by Ian Fox
“What is it, darling, you don’t feel so good?”
She got up and walked around the sitting area while rubbing her temples. “It’s only three days before the party and I’m not on top of things. The material for the tablecloths is different from what I expected and there aren’t enough plates. Not to mention the group that can’t come because the singer’s got a temperature.” She stopped in front of Carlo, her hands on her hips.
He reached out quickly and patted her bottom. “I’m sure you’ll pull it off. Every party you organize is just perfect. I don’t know why you worry so much.”
“That’s true,” she said, moving away from him, “but this time I really do feel as if it’s all going to fall apart. There are a hundred and fifty coming and I don’t know where we’re going to put them all.”
“I’ve got faith in you. You’ll make it work.” He went upstairs.
I’ve got to do this, Christine said to herself, pressing her fist to her forehead.
She pulled a long-stemmed rose from a large flower arrangement on a coffee table and stepped onto the terrace. As she pressed her nose deep into the flower, she surveyed the spacious flower garden that stretched hundreds of yards on all sides. She began to think about her life.
She had met Carlo two years earlier. Then, he had seemed charming, kind, and loving. He had also enchanted her with his strength and the self-confident way he carried himself. She had always hated spineless types.
But later Christine found out that his strength and confidence did not only originate from his business acumen. She had overheard a number of conversations making it clear that her husband was not only a successful businessman, but also a dangerous criminal.
She had realized this a few hours after their first serious argument. They had been together barely six months and in anger she had threatened to leave him. A little later, when she was lying beside the pool, he appeared, talking on the phone. At first she didn’t pay any attention, as the warmth had almost sent her to sleep, but he was talking so loud she couldn’t help but overhear. He said, “Brancini has had it. He’s been messing with me for more than three months. I want him punished …” His tone sounded so threatening that even she felt afraid. She thought that maybe that was just the way he did business, but when a few days later she saw in the newspaper that Oscar Brancini was found at home with his head blown off, she naturally was suspicious. She kept hearing in her head: I want him punished.
She felt afraid of Carlo in a way she never had before. She wanted to talk to him but could never pluck up the courage to start the conversation. A number of times over breakfast she was bursting to ask who was responsible for Oscar Brancini’s death, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
A few months later, when they’d had three more serious fights, she heard: “I waited for nothing yesterday. He promised me faithfully that he’d bring the money. Damn Kreiger! I’ve had enough. Do what you have to do.” Only a week later she saw on TV that Peter Kreiger, the owner of a restaurant chain, had been found drowned in a nearby river. This time she didn’t want to believe it; she kept trying to convince herself that Carlo had nothing to do with it. But when she went near him, she trembled from head to foot. He asked her what was going on. She pretended she didn’t feel well and said she probably had a fever. But she never found the courage to ask him.
When it happened a third time and they found some Belgian tycoon with his throat cut after Carlo had talked about him, there no longer seemed to be any point in asking. She was convinced her husband was a murderer.
Christine had gone to her room and began to pack a suitcase. Obviously, one of the servants called him, because in half an hour Carlo was home. He asked her where she was going and she said she was leaving him. That was when he hit her for the first time. It was so sudden and unexpected that she immediately began to sob. In a wave of anger she told him what she had heard and what she knew about him. She threatened to go to the police if he didn’t leave her alone. He looked at her for a while and then hit her again. He slowly removed his belt and started to beat her with it. She was unable to struggle out of his grasp, and he continued until she passed out.
She woke up in the hospital with broken ribs and a cracked jaw. She couldn’t move from the pain. On first opening her eyes, Christine saw him there. He sat, holding her hand, tears running down his face. She was scared to death and she wanted to cry out, but instead all she heard from her lips was a sickly croak. Carlo put his hand over her mouth. He was crying and apologizing for everything he had done. He told her he was disappointed in her. Because she had wound him up, he had lost control. He’d thought that she loved him and that she’d stay with him through thick and thin. He said she couldn’t leave him because she was his wife and because she knew too much. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “If you leave me, I’ll have to kill you.”
For long hours as she lay on her own in the hospital, she had time to think. At first she was determined to get away at the first opportunity, but the more she thought about it, the more afraid she was. She really feared him. Finally, she decided to stay with him, as that was a better option than dying.
When Christine came home, it was hard at first. She shuddered every time he came near her. Of course, he noticed and was particularly kind and loving. She carried on as if nothing was wrong, but within she had to suppress an increasing tension that was sometimes impossible to bear. She often cried hysterically, which seemed to help her calm her inner turmoil.
Slowly, Christine got used to him. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that she lacked nothing. True, her husband was a dangerous criminal, but he always behaved well toward her and never threatened her again.
