If I start putting two and two together it always comes out my mamma. Only she could’ve told Contin about Siviero. The times, the details, they all fit. She must’ve made some kind of deal with that fucking Contin: the name in exchange for the letter to the newspapers. Now what do I do? I can’t get angry at her. I got to act like nothing happened. But how do I handle that son-of-a-whore shit? Do I kill him? Cut him to shreds? Rip out his heart and take a bite out of it? He deserves to die like a dog. If cancer was contagious I’d infect him. But I killed his wife and kid. I can’t touch him. He’s only getting revenge. I’d do the same. But like a man. With a gun or a knife. He’s too cruel. A coward. It’s too easy to get riled at me. I really want to know what happened to Oreste. But I can’t just go to his house. Might run into the cops and find it was all a maneuver to get me out in the open. I can only wait now. Don’t even have the cash to get wasted. I already shot all the scag I copped today. I’ll head back to mamma’s house and have a good cry. I feel I need it. Yeah, I want to cry. Till I’m done in. Tomorrow I’ll go see Don Silvio to get some cash out of him. I don’t want to be reduced to snatching bags for cigarette money. I don’t want to commit any more crimes. I want to die peacefully. The time for playing cops and robbers is over.
SILVANO
The next day I went back to work. I paid Gastone Vallaresso for the days he took my place, and I went back behind the counter. Gastone had done a good job, nobody complained, and he always remembered to give a receipt. I was happy to get back to replacing heels and duplicating keys. I felt better, even if I couldn’t think clearly about what happened at Siviero’s house. The muscles in my arms and back hurt me; that was the only real sensation I felt. Everything else was obscured by the darkness of death. Even blood had a strange color, as if I were seeing it in black and white. Clara had guided my justice. And this was enough. I felt a touch of excitement when I thought about Ivana Stella. I still wasn’t finished with her. In the afternoon she came by to see me at the supermarket.
“Ciao, good-looking.”
“Ciao, lovely. What are you doing in these parts?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“You can come see me tonight.”
She blushed. “I almost never go out after a certain hour. I wouldn’t know how to explain it to Vera.”
She still hadn’t said a word about our relationship to her daughter. I decided to have a little fun. “You’re right. Then I’ll come to your house.”
Another blush. “She might get wind of something between us.”
“You’re old enough to live your life as you think best.”
“Everything in its time. Don’t rush it, please. I want to avoid problems with Vera.”
I gave her an understanding smile. “Then we could see each other Sunday afternoon.”
Before heading back home, I drove past the cleaners, Siviero’s house, and the dump. The gate was down, the shutters were closed, and silence reigned amid the trash.
For dinner I defrosted a pre-cooked portion of zuppa di pesce. I added a drop of oil and stuck it in the microwave. As I ate, I followed the news on a few local channels. No one had yet noticed Oreste and Daniela’s disappearance.
It was only a question of days, and then it would become a juicy news item for journalists and bar gossips. I wasn’t worried. In fact, I felt a bit curious. For the first time since the tragedy, the future actually seemed interesting to me.
The first articles appeared on Sunday. As I left the cemetery, I noticed the headlines at the newsstand: “Couple Missing. Relatives Suspect Foul Play.” I bought the three dailies. They reported substantially the same information, leaked by the police and the command of the carabinieri. Daniela Borsatto’s parents and Oreste Siviero’s sister, worried they hadn’t heard from either, learned that the cleaners had been closed for several days, and they received no answer when they knocked on the door of the house on via San Domenico. They then reported the disappearance to the police. Investigators were proceeding with caution, given the nature of the case. The couple were adults and could have decided to go on vacation for a few days. They made clear, all the same, that the routine procedures had been set in motion. They questioned neighbors in the vicinity and customers at the cleaners. Everyone expressed surprise. They described the couple as punctual, methodical, and friendly. I threw the papers in a trash can and went back home. I had to do some cleaning before Ivana Stella arrived.
Sexually, the woman was a disaster. All she knew how to do was keep her legs open and pant with a certain degree of participation. I cruelly forced her to confront the issue.
“It’s all my husband’s fault,” she squawked at one point.
“Maybe this is why he left you. A little imagination never hurts in bed.”
