do you want to hurt me too ? " She leaned over , pressing against me with a sigh , then she relaxed and I felt her body , warm and tempting , slide along mine . What she breathed in my ear - before biting my earlobe and making me shiver with desire and rage - was only a whisper . " But I will never love anyone again the way I loved Alessandro . . . or the way he loved me " . I had them give me the list of courses he had enrolled in . Most of them were the usual courses , attended by dozens of students , but there was one special one ; its classes were held at the professor 's office . I went that same morning . There were six students . I had no trouble finding the one who knew him best . " I can confirm it , Alessandro was the strangest character I ever met . Who knows , maybe that was exactly the reason for his appeal . . . I was a little in love with him , you know ? " " He was so . . . so sweet . One of the nicest guys in the world . He wanted to go to Brazil and be an engineer in Mato Grosso after he graduated , as a volunteer " . " Alessandro ? You 're joking . He wouldn 't hurt a fly . He seemed like a child at times , so vulnerable . . . once when I got pissed off and shouted at him , I saw him cry , poor Alessandro . Yes , really , I was a little in love with him . But there was that other one " . " That girl . . . beautiful , very beautiful . At least so he said , I never saw her . But it was obvious that he loved her , so I resigned myself . . . after feeling really bad for a while . Well . . . now he doesn 't show up at the university anymore , so . . . you know what they say , out of sight . . . " " No . I didn 't try to find him after that , I . . . But there 's a girl who saw him , one time , on the porch of one of those shacks with the fishing nets that you see on the canals , over by the sea " . I took it . It was a number outside of town , where she had returned for a temporary job . She had such a complicated last name , the friend , that the girl had to write it for me after repeating it three times . She smiled as she wrote it in my notebook , above the area code . " Isn 't it funny ? This is just how it began with Alessandro . He wasn 't able to write a name , in class , and I did it for him . Just think , during the three months of the course no one ever became aware of his problem . . . " " That disorder . . . What is it called ? The one where you can 't write . Alessandro had the handwriting of a five year old child . . . illegible , hideous . It was something he was very ashamed of . If you knew how long it took me to get him to accept photocopies of my notes . . . " . " Nothing . . . That is , no . . . I think , rather , I 'm sure . . . In short , I know who the bastard is that 's tormenting her . It 's that student , what 's his name . . . " " Right , Alessandro . He 's crazy , he 's disappeared , he knows enough about mechanics to sabotage a car , and he can 't write ! That 's why he set fire to her mailbox , because he 's jealous of those who can write and he hates them ! " " I don 't understand a word you 've said , but it doesn 't matter . You 're the detective , you know what to do . We 'll expect you this evening , at seven . " I 'm going to Milan . I 'll be gone two days . Rita doesn 't want to be left alone tonight , after the last phone call . . . She told you about the phone call , didn 't she ? " " I was against it , because I 'm still of the opinion that it 's all nonsense , but she insisted , so I want you to come here and stay with her tonight . Listen . . . Do you remember the question I wanted to ask you the other day ? And you told me that Rita was not your . . . type ? I want to ask the question again . What do you say , detective ? " Rita lowered her eyes , leaning against the door jamb , then all at once she hugged me , rising up on tip - toe , and kissed me on the mouth . I closed my eyes as I felt the heat of her arms around my neck and the sweetness of her perfume , but it was only for a moment , because she quickly broke away and disappeared behind the bedroom door . I stayed there listening to the soft patter of her nude feet against the floor and the lively creaking of the bed springs , then I sighed , picked up the remote - control , and turned on the television . I had arranged a table in the middle of the room , with a chair in front of it - the most rigid , uncomfortable one I could find . From there I could keep an eye on the door to the apartment , the window , and Rita 's bedroom door . I wasn 't in there with her , sitting in the armchair like the student , for the same reason I had preferred that she close her door : I knew very well how it would end up if I saw her in bed , and I didn 't want to run the risk of being taken by surprise . In addition , I had barred the glass door leading to the balcony and had put one of those anti - assault sprays on