On the train journey the two men went over what they now knew of the case. Paul Carolla had obviously taken his son to the United States, illegally, as there was no record of him in America. The boy had subsequently changed his name to Luka. He was the chief suspect not only for the murder of the Paluso child but, since the same weapon had been used on the Luciano children, probably for their double murder as well. His last known address was the Monastery of the Holy Mission; the main suspect so far for the murder of Paul Carolla was a monk, Brother Guido.
The long uphill walk from the station took its toll on the overweight Ancora. Pirelli had to wait for his sweating, red-faced companion to join him.
They were shown into an anteroom beside the main gate of the monastery. The bells were ringing, the echo thudding through the small, bare room. It contained only a wooden bench, a table, and a bookcase.
Pirelli's mouth was dry. Ancora was still panting, his shirt wringing wet with perspiration, though the room felt chilly. They waited for more than fifteen minutes before a monk approached them and introduced himself as Brother Guido, gesturing for them to be seated on the bench. He drew up the chair and sat at the table.
They showed him their ID cards and asked him if he had been in Palermo at all in the past few days. He said he had not. He seemed very nervous, twisting a rosary around his fingers and blushing when asked if he could verify his statement. He assured them that he could as he had not left the monastery at all and had many witnesses to prove it.
Watching him carefully, Pirelli told him he was investigating the whereabouts of Luka Carolla. Guido flushed deeply. Pirelli went on to say that Paul Carolla, the said Luka's father, had been shot.
Guido's hands trembled as he whispered that he was aware that Carolla had been shot. He was able to tell them that Luka Carolla had been staying at the monastery up until the week before the killing, but he could give no information On his present whereabouts.
"Did you ever hear Luka referred to as Giorgio, or was he always called Luka?"
"Always. I never heard the name Giorgio mentioned."
"Is there anyone here who would know more about him?"
Guido nodded but told them it would not be possible to talk to Father Angelo now because he was giving the last rites to a dying monk, Brother Louis. All he could tell them was that Luka had been raised at the monastery before going to America with his father. He had returned recently and had stayed for nearly six months. He gave a detailed description, adding that Luka was very strong physically and had done a great amount of work in the garden.
Pirelli asked when it would be convenient to interview Father Angelo and was told that was in the hands of the Lord. Pressed by Pirelli, he eventually said it could be two or three days. The only other person who might be able to help was Brother Thomas, but he wasn't available either. Pirelli asked if he could borrow a monk's robe, to be returned on his next visit.
As they were about to leave, Pirelli asked Guido if Luka had brought much luggage. He described the leather carryall. Then he hesitated a moment before he said, "When he first arrived, he had a case, a small, flat leather case. I remember it because I offered to carry it into his cell, but he refused."
"What size?"
Guido demonstrated with his hands an object about twelve inches long.
"Did you see him leave?"
Again there was the deep flush as Guido shook his head. "I am afraid not. You could see his cell if you wish."
They inspected the small, bare room, and Pirelli asked if it had been cleaned recently. Guido told him he had washed and swept the room himself directly after Luka's departure. They were shown the gardens, where the new seeds were sprouting. "He turned all this soil single-handed. I have never seen anyone work so diligently. Do you wish to speak to him in connection with the killing of his father? Perhaps he does not know?"
Pirelli said he doubted it; every paper had been full of the news. He looked around; the place seemed desolate, not a soul in sight. "I will need to speak with Father . . . Angelo, you said? It is of the utmost importance. And please tell the others that I will return in two days, if they can be of any help." He paused, then said, "I don't suppose there is a photograph?"
Guido shook his head and apologized. They did not, to his knowledge, have one in the monastery.
The two men were silent on the train back to Palermo. Pirelli said, "I think he was holding something back, but until we get to the old father, someone who knows more about Luka Carolla, there's no point. . . ."
The monk's robe was shown to the guard, who was positive that the man in the court that day was wearing an identical one. He also remembered he wore leather sandals.
