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by Giovanni Spano Two suitcases in tall grass, uncultivated about seventy meters from each other, in the marshy moat below the Florence-Pisa-Livorno highway. Inside, the discarded remains of a soapy corpse, looks like a man. Sectioned, torn and divided: torso, arms and head in the first suitcase, legs in the other. It is not Gomorrah, Florence, but its black history cyclically presents with diabolical brutality the tale of shameful crimes and horrible post-mortem ravages of evil. It had been raining for days. “Impossible to work the field a little with the soil soaked” …
by Giovanni Spano
Two suitcases in the tall grass, more than seventy meters from each other, in the marshy moat under the Florence-Pisa-Livorno highway. Inside, the discarded remains of a soapy corpse, looks like a man. Sectioned, torn and divided: torso, arms and head in the first suitcase, legs in the other. It is not Gomorrah, Florence, but its black history cyclically presents with diabolical brutality the tale of shameful crimes and horrible post-mortem ravages of evil.
It had been raining for days. “It is impossible to work the field a little with the soil soaked,” thought Michele Adiletta, 74, retired from ‘Zanussi’, married with 2 children, a farmer for pleasure. Late in the afternoon on Thursday, it was already low light, Michele went with a sickle to remove the bushes and weeds that besieged his tiny ‘war garden’, wedged between the perimeter area of the fastiscent Sollicciano prison, southwest periphery , and the “Fi-Pi-Li”. Only a dirt road separates the prisons of the homeland from the orchards. Mowing the lawn the pensioner discovers a suitcase of maxi size. “What is this?” There may be “something important, precious,” he will say he thought, hoped. He zips it open and finds another suitcase inside, smaller with a lock. Maybe really …. The sickle hits the lock of what is a horror movie matryoshka: “I open and pull out an elbow.”
The man leaves, goes to the guardhouse of the prison, close in a straight line. Prison officials are going to see. The carabinieri are called in: men from Lieutenant Colonel Carmine Rosciano’s operations department, Lieutenant Colonel Angelo Murgia, commander of the investigative unit, and Captain Andrea Centrella of the Oltrarno company, initiate the investigations.
Pulp scene, the ‘body’ is a creepy mass. Something spherical, the head. A blanket, maybe clothes. Pieces to ‘put back together’ to recompose the person he was. But the horror is partial: Coroner Stefano Pierotti points out: the legs are missing. The remains are of a white-skinned, possibly Caucasian, adult human who may have been between 40 and 50 years old. The legs jump on Friday morning in the inspection of the ‘scientists’ of the Arma and the prosecutor Ornella Galeotti. But how can this be done? Who is capable of so much? All premature. Today perhaps the Prosecutor’s Office will entrust the autopsy: causes of death, toxicological tests, genetic profile, fingerprints to see in the police database, to establish if the victim had a precedent. Reports of missing persons “on the right dates” are dropped: the pensioner says he hadn’t mowed the lawn for “a couple of years.” Had the two suitcases been there for so long?
They would drive them and throw them over the highway sound barrier. Crime Profiles – Tearing apart a corpse to hide a heinous crime, drug, or sexual confusion. The scene refers to the tragedy of the 18-year-old immigrant martyr in the Roman suburbs.
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