“Could we change the subject?” She was in a huff.
“I like you a lot, Ivana Stella, but I’m looking for a complete woman. Maybe we should just drop everything.”
“Please, don’t talk that way. You’ll see, I’ll learn. I’ll be good, I promise you.”
I gave her a couple pats on the bottom. “Then next time we’ll start here.”
On Monday the local channels broadcast the news about the discovery of Siviero’s SUV.
On Tuesday the police forced open the gate at the cleaners and the door of the house. Absolutely no trace of the Siviero couple.
Two days later, while I was making a copy of a butterfly key, Superintendent Valiani came by. He lit a cigarette and waited for me to finish the job.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” I said calmly.
The cop pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and showed me a color photo. The subject was me. I was strolling on the sidewalk near the cleaners.
“I don’t understand,” I stammered.
“There are others. The narcs were keeping an eye on the African hairdresser’s next to Siviero’s shop; bosses in the Nigerian mafia used to get together there. You were spotted in the area many times. But you were interested in the cleaners, and you certainly weren’t a regular customer. We found one receipt made out in your name.”
“So what?”
“I’ve been a cop too long not to find the coincidence a bit strange. What was your relationship to Oreste Siviero and Daniela Borsatto?”
“I was their customer. That’s it.”
“I combed through the archive and discovered Siviero had been a suspect in a number of robberies. He always got off because we never managed to find enough evidence. Earlier he did a stretch in prison for car theft.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because Siviero used to hang out at a pool hall where Raffaello Beggiato was often seen.”
“Do you think he’s the accomplice?”
“I don’t think anything. I’m only trying to understand. Something isn’t right here.”
He threw his butt on the floor and left without saying goodbye. I went back to work. I wasn’t worried. I had a clean conscience.
RAFFAELLO
When the bulls came to pick me up I nearly shit myself. For a moment I was convinced they were taking me back to prison. But that fuckface Valiani only wanted to question me. Right away he made it clear they had something on me, they saw me buying drugs from the Albanians, but they didn’t give a fuck about this. He wanted to know why I’d snuck out of the house eleven o’clock one night and shaken off his men. Who did I meet? Nobody, superintendent, I got cancer, you really don’t think I’m going to start fucking up now, do you? Then he asked me if I knew Oreste Siviero. Who? That guy that disappeared with his wife? No, never seen him. Fifteen years ago I used to go to the same bar? After all this time you expect me to remember? At that point he started hitting me with questions about Contin. He wanted to know what we said during the talk in prison. Nothing in particular, superintendent, the usual bullshit. He wanted to make sure I was sorry. I tried to convince him but he’d already made up his mind. And I understand why. If I was in his shoes I wouldn’t be
in no forgiving mood either. He also asked me if Siviero and Contin knew each other. I didn’t think, just asked “Why?” He didn’t answer. He made the usual cop threats and threw me out of his office. The problem is I don’t know what to think. Oreste disappeared and left me hanging. Contin comes into it in a big way but I can’t figure out how. And I can’t even go around looking for him. The bulls got their eye on me and I ain’t got the cash to take off. Don Silvio gave me a hundred euros: what the fuck am I supposed to do with this chump change? I went to the hospital to take tests and it’s worse there than in jail. The doctors and nurses are a bunch of shitheads. They treat me bad, look down on me. Give me nasty sticks with those needles. When they’re together they call me “the lifer” out loud and I’m ashamed. I can’t think about dying surrounded by all this hate. To tell the truth, I don’t really want to die but these people won’t lift a finger to save me. No, they’ll make me suffer. The motherfucking torturers. What do I do now? I’m trapped like a rat. And I’ve been this way ever since I killed two innocent people. But I don’t deserve it. Fuck, I got cancer. But does anybody here got any pity?
SILVANO
I went to the bar in the supermarket to get a coffee. Valiani was sitting at a table with Gastone Vallaresso. They were too busy talking to spot me. It wasn’t hard to imagine the topic of that conversation. The superintendent was reconstructing my movements. I hadn’t gone to work on the days the Siviero couple disappeared, and that fact had to make him think twice. Let him rack his brain. The trash was piled high, layer after layer. They’d never be found. The most annoying thing was that they were wasting time with me while criminals roamed the city streets undisturbed. Valiani was past it. He was just a stupid old man who squandered the taxpayers’ money while he waited to start collecting his pension. I expected him to come and ask me more questions, but he walked by Heels in a Jiffy without even deigning me a glance.