There were further developments concerning the weapon used to kill Carolla. The guard who had searched Luka described the cane as best he could, recalling that it had a brass head, some sort of animal, but he couldn't quite remember.
Pirelli mulled over the possibility of the gun's being a customized special. They knew from Guido's description that Luka Carolla had carried what appeared to be a gun case. Bruno was instructed to check out all the gunsmiths. Luka had been in Erice directly before the assassination; it was possible that the gun had been purchased locally.
Pirelli paid a call on Mincelli to see if he had anything new and was greeted with a stream of furious abuse.
"You wanna work on this with me, then say so. I sent three men up to that monastery for fucking nothing! You knew, because you'd already been there, that some old boy's croaking and they won't speak to anyone. . . . You wasted my time, Pirelli, and right now I don't have the time to waste."
"And I do? Look, all I want is to get the hell out of here an' back to Milan."
Mincelli sighed. "Not as simple as that an' you know it, not if we've got the same suspect. What do you think? Is this Carolla character our man?"
"I don't know. He could be."
"There's another possibility: that the Luciano women hired the guy. They'd have the connections."
Pirelli was incredulous. "You serious?"
"They're all the same; they close their eyes, see only what they want to see. And then, when one of them gets shot, they scream blue murder—"
"The whole family was wiped out."
Mincelli shrugged. "Read the papers, Joe. That old boy, Don Roberto, must have wiped out more than a few families in his time. Anyway, I'm trying to get a trace on the weapon, sort out the corpses at the Armadillo Club. . . ."
"Okay. I'm getting the gunsmiths checked out, and anything we get I'll pass straight on to you. And I'll save you a journey; I'll go see the Lucianos."
Mincelli cocked his head to one side. "Fine, that old lady might know something about Carolla's kid. Old Roberto Luciano and Carolla knew each other for forty years. . . ."
As soon as Pirelli left, Mincelli scuttled in to see the chief and suggested that since their investigations had the same suspect, Pirelli should be given the entire Luciano case. Mincelli would then be left with the Carolla killing and the nightclub investigation.
The chief put a call into Milan, requesting that they retain Pirelli for as long as necessary. Mincelli was greatly relieved; the race to find Luka Carolla was on, and he reckoned that with his desk clear, he would get to him first. Then he could take off for a skiing holiday, leaving the rest in Pirelli's lap.
It was almost eight-thirty in the morning. Teresa was in the study. Sophia, showered and changed, popped her head around the door.
"Have you had breakfast?"
The doorbell rang, and Teresa peeked through the blinds. She let them snap closed. "It's the carabinieri."
Commissario Pirelli was shown into the dining room by Adina while Teresa tried to calm Sophia.
"It's probably about Mama. Go sit with him, offer him coffee, anything, but give me a chance to warn Rosa. And Sophia, don't say anything about last night, promise me?"
Sophia gestured for Pirelli to follow her into the dining room. Apologizing for the darkness, she opened the
shutter slightly. The light cascaded around her, and she blinked, put her hand over her eyes.
"Is it cold out?"
"No, very pleasant, fresh. I always like the cold, sunny September days."
She stared at him as if she hadn't understood what he had
said.
"How is Signora Luciano?"
Sophia sat as far away from him as possible, right at the end of the table. "She is well, very tired. It is good that we are all here for her."
She was wearing a dark maroon cashmere dress that draped her figure softly, and he noted she wore no jewelry. She was no longer wearing the red nail polish; her nails were very pale.
Sophia was desperately hoping the others would hurry and join them; she hated the way he was scrutinizing her.
"That is a very nice painting."
She turned to stare at the large oil, a puzzled expression on her face. "You like it?"
He looked properly at the painting; it was dreadful, a group of men slaughtering a pig. "No. I don't know why I said that."
"It's a pig being slaughtered."
"Yes, I see that now."
He stood up as Teresa entered with Rosa behind her. He shook hands with each of them.
