by Andy Ben
«Yes, indeed. And I won’t stop, even if it means treading on someone’s toes.»
Half an hour later we arrive at the club, a refined nightclub in the west outskirts of Milan.
The officers who took the call have started the investigations and are identifying employees and customers, who have not been permitted to leave the premises.
I enter a huge room, with a dancing floor in the middle floodlit by a halogen lamp.
We walk past the entrance and meet an officer, who directs us to another room, similar to this one but a little smaller and more intimate. Here the dancing floor has been replaces by a few round tables with two chairs each, dressed with elegant tablecloths and a modern chandelier in the middle.
Opposite the round room, a white and red ribbon and two officers wearing the uniform block the entry marked by an arch with a sign that reads “Private”.
Before I move to that area, I look up and locate the closed-circuit cameras used for security reasons.
With resolute steps, Brezzi and I reach the entry of the private area, where I ask one of the two officers to leave his guard and look for the club’s owner, a Mr. Tony Santarossa, before he go and fetches the TV recordings. After that, Brezzi lifts the ribbon, I bend over and enter, followed by my loyal superintendent.
The corridor we are passing through ends in about ten meters giving way to one, two... eight doors on the right.
The doors are open and I realize that they are all furnished in a very sober yet classy way: wood floor, valuable fabric sofas, gothic style side-tables. At the end, another door, wide open as well, where a small crowd of officers and doctors are checking the scene: the restrooms, the crime scene.
I turn around and notice that there is another door, the only one that is closed. From far away I can notice a sign in the middle of the door, with a white and blue sign reading “Employees only”.
«Why is that door closed?» I ask an officer.
«That is the door to the artists’ dressing rooms, Sir. Each one of them has a key and they are the only ones who can enter or exit from there. We found it closed, but are working to have it opened.»
«Good.» I answer to that.
I enter the restroom and as soon as I look down it feels like I am having a déjà vu.
The coroner, bent over a man in his fifties, is making the last examinations.
The body is lying in a blood pool in front of the urinals, with his pants down. The murderer must have caught him from the back, while he was taking a piss: he had no chance.
Blood spots stain the wall in different places.
The scene reminds me of the girl’s dead body in the park.
«Doctor...»
Before I can finish my sentence, the doctor harshly replies: «Yes, Montorsi, it is the same modus operandi as last time, and same results, as you can notice. I cannot be completely sure, but it looks like the weapon is the same, and for sure height and built of our murder are compatible with the girl-in-the-park’s one.»
«Something else?»
«No. As last time, we can infer that the murderer caught the victim by surprise because there is no trace of a fight, but to be sure you must wait the autopsy.»
«Do we know who the victim is?»
An officer replies to that. «Yes, inspector. It is Mr. Bonomi...»
«The Mr. Bonomi?»
«Yes, inspector... and, on that, he is not the only well-known name in the club... I don’t know if you had a chance to look around, but I think there are some leading politicians...»
I harshly interrupt him: «I got that! Thanks.»
I turn on my heels and quickly get back to the main hall; I reach the DJ’s console and switch on the microphone.
«Gentlemen, your attention please.»
I clear my voice and then I state, in an authoritarian tone: «You are all held for questioning. None of you can leave the premises without my direct permission or that of superintendent Bezzi, and of course only after we have identified you... it is a long task, but please be patient. Thank you for your collaboration.»
A buzz grows from the crowd and a voice thunders: «You don’t know who I am.»
I look at the man, irritated and with a furious look in my eyes. I immediately recognize him. «I know exactly who you are, senator Verri... but it is not very important at the moment. I tell you, and all the others, that no one – and I mean no one – can leave the club without my permission.»
Humiliated in public, Verri looses all his cockiness, calms down and tries to hide in the crowd and go back to anonymity.
The bussing grows in intensity, but I do not care. I step down from the console and start working.
A few hours later, Mario and I go back to the police station and we evaluate the situation.
«So, Giulia, a bouncer of the private area found the body at 11.35PM, more or less. From then on, no one left the club until we released them.»
«Strangely, there were no reporters on site...»
«It is not so strange, Giulia. Did you see the customer of the club? No one left and no one was allowed in, thanks to our prompt arrival, and above all thanks to the strict security system of the club and the bodyguards of some influential guests. If it were known that some leading politicians patronize the Dark Angel, there would be a scandal.»
«We can use this to our advantage. At the moment, he only news that has leaked out is the name of the victim, but it won’t last long.»
«The Commissioner has ordered the attachment of the club, in about 24 hours we shall get the recording of the surveillance cameras, but...»
«I know what you are going to say, Mario. As the honorable guests left unseen the club after we released them, so the murderer could have gotten away: the back door in the girls’ dressing room as well as the private area are not covered by the surveillance cameras... damn it!»
«Well, in fact, there is a camera. I heard the owner, Antonio Santarossa... he was quite collaborative.»
«Don’t keep me on the hooks, Mario.»