her nightstand . In the absolute silence of the apartment , I could hear the bed springs each time she moved . At times I even seemed to hear the rustle of her legs against the sheets , but maybe it was only my imagination . . . I had muted the sound on the television . I kept it turned on only to have something to look at and not be left completely in the dark where I might doze off . I had made a thermos of coffee , like I used to do when I had night duty at the maxi - trials , and I poured a little into a large mug that was on the table in front of me , next to the switch - blade knife and an iron bar that I had found at home , in the garage . I didn 't have a gun ; I didn 't need one . A gun wasn 't what I had used to kill a man a long time ago . Rita moved in her room and I stiffened against the chair 's wooden back , listening intently to the metallic sigh of the bed springs : just a single , brief sound before silence returned . Tense and motionless , I tried to concentrate to see if I could hear her breathing . Little by little I convinced myself that the low sound I heard in the semi - darkness , lit only by the intermittent gleam of the television , was her breathing , slow , relaxed and regular . I felt like going into that room warm with sleep and sitting in the armchair myself , just to watch her as she slept . As I clenched my teeth in rage , I thought how much I hated that bastard , the student , who had watched her so many times and who was now keeping me from doing so . By now I was convinced that he was the man who came in the night , but there were a few things that troubled me and almost scared me . This invisible guy who knows when Rita is alone , when she receives mail . . . who intrudes everywhere , slipping in through closed windows and locked doors , like a ghost . . . I touched the iron bar with my fingertips and the contact with the cold metal made me shiver . I remembered that day at the stands in the stadium , the blood running down my eye from having been pelted by stones and the boy 's blood which had spurted all over my face . . . Then I heard the shriek . An abrupt , high - pitched scream , Rita 's voice , but there was also a deep , husky growl , like that of an animal , muffled by the frenzied creaking of the springs and the sound of the glass door banging against the wall . I grabbed the bar and ran toward the door , bursting it open with a single blow to the handle , but as soon as I got inside I stopped abruptly . The pungent , acid smell of the paralyzing anti - assault spray filled the room and went to my throat , making my eyes tear , and I had to hold onto the wall so I wouldn 't fall to my knees . I couldn 't see anything anymore , but I felt a breath of fresh air on my tingling face and I lurched toward it , banging my shoulder on a panel of the glass door leading to the balcony . I ended up halfway out the door , leaning against the marble balustrade , sucking in oxygen with my mouth wide open , when the first blow struck me on the ear , turning the inhalation into a hoarse sob . The second blow caught me on the nose , with an abrupt snap that reverberated in my brain and continued vibrating against my teeth for a fraction of a second . By the third time , however , I was able to raise my arms and grab the bar before being struck again . Through tears that made it difficult to see , I glimpsed Rita a moment before blindly throwing a forward punch as hard as I could . Rita let go of the broom and threw herself at me with such impetus that I almost lost my balance . She hugged me , pressing herself to my chest . I felt her trembling , hard , as she went on sobbing . I closed my arms around her and wanted to hold her tight until she stopped , but I glanced out beyond the balcony and saw something lying on the grass , barely a couple of feet below . It was a hat . I had lost the bar but I didn 't need it . I climbed over the balustrade and jumped down , landing near the hat on the grass . The garden was small , surrounded by a rather high wall . An almost - full moon illuminated the lawn , a corner of which was sheltered by a dense patch of laurel planted in the center of a circle of fresh soil . He couldn 't have had enough time to run around the house and escape from the gate which , I could see from there , was still closed as I had left it . I squinted my eyes , staring at the uneven shadow of the laurel . The bastard was in there . I could imagine him staring out at me from among the leaves , seeing me growl between my teeth , my fists clenched , ready to kill him . " You won 't get away from me this time , damn you , come on out of there ! Come out or I 'll come and get you ! " But just as I was about to take a step forward I noticed something that scared me . The fresh soil surrounding the clump of laurel had been recently turned over with a spade but there were no