Alessandrini was lost in thought. “Evil is a part of the divine plan, Balistreri. Christians like Gina Giansanti know that and accept it as a test. They wait for the moment you see depicted here, when God metes out justice.”
A lesson in theology. He doesn’t want to help me. Or can’t. It’s part of the divine plan!
Balistreri took an envelope from his pocket and showed Alessandrini the photographs of Elisa, Samantha, Nadia, Selina, and Ornella. Burns, bruises, letters carved into their flesh.
Alessandrini wouldn’t touch them. He moved sharply away and walked toward the exit. Balistreri looked desperately at his watch—his time was up. He saw the master of ceremonies with the wife of the head of state already waiting. The cardinal was some distance away when he turned back toward him.
“Pass on our conversation to Marius Hagi. Tell him to listen to the Angelus address.”
. . . .
Balestreri called Floris on his cell phone to tell him about the conversation while he drove back once again with Corvu through the traffic in the morning heat to Regina Coeli prison.
“The prime minister and the minister of the interior are very concerned,” the chief of police informed him.
“About relations with the Vatican, I imagine, not about Fiorella Romani.”
“Balistreri, I’m not worried about my position. We already have too many deaths to mourn, and there’s no point in useless debate. Offer Hagi anything you can.”
“The man’s dying,sir. We only have the truth to offer him.”
“What are you thinking of doing?”
“I’m going to do what Cardinal Alessandrini said. I’ll tell Hagi about our conversation.”
“But he didn’t tell you anything,” Floris protested.
“Let’s let Hagi be the judge of that.”
The graffiti on the city’s walls incited people to set fire to the camps. So-called civic organizations were having their say. Political posters proposed drastic solutions.
If Fiorella Romani dies, it’ll start a riot. Hagi’s always known that. It’s part of his plan.
They got to the prison at eleven thirty. Hagi was waiting in an interrogation room that had been equipped with a television, as Balistreri had requested.
Balistreri told him everything—the alibis, Valerio Bona’s suicide note, his conversation with Cardinal Alessandrini about The Last Judgment.
Hagi nodded, pleased with the news of Valerio Bona’s phone call to the Vatican, but it was the conversation with Alessandrini that really piqued his interest. He asked for it to be repeated to him twice with barely concealed satisfaction.
Then he turned to Balistreri. “So? What’s the answer to my question?”
“I’ll tell you after the Angelus.”
“Then let me have a cigarette.” There was no smoking in the room. Balistreri lit one for Hagi and one for himself.
At noon, the television was going to start broadcasting live from Les Combes in Val D’Aosta, where the pope was spending his vacation.
“Dear brothers and sisters.”
The pope was smiling and full of energy. He spoke about the Middle East, expressing solidarity with the unfortunates there. Then he changed the subject.
“Yesterday we celebrated the memorial of St. Mary Magdalene, Our Lord’s disciple, who occupies a prominent place in the Gospels.”
The pope went on with his sermon about Mary Magdalene, then came to the end. Hagi perked up and leaned toward the television set.
“Mary Magdalene’s story teaches us a fundamental truth: a disciple of Christ is someone who, in the experience that is human weakness, has the humility to ask him for help, is healed by him, and follows him closely, thereby becoming a witness to the power of his merciful love, which is stronger than sin and death.”
The pope ended with a reminder about the situation in the Middle East. Then he began to recite the Angelus.
“You can turn it off.” Hagi was lost in thought. Then he came out of it and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was twelve forty.
“I’d like the answer to my question, Balistreri.”
“The cardinal lied because he presumed he could distinguish between good and evil, and now he’s humiliating himself like Mary Magdalene before God and asking for your help. He lied out of fear that we would accuse two young men, who he maintained were innocent, of a terrible crime. One was Manfredi.”
Hagi was wracked by coughs. Balistreri could see the veins pulsating under his transparent temples and the bones sticking out over the ever-deeper hollows in his cheeks.
He’s dying. And Fiorella Romani with him.
“And what will you do now, Balistreri?”