Sophia, Teresa, and Rosa sat at the long polished table like schoolchildren, their hands clasped neatly in front of them. He tried to put them at their ease, smiling and assuring them he had not come to arrest Signora Luciano, but they remained silent. He refused coffee but asked their permission to smoke. Sophia accepted a cigarette from him. As he leaned across the table to light it for her, Teresa and Rosa could see that her hand was shaking. Uneasy looks passed between them.
"Have you run out of your Turkish cigarettes?" Pirelli inquired.
Sophia inhaled the smoke. "Yes, I must get some. Thank you."
"I know a good tobacconist. I'll have some sent to you."
"That won't be necessary."
He opened his briefcase and took out a small notebook, then searched his pockets and brought out a fountain pen. "I apologize for calling on you unexpectedly and at such an hour, but I wondered if you would mind answering a few questions."
He hesitated, looking around, and Teresa placed a heavy crystal ashtray in front of him. He thanked her and continued. "I will not detain you long. Allow me to give you some good news."
He told them that the judge had overthrown the defense counsel's pleas for the defendants' statements to be read in court and that sentences on the accused would be heard next week.
"So Paul Carolla would not have been freed?" asked Teresa.
"No . . . As a matter of fact, it is concerning Paul Carolla that I am here. We are trying to trace a man we wish to interview. His name is Luka Carolla."
He looked at each of them in turn, but there was no reaction. He went on. "Have you ever heard of him? Possibly even met him? He is Paul Carolla's son."
Sophia shook her head and seemed to look to Teresa for permission before she spoke. "I never met Paul Carolla. This man . . . Luka? Is he suspected of the murder of my children?"
Pirelli gave her a concerned look and chose his words carefully. "I am afraid that investigation is not the reason I am here. This is an entirely different matter. At this moment we simply wish to interview Luka Carolla. So far we have been unable to trace him."
He paused, and they looked directly at him, waiting expectantly.
"Carolla's son had apparently been visiting a monastery. It was the only address the lawyers had for him, but unfortunately he has left."
The women froze as Graziella walked into the room, and Pirelli rose to his feet. He kissed her hand and gestured for her to be seated, drawing out a chair next to his own.
"Are you arresting me?"
"No, no, signora, it is a very informal call. It's just that we have the name of a possible suspect in the Paluso child's killing."
Graziella listened as he told her of the search for Luka Carolla, asking if she had ever seen him or knew of his whereabouts. She told him she was not even aware that Carolla had a son.
Pirelli replied that the police had only just discovered Luka Carolla's existence themselves when Paul Carolla had suggested that his son be questioned.
Teresa leaned forward. "You mean, Paul Carolla implicated his own son?"
Pirelli nodded and tapped the edge of his notebook with his pen. "I think at the time Carolla would have implicated his own mother had she been alive. The case was going against him; the tragic murders of your family, the death of the Paluso child, and the mounting accusations in the press placed him under enormous pressure in the jail."
Sophia's cigarette ash dropped on the table, and she brushed it away. Graziella asked if Pirelli had any knowledge of who had killed Carolla.
"I am not on that investigation, signora, but I believe they are making headway."
"So they make headway in finding the killer of the man who murdered my children, but there seems to be no one continuing our investigation. Why have we not been visited before, kept abreast of what is happening?"
"As I have said, Signora Luciano, I am not—"
"Yes, you are not involved . . . Who is? I do not believe the carabinieri know anything. This trial will end, but still the murderers walk free, just as it has always been. . . ."
Pirelli saw the hatred in her eyes, washed-out blue eyes like chips of ice. He looked at the still faces of the women and bowed his head. "I believe that the man who shot Carolla was a professional. Ballistic reports have suggested that the gun was special, a custom-made single-shot gun, possibly disguised as a walking cane. The killer carried it undetected into the courthouse. Perhaps he was hired by one of the families that suspected Carolla was cracking under the strain. It was even suggested that the Luciano family—"
"Ah, now we have it. You are not here to question us about this Paluso murder. The reason is you think we are involved; you believe we had something to do with the man who murdered Paul Carolla."