He came back the next day. “Signor Contin, you never cease to surprise me,” he said, a false smile printed on his face.
“And why is that?”
“You’ve been a widower for many years. And like many single men you go with prostitutes. But I never would’ve imagined you’d become a regular customer of Giorgia Valente.”
“She’s a sex professional, like so many others.”
“Not really. She was Raffaello Beggiato’s woman, and that makes her special.”
“May I know why you’re looking into my private life?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“No.”
“Let’s sum up the facts. On a number of occasions you were seen in front of the Sivieros’ cleaners for reasons that aren’t clear. You seemed to be checking up on them. And during this same period you had someone replace you at work, something you never did before. Then on the day before the couple’s disappearance—this is truly out of the ordinary, if you’ll allow me to put it that way—you drive sixty kilometers to go to another supermarket, where you buy a spade, a pickaxe, six plastic sheets, and three rolls of packing tape for a total of thirty-seven euros and forty cents. Your debit card payment shows all this.”
“I see you’ve been keeping busy.”
“What did you do with all that stuff?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Bad answer. But the surprises don’t stop here. Someone who resembles you, driving an automobile identical to yours, was seen in the vicinity of the Sivieros’ house. Inside the house forensics came across some prints that don’t belong to the owners. They aren’t yours, are they?”
“Where are you heading?”
“I’m convinced you’re somehow involved in the Sivieros’ disappearance, and when I think about the spade and the pickaxe, I get some unpleasant hunches.”
“You’re letting your imagination run away with you.”
“Listen, Signor Contin, I’m not against you. And in fact I still haven’t said anything to the judge, not even to my colleagues. I’m only trying to understand how you got yourself mixed up in this mess.”
“There’s nothing to understand. Focus on your other cases. I imagine there’s plenty of work at the station.”
He shook his head, disappointed, and walked away, blending into the crowd of customers. I was sure he’d come back. That’s the way cops work.
When I got home, I took the suitcase from the car and hid it in a neighbor’s storage space. The widow Mandruzzato was almost ninety, and she hadn’t left her apartment for a while. A Romanian housekeeper took care of her, paid by her children, but they rarely came by. It was a safe place. Not even Valiani would think of sticking his nose in there. Besides, only I and Beggiato knew the money and passport existed.
The following morning I noticed the superintendent sitting in a car parked in front of my building. He did nothing to prevent himself from being noticed. He followed me to the supermarket. In the middle of the morning I went to get my usual coffee. I thought I saw Valiani in the housewares section. On my way back to the shop, I suddenly turned and spotted him putting a cup, a spoon, and a saucer in a plastic bag. I smiled in admiration. I really didn’t expect this move. I’d see the cop again soon enough. He’d ask me why my prints were in Siviero’s house.
A famous program that dealt with missing persons devoted a long and useless show to the case. Lots of questions and hypotheses but no answers. The couple had vanished into thin air. The hosts assured the viewing audience they would continue the investigation. I switched off the TV and went to bed. I dreamt of Clara. Once we spent a weekend in London. We left Enrico with his grandparents. The first night in the hotel, Clara came out of the bathroom wearing a sheer nightgown. “I want to make love all night long,” she said, slipping her hand beneath the covers. I woke up crying.
I found Valiani waiting for me, leaning against my car. As usual, he was smoking. I’d given it up when I started to deal in wines. Smoke ruins the palate.
“I noticed you haven’t read the papers in a few days.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
“Or maybe you know more than the journalists do.”
I snorted. Valiani’s attitude was irritating. “What do you want now?”
“The prints found in the house are yours, Signor Contin. They’re in the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom, and the bathroom. Forensics also found dark stains on the ceiling of one room. The rest of it was clean, but there were traces of adhesive on the walls, as if someone had attached some sheets with packing tape. Now the hematologists are analyzing the stains. They could be blood. If that were the case, they would analyze the DNA to see if it belongs to the Sivieros.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I think you do. And I’m equally certain you’re not overjoyed to learn you made a mistake.”