footprints on it . Then too . . . there was a whole can of Mace in the room and Rita must have sprayed most of it in his face , yet instead of choking , like I did , this bastard had climbed down from the balcony . And earlier he had managed to open the glass door that I myself had barred , without making a sound . The idea of a powerful , supernatural phantom made me shiver again . . . All of a sudden the wind blew for a few seconds , making the leaves quiver and shaking the tips of the branches . It seemed to me that one of the branches continued to move even after the air turned still again , then another one further up , and another higher still . I sprang into action , circling the clump of laurel without thinking of covering myself , but it wasn 't necessary . Behind the laurel there was a gap in the wall , at the top , and three sturdy branches , one above the other , formed a kind of ladder . " Because we don 't feel we need you anymore . Because it doesn 't do any good . Because last night somebody nearly managed to hurt Rita . " " I almost caught him . Almost . A girl gave me the address of a fishing shack and I 'm sure that 's where the bastard is hiding . . . or that he 's left some trace which . . . " " No , detective . . . I admit I was wrong , they weren 't just coincidences and there really was someone , but it 's not a bodyguard we need . It 's not a matter of guarding or protecting her . . . There 's only one thing to do . Take her away " . The painter looked me in the eye , rolling the envelope around his slim fingers . His eyelids lowered because he realized from the expression in my eyes that I had seen what was in his . My eyes held fear . His hatred . He didn 't ask me again if I had changed my mind about Rita . He slipped the envelope in my jacket pocket , rolled up tightly like a cigar . " It 's been years since I 've taken a vacation , and this seems like just the right opportunity . I don 't know yet where I 'll take my Rita , but I assure you we will be gone for such a long time that when we return this maniac will have forgotten all about his obsessions . Perhaps you too , detective , will have forgotten Rita " . " Where is she now ? " " Not exactly . But I 'll persuade her . This will be the right time to persuade her about a lot of things . . . to leave that damned work she does , to give up certain . . . amusements , once and for all . The time has come to do things right , and I know what the right things are for my Rita . We 'll send you a postcard , detective . So long " . The fishing shack was at the very end of the canal , on the edge of the embankment , almost hidden by reeds . I left the car on the street and ran along the wall , until I was close enough to jump up onto the bank . It began to rain , a light drizzle , which smelled like salt each time the wind gusted . The door was closed and the windows boarded up , except for the one facing onto the canal , from which protruded the arms of the winch that hoisted the nets . There was a putrid stench from over there , a strong , sickly - sweet smell , almost unbearable , that had attracted swarms of mosquitoes waiting expectantly on the surface of the fetid water . I ran a hand over my eyes to dry the salty rain that was wetting my face , and leaned over to look . There was someone inside there , a motionless shadow in which I perceived the outline of a face . He was outside my field of vision , but judging from the shadow he seemed to be staring right at the window . I drew back with a start , the wooden boards creaking , holding my breath as the wind whistled through the reeds , then I leaned over again to look . The shadow had moved : it had turned to the side , so that the curve of the nose had disappeared , and I didn 't know if he was looking toward me or in the other direction . Moving as quietly as possible , I retraced my steps . I stopped in front of the door . I waited . If he realized I was there , maybe that bastard would come out and I could grab him . But maybe he was waiting for me . Maybe he had a gun . Or maybe he wasn 't even there , maybe it was only a shadow , an invisible phantom . . . I picked up a stone and clenched it tightly in my hand . I wasn 't scared . Whatever he was , man or ghost , I would bring him to Rita and that painter of hers , dead or alive . The painter would have to leave her . Him too , dead or alive . The student swung suspended from a beam , the tips of his shoes a few inches from the floor , his head tilted on his shoulder by the twisted knot of the rope . He was swinging around at every gust of wind coming from the window and he did so just at that moment , turning his back to me . I was sure it was him , even though there was almost nothing left of the face . It was covered with flies and mosquitoes and his clothes hung on him like an empty sack . He had been dead for some time , a