“I swear to you that Elisa Sordi’s killer will be punished, whoever he is. But I beg you to save Fiorella Romani. She doesn’t deserve this. She’s not guilty of anything.”
“Do you think my wife was guilty of something?”
Balistreri shook his head.
“No, Alina was guilty of nothing. But it was her fear of you and bad luck that killed her, not a murderer who tortures, strangles, and carves flesh.”
Hagi said, “Wrong! It was your wretched Catholic religion that killed her! It was Anna Rossi, Valerio Bona, Cardinal Alessandrini, and that young priest with the red hair—”
“Father Paul.”
Hagi was coughing and spitting blood. “Yes, Father Paul, who had lunch with Elisa that Sunday, the last day of her life. Alina told me. She saw them together near the parish. And she saw Valerio Bona there, too, spying on them.”
That was why Valerio had called Alessandrini in the Vatican before he hanged himself—to remind him of the truth.
“Alina was terrified of you, Mr. Hagi, because of something you’re holding back from us. And your wife wasn’t one to scare easily.”
“Well then, I’ll spell it out clearly, Balistreri. Ulla had overheard a conversation of the count’s. She told Anna Rossi, Samantha’s mother, about it. And she passed it on to Alina that I’d thrown Elisa in the river. And my wife, poor innocent young girl that she was, was terrified by the damnation of hell into which your God threatens to send even those who remain silent in order to protect her own husband.”
Balistreri was incredulous. “All these deaths twenty-four years later to punish someone who turned Alina against you? You could have thought about it before, couldn’t you?”
“Believe me, I thought about it many times, but I didn’t know who had killed Elisa Sordi. I threw her in the river, but when I carried her out of that office she was already dead.”
“Do you know who did it now?”
“No, Balistreri. I still don’t know. That’s your fault.” He pointed to his blood-spotted handkerchief. “But I can’t wait any longer. You’ve got to find out who did it.”
“What do you think you’ll achieve by acting like this? The name of a killer? Or the massacre of Romanians in Italy? You’re turning this country into a hellish pack of racists!”
Hagi looked at him mockingly. “Like that Coppola I shot between the shoulders that night—”
Enraged, Balistreri lost control and launched himself on him. He felt the blood pounding in his ears and bursting his eardrums and temples as he squeezed Hagi’s neck. The prison officers rushed to stop him. Fortunately, one of them was built like an ox and pulled Balistreri off Hagi as if he were a leaf.
Hagi was spitting blood on the floor and coughing as he held his throat. But his mocking gaze never wavered while the prison officers were restraining Balistreri.
“Call a doctor,” Corvu said.
“It’s not serious,” Hagi said, massaging his own neck. Then he turned to Balistreri. “You see how little it takes to kill? But you already know that, don’t you?”
“That’s enough for now,” Corvu said. “You can take this animal back to his cell.”
Hagi said, “But we’re just getting to Fiorella Romani.”
“Let me go. I’ve calmed down,” Balistreri said to the officers, who
loosened their grip on him but stood between the two men.
“You’re not going anywhere, Hagi,” Corvu said.
“Then say good-bye to Fiorella Romani and you add another death on your conscience, Balistreri. And what’s it going to change anyway? One more, one less . . .”
He wants your rage. He wants to turn you into an animal like him.
The thought calmed him down. “I don’t believe you, Hagi. You don’t even know if she’s alive.”
Hagi glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a minute to one.
“Switch on your cell phone, Balistreri. Right now.”
There’s still one thing he wants to do, and that is to destroy you. It’s his price for saving Fiorella.
As soon as the phone was on, it rang. “Hello?” Balistreri said.
He heard a terrified whisper. “This is Fiorella Romani. I’m begging you, come get me and bring Titti to me.”
The call ended abruptly.
Balistreri called Fiorella’s mother. “Does the name Titti mean anything to you?”
Franca Giansanti was surprised. “Titti? That’s Fiorella’s favorite stuffed animal. It was a present from her grandmother Gina. What’s going on?”
“Just trust me, Franca. I’ll let you know before this evening.”