“What would that be?”
“The blood on the ceiling.”
“If it is blood.”
“I’d bet on it. It would show, in any case, that Oreste and Daniela were killed in that room. The likely m.o. was a blunt object or a blade moved up and down to strike the victims. Numerous times and with considerable violence. When the weapon was lifted upward, rising above the murderer’s head, blood spattered the ceiling.”
“Interesting theory.”
“Which will soon become an established fact in the investigation. The classic wedge, as we old cops call it. A few loose ends remain before we can close the case. For example, on the day of their disappearance, the Sivieros behaved strangely. Daniela didn’t show up at the cleaners that morning, and Oreste closed the shop at 12:30. Neither of them was seen again. However, you, Signor Contin, judging from the story told by your debit card, bought two bottles of wine and a bottle of cognac after 14:00. Do you recall what you did before and after? Especially after.”
“I spent the afternoon at home.”
“By yourself, I imagine.”
“You’re mistaken. I was with a lady.”
“And does this lady have a name?”
“Of course
. Ivana Stella Tessitore.”
The superintendent showed signs of weakening. His theory was now on shaky ground. But he wasn’t the kind of guy who’d throw in the towel just yet. “Until what time did you entertain this woman?”
“I don’t remember. Ask her.”
“I won’t fail to. I’d like to tell you a secret, Signor Contin. I haven’t told anyone the prints in the Siviero house are yours.”
“You’re concealing a lot of information that concerns me. Why ever would you do that?”
“It would set going the judicial process. You would receive formal notification that you’re a suspect in a criminal investigation, and in all probabilty you’d wind up in the Court of Assizes. But the trial would be based on circumstantial evidence, and you’d be acquitted. We in turn would be eating humble pie because you’ve been the victim of a horrible crime. The newspapers would crucify us. And then again I’m not so sure I want to see you in prison. There might be another way to resolve the matter.”
“Is that so?”
“You worry me. You act like this thing doesn’t have anything to do with you. Are you sure you’re feeling O.K.?”
“Are you asking me if I suffer from a psychological disorder? I’m glad somebody is raising this issue—after fifteen years.”
RAFFAELLO
I had to give mamma hell. “Please tell me the truth about what you did,” I told her. “No matter how bad it is, I won’t get angry. You’re the most important person in my life and I’ll always love you.” That made her talk. The fucking bitch, she cooked up a real mess and thought she was helping me. To comfort her I had to shower her with kisses. Fact is, without Contin’s letter to the papers I would’ve never made it out. But then I got fucked. Still, I can think through this thing clearly now. Oreste put together the money and the passport for my getaway. Contin learned about it and blackmailed him, or made him take off, or whacked him with his wife. There are no other possibilites. But do you really see a normal guy like Contin killing two fucking people? He ain’t like me, that guy. If I hadn’t been wired on coke that day I would’ve never pulled the trigger. The real problem is finding out what’s happened to my cash. If Oreste hit the road he took it with him. But in that case he should be contacting me soon to give me at least part of it. He knows I’ve got no time to lose. If Contin took it, he still hasn’t handed it over to the bulls. This much I’m sure about. But the thing I really don’t understand is why Contin didn’t run to Valiani to tell him about Oreste. He must’ve been planning all along to get revenge. Then Contin the executioner killed them. But Oreste’s quick and no push-over. I don’t see how he could’ve let himself be fucked by somebody like Contin. I’ll wait a couple days and if my partner doesn’t turn up I’ll go have a chat with the inconsolable widower. He’s got to give me the money. No matter what. I’ll blackmail him. I swore to mamma I wouldn’t commit any more crimes. And I swore to myself. But there’s no other way out of this. Contin’s doing just fine. He must have a nice little pile stashed away in the bank. We’re in the northeast, after all. Here every honest citizen’s got his shitty bank account. And if he don’t shell out I’ll squeal to Valiani. Fuck, for fifteen years my lips were sealed and now I’m ready to sell out anyfuckingbody. But I’ll just be bluffing. I couldn’t be a rat.
Death's Dark Abyss Page 10