«As you said the private area, including the sitting rooms and the “artists” dressing rooms is not covered by the surveillance cameras... except the restroom. While all the other cameras are in plain view to maximize the sense of protection, the one in the restroom is camouflaged and hidden.»
«A hidden camera in the men’s restroom? What a pervert...»
«Don’t rush to conclusion. In fact, it is a private camera, not included in the security circuit of the club, for obvious privacy reasons, but Santarossa claims that it is used to increase security... if someone had a problem, or to avoid drug consumption... things like these, you know.»
«And you believed that? I didn’t think you were so naïf, Mario.»
«I was ironic, Giulia. Of course I did not swallow that. On the contrary, I put some pressure on Santarossa and got the DVD with the last four hours of footage. We might get the son of a bitch on tape... and anyhow, I summoned Santarossa tomorrow for providing further explanations.»
«Excellent, Mario... I am going to grill Santarossa myself. Now, let’s get moving.»
«Do you think it is the same man?»
«I don’t suspect that, I am almost sure about it.»
9
I insert the key in the lock and turn twice to open wide the reinforced door.
I enter then double-click the door behind me.
I’m home.
I take off my blazer and hang it on the coat hook by the entry, then I put my shoes in the cabinet in the closet. Then I move towards the bathroom.
Once in, I slide the glass door of the shower box and open the tap.
While the water, that is running abundantly, becomes hot, I start undressing. I untie the belt with the gun’s holster and carefully put it down on the hard top of the washbasin.
I take the glasses off. I wear them out of habit since my slight myopia would allow me to see perfectly without them; The probably are a charm, an excess of conceit that makes me look smar
ter and more interesting than a common woman.
I put them down near the soap dish on the shelf under the mirror that reflects my image. I start looking at it.
Despite my young age, stress and time start showing: a few crow’s feet around my eyes, some white hair at the base of my head which I need to have my hairdresser take care of as soon as I can.
I look away from my reflected image and look at my pants, which I start unbuttoning. When I’m done I let them drop at the floor, thus showing my legs. With some difficulties, I take the stockings off.
I untie my blouse and let it drop by the pants, near my feet. Then I bend down to pick all my clothes up, tidily fold them and put the in the basket in front of the shower box.
I slide the glass door again and test the water’s temperature: its warmth gives me a nice feeling.
I take the undershirt off and I put my hands behind my back to untie my bra. I easily do that. My hands slide over my naked arms, crossing in front of my chest looking for the shoulder straps.
I slip the tiny strips off my shoulders and let the garment fall to the ground. I stand in front of the shower box wearing nothing but my panties.
My usual movements are suddenly interrupted by the doorbell and, in my mind. I curse the pest who had the great idea to bother me so late at night.
I shout to my unexpected and unknown guest to wait, while I turn to the heater and take the bathrobe.
I exit the bathroom and feel shivers running up my spine when my naked feet step over the firebrick floor.
While I walk towards the door, I clumsily try to wear the bathrobe; once I succeed I realize there is no belt, probably still in the bathroom, so I take the hems and try in vain to close them at the chest.
When I reach the door and look through the peephole, I notice a familiar face smiling at me in the darkness, lit up by the artificial neon light of the landing.
I turn the key in the lock and open the door to my visitor.
He looks at me, standing still for a moment, then our eyes meet.
He pushes me in the apartment and closes the door behind his back.
He hugs me and kisses me with passion.
Out tongues meet and a burst of heat runs through me.
The hand that was holding the bathrobe is now tied around his waist. The garment falls down from my shoulders and to the ground, leaving me with no defense.
Carlo is now totally in charge of the situation, he grasps my thigh and pulls it towards him, sending me an unmistakable signal; with a swift movement, I cling to him and fast my legs around his hips. In no time, I am lying in bed, overwhelmed by his attention.
10
The light that filters through the half-closed shutters and hits my face, yet dim, is enough to wake me up.
I stretch my hand looking for my companion, but I find nothing but a lukewarm empty space.
Still half asleep, I slowly turn around towards the emptiness, now confirmed by my sight.
The bitterness I felt finding myself alone in bed, is soon replaced by the nice smell of freshly brewed coffee coming from the bedroom door. Carlo is standing there, holding a tray with the coffee maker and two cups, French toasts and some jam.
«Good morning.»
I stretch my arms with difficulty, trying to completely wake up and mutter an intelligible sentence, despite my furry tongue.
«What time...»
«It’s still early, don’t worry.» Carlo cheers me up while he walks to the bed and puts the try down.
«Unsweetened coffee and strawberry jam... do I remember it well?»
«Very well, thanks.»
«Eat now. Then take a shower. In the meanwhile, I tidy my stuff up... when you are done, we need to talk. I wait for you in the other room.» He kisses me on the cheek.
I quickly eat breakfast, and then I get out of bed realizing I’m naked.
Before I move towards the bathroom, I search for the bathrobe in the mess around me. I find it in the entry, and with it I recover all the memories of last night.
I take a quick shower, dry up and wear clean underwear. Then I put the bathrobe back on and I go back to the sitting room where Carlo is waiting for me, comfortably sitting on an armchair reading and skimming through some papers and documents that I believe are his notes.