very long time . More than a month for sure . This time the door of the garage was open . I entered through there and climbed the stairs in a rush as soon as I saw that the painter 's car was still there . I didn 't worry about the sound of my footsteps on the wooden steps because now that I knew he wasn 't a nameless ghost , I wasn 't afraid of him anymore . As I lay stretched on the floor of the shack , curled up like a fetus , telling myself that this wasn 't the time to give in to the urge to vomit , it had come to me that if the man in the night wasn 't the student , then I could understand how he had gotten into a garage that was locked from the inside and how he knew about Rita 's movements and about the letters . . . that bastard the painter with his eyes full of hatred . . . and as I scraped at the rotten wood of the door with my fingernails trying to get up , my one thought was that I would have to hurry , race there in my car , hurry and get to Rita before he took her away or hurt her , quickly , quickly . . . and I shouted it out loud and continued repeating it as I crawled out of the shack on all fours , like a dog , and raced along the bank , under the salty rain that whipped my face . . . " Rita ! Rita , where are you ! " The painter came out of the room wide - eyed and stopped in the doorway , a couple of steps above me . I raised my fists , ready to punch him , but he grabbed onto the door jamb , swaying . A thick spurt of blood gushed from between his slim fingers as he clutched his throat . The blood ran down his shirt as he slipped sideways to the floor . Behind him , reflected in the glass of a painting that portrayed her naked with her hands clasped in front of her , stood Rita , motionless , her eyes lifeless . She was wearing a hat and a dark coat . She let the bloody razor fall to the floor when I took her by the shoulders and smiled at me , with that tiny wrinkle that appeared at the corner of her mouth whenever she tightened her lips . I 'm no psychologist : I 'm a private investigator whose business is debt collection , and before that I was just a member of the riot police with a ready club . I don 't know what it was that pushed Rita to kill everyone she thought she loved . . . maybe guilt feelings for that student who had hung himself for her , a sense of guilt so unbearable that it made her kill others instead of just killing herself . Or maybe longing for a love so strong that it made her relive the past , trying to replace that boy who was able to love her simply by watching her sleep . . . a sick love , but one so great that even now , when I think of it , makes me clench my teeth to keep from being overcome by a rage and jealousy that makes my blood boil . In any case . . . I remember that it was still raining as I waited at the red light , at the corner where the police precinct was . Rita had fallen asleep , huddled in the back seat , her clenched fists against her chest , like a child . I tried to think about what she was , a killer . . . a killer , but try as I might I wasn 't able to . I was glad she had a name , Rita , that couldn 't be transformed into anything different from what she now was . As I stared at the drops of rain running down the back window , I was thinking that there were only two alternatives . Let her go and run the risk that she might kill again , or take her to the police and make them stop her . Let her go or stop her . Take her back home or send her to prison . Not because of the murders she had committed . . . I too had killed , out of rage and not in self - defense , and I hadn 't gone to prison to preserve the force 's reputation . No , it was because of what she might do when . . . So there you are . I remember that it was at that moment that I leaned my head back against the seat and sighed deeply , feeling bad . Because as I thought about the fact that Rita had killed every man she had ever loved after the student - the sales rep , the tennis instructor , and the painter - it came to me that in all the time I had been with her , distracted , lonely , unarmed even , well she had never done anything to me . Not a thing . Then the green light flashed on and I took off . From that day on , the murders stopped . I don 't know if the decision I made was the right one , but Rita is at peace now and when I see her , every now and then , she talks and laughs and tells me what 's going on , her work , her new relationships , her problems . . . And once , but only once , we even made love . Because I didn 't send Rita to prison , I couldn 't . . . I took her back home . Every night , when she sleeps alone , I scramble over the little garden wall , climb up onto the balcony , and open the glass door with a screwdriver . Then I sit down in the armchair and watch her . She goes on sleeping , she never opens her eyes or moves , but I know she feels me there .