Graziella pushed her chair back and stood up. She was shaking, her whole body trembled, and the others rose from the table almost in unison. Teresa put a protective arm around Graziella's shoulders; the old woman was, for a moment, unable to speak.
Her chest heaved, but she pushed Teresa's arm away and turned to face Pirelli, who rose slowly to his feet. "My daughters had no knowledge of my attempt to kill Paul Carolla. This I have said in my statement. No one assisted me, no one knew of my intentions, and I swear before God and the Holy Virgin that it is the only criminal act I have ever committed in my life—"
Pirelli interrupted her. "Please, Signora Luciano, I had no intention of—"
Teresa could not keep quiet. She looked at him with contempt. "No intention of what, Commissario? Why don't you actually ask us, ask us if we hired an assassin to kill Carolla? Do you think if we had even considered it, we would have let Mama go into that courtroom? What do you take us for? What kind of people do you think we are?"
Pirelli stared hard, then reached for his raincoat. "You must realize, these questions are bound to be asked. Whoever killed Paul Carolla escaped because of the hysteria surrounding Signora Luciano's attempt. I had no intention of insulting you, and I apologize; but I am investigating the death of a nine-year-old child."
Sophia stepped forward then. "And my children? They don't concern you, do they?"
Pirelli faced them. "I am pursuing this investigation to the best of my ability. . . . Thank you for your time."
Pirelli put his hand out to shake Graziella's, but she turned and walked toward the door. She paused and said, "My daughters will show you out, Commissario."
Teresa picked up his notebook and glanced at it. The doodle on the page was a picture of a walking cane. She closed the book and held it out to him.
"There was one more thing I wanted to ask you," said Pirelli.
The women stood side by side, waiting. Pirelli flipped his notebook open and turned a few pages, then snapped it shut and said questioningly, "Enrico Dante?"
; Teresa pressed her hand into the small of Sophia's back.
Pirelli continued. "He was an associate of Paul Carolla. Does his name mean anything to you?"
Teresa shook her head. "I have never heard of him."
He looked at each of them, then strode into the hall. Teresa opened the front door, and he walked out without another word.
As the door closed behind him, he went slowly down the steps. He paused for a moment, then continued along the gravel drive. He had left his car outside the gates. He stopped suddenly and turned back to look at the sprawling villa, the gardens, the groves. . . . The hood of a dark blue car, a Fiat similar to his own and in no better condition, was just protruding through the bushes. He gave it no more than a cursory glance. His mind was elsewhere, because he knew that what Sophia had said was right. The Luciano murders were, to him, on a par with the hundreds of Mafia vendetta murders that occurred all the time. At least their dog-eat-dog methods cleared some of the filth from the streets.
Back at headquarters, Pirelli opened the file cabinet and flicked through it. He withdrew the file with the photograph of Sophia Luciano's children. After removing everything from his bulletin board, he pinned the photo up.
"So it's true, you're taking on the Lucianos?"
Pirelli gave Ancora a puzzled look. "How do you know? I've only just thought about it."
Ancora shrugged. "Well, the rumor is that Mincelli's off the case, you're on it. Milan's given the go-ahead for you to stay. I thought it was just a rumor. I mean, I know you want to get home."
Pirelli smiled, shaking his head. "The little bastard, he must have worked overtime, an' you know what? I'm gonna make him sorry for the day he went behind my back."
Ancora placed two reports on the desk. "Young Bruno's done some good work. We think, though we're not sure, that the weapon was a shooting cane, made in the early eighteenth century. The top part is a horse's head, and it comes apart in three pieces."
Pirelli snatched the paper. "What are you talking about?"
"The weapon used to kill Carolla."
"You've found it?"
Ancora shook his head. "No, but here's a report of a theft from the Villa Palagonia. It was broken into, and the only thing stolen was this old shooting cane."
BELLA MAFIA Page 28