In order for Hagi to be allowed out of prison, even under escort and in handcuffs, the chief of police had to call the minister of the interior and the minister of justice.
“This is crazy, Balistreri. But it will all be worth it if we save her,” Floris said.
“You’re a decent man, sir.”
“Thank you, Balistreri. So are you. Be careful.”
Balistreri instinctively felt for the Beretta in his holster.
He came back into the room. “Where do we have to go, Mr. Hagi?”
“It’s a beautiful sunny afternoon, or so they tell me. Let’s go to the beach. I’ll ride with you.”
“We should go in a police van,” Corvu said.
But Hagi didn’t want to do that.
“No, let’s go in a regular car. I want to enjoy the view. It’s going to be the last trip I ever take. And besides, if I can’t see the view I can’t show you the path to her salvation.”
Afternoon
They formed a line of five vehicles, the first and last two each containing four armed policemen. In the middle was the car with the four of them: Corvu at the wheel, Piccolo next to him, Balistreri in the back, and Hagi in handcuffs. They left at two thirty in the scorching-hot afternoon. The car’s thermometer said the outside temperature was well over one hundred degrees.
“Take the Via Pontina toward the coast,” Hagi ordered.
As they left the center of Rome, Hagi was silent, looking keenly at the pavements crowded with tourists, the Tiber, and the open-air restaurants. There was little traffic. In that heat everyone was at the beach or up in the hills. It took them only twenty minutes to get onto the Via Pontina, an minor highway leading south of Rome to the coast.
“Where are we going?” Corvu asked.
“Keep going straight. There’s still time.” Hagi seemed completely absorbed in the view.
Balistreri gathered this was not going to be a short trip.
“Take the handcuffs off and give me a cigarette, Balistreri,” Hagi ordered.
“Not the handcuffs,” Corvu said.
“Then you can turn the car around and go back. These are the last cigarettes I’ll ever smoke and I want to smoke them with my hands free.”
“Unlock his right hand and cuff the left to the seat,” Balistreri told Piccolo. She leaned over and complied.
Then he gave Hagi a lit cigarette.
“Don’t you have the Bella Blu lighter anymore?” Hagi asked him, inhaling.
So you want to talk? All right, let’s talk.
“Who’s waiting for us at the beach?” Balistreri asked.
Hagi gave a little laugh. “Don’t be impatient; you’ll see when we get there. But if you have other questions, I might answer some of them. I’m in a good mood today.”
Balistreri caught Corvu’s warning glance in the mirror, but he had no wish to be cautious. By now he thought he knew who had killed Elisa Sordi, but that wouldn’t save Fiorella Romani. It was a mosaic that was still missing several tiles, one in particular.
“Let’s start with Samantha Rossi. Why her?”
“I’ve already told you. It was Anna Rossi who told to Alina that I’d removed Elisa’s body and then persuaded her to run away. It was as if she had killed her. I could have avenged myself on Anna right away, but I’d already learned the hard way that a greater pain is the death of someone you love. And so I chose her daughter. And please, I must insist, tell the lady that if she’d minded her own business, her daughter would still be alive today.”
Balistreri heard a deep intake of breath from Giulia Piccolo and placed a warning hand on her shoulder. Hagi wanted to provoke them, but they had to remain calm and focused on one goal: saving Fiorella Romani.
“And why Nadia?”
“Oh, Christ, why all these questions I’ve already answered? Because she looked like Alina and Alina hurt me.”
Balistreri wasn’t convinced, not for a moment. “I just don’t buy that answer, especially after Camarà saw you with Nadia in Bella Blu’s private lounge.”
Hagi shook his head. “It wasn’t me. I could meet up with Nadia any time I wanted. Someone else wanted to meet her there.”
Piccolo turned around. “Colajacono,” she said.
Hagi had a fit of coughing mixed with laughter. “You are such a fool to be fixated on that man. Colajacono was invited that evening so that he’d be more deeply involved in what was about to happen. That idiot thought it was about blackmailing a politician and that Nadia was being used for that.”