My presence stops his activities. I am now fully awake and lucid, so I urge him: «What do you have to say?»
Carlo smiles, then with an ironic tone he answers: «The sweet and passionate Giulia, has given way to the irreproachable inspector Montorsi.»
«Is this the title for your new article?»
Carlo, pragmatic and self-confident, let’s my witty remark drop unanswered and the tone of our conversation becomes more serious.
«Federico Menti has offered me a job: copy editor and special correspondent for his television news.»
Won over by an unstoppable instinct I hug and kiss him: «I am so happy for you! This is the chance you were waiting for.»
«Yes, indeed. I can finally leave this wretched job at the crime news and devote myself to something serious... it’s one of the reasons I came over to see you, I wanted you to be the first to know.»
Puzzled, I look at him: «And what’s the other reason?»
Carlo seems even more serious than before. He looks at me straight in the eyes and sighs before continuing.
«Menti ley down two conditions: the first is that I have to move to Rome, in close contact with his editorial staff; the second is that I must hand in a scoop to him.»
As if there were two normal requests, I smile at him and ask: «Why do you seem so serious? I don’t think neither is a problem.»
«Wait before you say so.»
While still talking, Carlo takes a red folder, full of documents, out if his briefcase and puts it down on the crystal coffee table in front of us. «We have an agreement and I am here to keep my promise, nut this is the scoop I would like to offer Menti.»
I open the folder and read on the first page the Carlo’s handwritten notes, then I skim through some other document. I realize that this folder might be a breakthrough in my investigation, and that I must find an arrangement with the man sitting in front of me.
11
Motionless.
My life is motionless, blocked on this contraption, some scrap iron put together that they all call wheelchair.
Motionless since that damned day, that damned dog, that damned street lamp domineeringly entered my destiny and quickly left, taking away with them my body, and leaving my soul behind.
And as in any good tragedy, I am the only one to know this atrocious truth which I will never be able to tell anyone: I am still alive, but they all believe I am just an empty wrapper sitting on a wheelchair; my mother, first and foremost.
My mother who is right there now, sitting in the living room, talking to that same man who entered our house about a year ago with incredulous eyes full of questions and left with those same eyes full of a lucid folly, which I was probably the only one to notice.
My intellect, my mind is still alert and well trained since it is the only think keeping me linked to this world, although it is the same tool which tortures me every day reminding me of the time when I could walk, run, talk: the time I led a normal life, like any other young man my age. I then hope that all this could end, to be able to put an end to my suffering, a suffering similar to what the man is feeling because of me.
My memory goes back to that meeting, the meeting that made him change, the meeting where he learnt the truth, such an absurd truth that it lead him to madness, a truth which I eye-witnessed yet I was not aware of, but of which I was directly culpable.
«Francesca, I cannot believe you made such a gross mistake. You are our best biochemist, we are well into clinic trial, and now, three years later, you hand me this report?»
While the man urged her with pressing questioning ever more detailed, my mother wavered, listening to him in silence, she tried to rebut, but was not very convincing.
Each time she tried to answer, the man silenced her with another question, another sharp insinuation that felt like an accusation against her behavior.
The man sensed the truth, but did not grasp it entirely. He knew something was wrong, yet he did not understand the motives, until he nailed my mother to her responsibilities.
«...I checked over and over again the case histories of each patient on trial and it is absolutely impossible to reach the same conclusions indicated in this report. The molecule you built, does not have significant side effects, it is safe and above all it works... it’s fantastic, revolutionary... and you say we must stop?! Your report is in full contradiction to any result we got so far... totally unmotivated... why, dammit, why?»
That’s when my mother burst into tears and started relating him the truth that had oppressed her until that moment as a heavy boulder, disclosing to the man that the report was a price she had to pay.
The person my mother had asked for help to, the one who helped me detox from drugs, who is now paying for my expensive medical treatments, the one who allowed my mother to keep her job while taking care of me, the person I hate too, as this man is beginning to hate, because he snatched me from the jaws of death shutting me up in this limbo... that person was plotting in the shadows.
After he saved me and I went back home, he showed up and pretended the payment for his favors and, to my mother’s amazement, he wanted to boycott her studies.
It seemed to my mother a little price to pay: to renounce to all she had always dreamt for in exchange for my life, but doubts consumed her; can you still define my existence as being alive?
In that precise moment, the man understood what happened and what was still happening around him. In that precise moment, his eyes filled of hate and they lit up with that light I was the only one to notice.
My mother continued relating the story and, each time she stopped subbing and crying, the hate grew in the eyes of the man who was not listening anymore with the same attention he had had until then. I was the only one to understand, by looking at his eyes, the journey of his tortuous thoughts were quickly making in his mind to reach the point that can be identified as vengeance. Laura knew. Laura did not die in a random robbery. Laura was killed for a very precise reason. Laura died because she knew. “She” had to pay. They all had to pay a high price for ripping his love away. They would all suffer the same destiny as his loved one. All of them... including my mother.