“But you called Vasile. You went to get the Giulia GT at the top of the hill with Adrian’s bike. You left the bike there, picked up Nadia, took her to Vasile, and left on the bike.” Piccolo came to a halt, confused.
Hagi laughed. “You’re missing something, aren’t you? Who killed Nadia?”
Corvu said. “You went up on the bike, took the car, and left the bike on the hill. Then you went to pick up Nadia in the car around six thirty. You slowed down when you saw Natalya, because you thought it was her. Then you were lucky enough to find Nadia by herself.”
“I’ve never been lucky in my life. I’ve just had an excellent assistant,” Hagi said placidly.
Balistreri had already reconstructed that part.
“It was the man who couldn’t get it up with Ramona. That gave you time to make off with Nadia. You rode with him on the bike to collect the Giulia GT that would be used to pick up Nadia on Via di Torricola. Then you both came down from the hill separately, one on Adrian’s bike and the other in the Giulia. At six o’clock you picked up Nadia while he kept Ramona busy. Then you handed Nadia and the car over to your assistant. He took her up the hill, while you went home, hid the bike, and then went to Casilino 900 to distribute presents to the children.”
Corvu and Piccolo stared at him in the rearview mirror. Hagi clapped his hands. “Bravo, Balistreri. You’re beginning to catch on after all these years.”
Balistreri ignored the provocation and continued.
“Your assistant waited two hours while Vasile had sex with Nadia and then fell asleep because he’d had so much to drink. Then your assistant strangled her and carved the letter E on her. Alessandrini was right about you, Hagi—you’re not the kind of man to rape, strangle, and carve letters into women.”
Hagi nodded. “I prefer to torture the living. That’s my specialty, Balistreri.”
Balistreri made no comment and went back to his reconstruction of the events. “From Casilino 900, the others went to St. Peter’s Square, but you went to pick up your assistant on the bike. You left the car up there and came back down together on the bike.”
Hagi seemed genuinely pleased with Balistreri’s progress, as if someone was finally go
ing to admire his grand plan.
“That’s right, Balistreri. He carved the letters into all of them, including Elisa Sordi. It was ugly. I wouldn’t be able to do it, but that’s how my assistant is. He enjoys that kind of thing.”
“A collaboration that started twenty-four years ago,” Balistreri said. “The count assumed Manfredi hadn’t killed Elisa and wanted someone to go and talk to her, calm her down, maybe make a deal with her. The first thing he did was call Francesco Ajello.”
Hagi made a slight bow. “Bravo, Balistreri. I see your brain is working today. Francesco was supposed to make a deal with her in exchange for her silence. But when he went into the office, he discovered she was already dead. He called me to help him out. We cleaned up the office, and then we put her body in the trunk of my car and took it away. Ajello went to watch the game with some friends, and I dumped the body in the river. That wasn’t very pleasant, especially since I had to cut her and burn her with cigarettes to make it look as if she’d been tortured. I’m tired now, Balistreri. Give me another cigarette and leave me alone.”
They didn’t speak for a while. Hagi smoked in silence as the road signs went by one after another. Pratica di Mare. Pomezia. Anzio. Nettuno. It was nearly four thirty in the afternoon and Via Pontina was absolutely deserted under the blazing sun.
Balistreri was unsettled. Something wasn’t quite right. That insistence on Nadia was ridiculous. Without her and the broken headlight on the Giulia GT, no suspicions would ever have been aroused.
“I want to talk about the letters of the alphabet,” Corvu said all of a sudden.
“A childhood passion of my assistant, perfected over time,” Hagi replied, as if they were talking about art or sports.
“I’d like to know if we have to use the initial of the first name for Ulla and Giovanna Sordi, as with your wife Alina.”
Hagi was amused by the question.
“You’re determined to solve the puzzle, aren’t you, Corvu? I, on the other hand, find it childish, not to mention risky. But he’s determined to finish it. U for Ulla is correct. But after her daughter’s death, Elisa Sordi’s mother wore an engraved charm on a bracelet.”
The Deliverance of Evil Page 51