Once, when they had argued again and he appeared with the phone to frighten her, she calmly said to him that she had a headache and could he make the phone call in the other room. Surprised at her reaction, he didn’t object.
Later, when he joined her, she told him that his business affairs didn’t interest her in the slightest. “As far as I’m concerned, you can do away with whoever you want, but I really don’t need to know about it. What if you’re arrested? The less I know the better. Don’t you agree?”
He stared at his wife for a while, amazed at how calmly she had said it. The more he looked at her, the more he desired her. He started to kiss her face and neck and to open her dress. Instead of her trembling with fear, he was trembling with excitement.
He carried her to the nearest sofa and quickly removed her clothes. She pressed her legs together to stop him coming inside her because he seemed to be in such a hurry and she wasn’t ready. He roughly grabbed her knees and forced them wide apart. Seconds later, with lust in his eyes and his mouth open, he forced his way into her. “Oh, that’s so good,” he panted.
He came in less than fifteen seconds and began to caress the whole of her body. “I love you, Christine, I love you so much.”
Life with Carlo continued; he never threatened her again and she got used to the idea of staying with him. She enjoyed the fruits of wealth and tried to suppress the negative thoughts that floated to the surface.
Often, when she felt badly, she would remember how she had lived before she met Carlo. Christine remembered her parents’ damp basement apartment. There was no money to spare; her mother worked in a poultry plant and her father was a forklift operator in a nearby paper warehouse. Their wages barely covered basic necessities.
Even as a little girl, Christine was observant of her surroundings. She soon realized that she was dressed in cheap, ugly clothes, while some of her friends had on a different, expensive outfit every day. When she felt the material, it was softer and the colors were more attractive. Even back then it became clear that there were differences between people.
Each day when she came home she noticed the musty smell. Sometimes the walls were so damp that she could see drops of moisture gathering in certain areas. They could have aired the place, but opening the window was risky.
They lived below street level and looked out on the legs of passers-by. Whenever kids saw the window open they bent down and peered in. Once, Christine was in her underwear. Sometimes they threw something in … a stone or a piece of wood.
Christine truly detested that apartment. One time, when she told her father this, he jumped up and slapped her face, so that her nose bled. Her mother said nothing, but sat there waiting to see what would happen. Then her father hit her again and told her that she was ungrateful and that God would punish her. He said that he and her mother had barely managed to get credit to buy the place, that they were still paying it off, and that they were working hard just to make ends meet. When he finished speaking, he hit her again and ordered her to kneel in the corner. Before she knelt down, he scattered salt on the spot where she had to kneel. Christine didn’t turn to look at her mother, knowing she would do nothing to help. The girl gritted her teeth and cried, and swore to herself that one day she would get back at them.
She was punished for every little thing. Sometimes Christine had the feeling that her father provoked her into saying something stupid so that he could beat her. She received so many blows that she gradually got used to them and it didn’t hurt anymore. But one thing she could not get used to: the hatred that grew inside her. She hated her father for beating her, and her mother for failing to do anything about it.
When she was seventeen her father saw her in town, kissing some boy. Back home, he thrashed her so hard that for a week she couldn’t leave her room. She was too embarrassed to let people see the bruises on her face and elsewhere on her body. It was then she made the decision: she packed her clothes and sneaked out during the night.
Christine was happy to be finally free of them. But there was something she wasn’t free of: poverty. Without a high school diploma, she had to take any job she could get. To begin with, she worked as a cleaner, then on a production line, and finally for a company where she glued cardboard boxes. Everything she earned went to pay the rent. Then she realized how hard life could be.
She hated poverty. She loathed having to put cheap cream on her face when she knew there were much better, gentler, more expensive ones. While some women could wear a different pair of shoes each day, she had to put up with the same pair, day in day out. She couldn’t understand how people could afford what they had. Occasionally she would go to a bar for a coffee and watch enviously as those around her drank expensive cocktails and hard liquors. Before, she’d hated her father; now she hated her life.
But Christine had something that her co-workers didn’t have. When she let her hair grow long, which her father had not permitted, she was so beautiful that she took men’s breath away. Whenever she went to the ladies’ room, they whistled and played the fool. She could have had any one of them, but she wanted to be on her own. She still remembered all too well her father’s heavy hands on her.
She met Carlo on vacation. She was lying on the beach with a friend from work, soaking up the sun. Carlo Vucci, who was lying only twenty yards away, kept eyeing her. He had seen many beautiful women in his life, but Christine was something special. When she passed close by one afternoon, he spoke to her. He was convinced that she would reject him outright, but instead she was friendly, full of smiles. He invited her and her friend for a drink in the evening.
Back at the hotel the girls were giggling at the thought of the little fat guy they had met on the beach. They hadn’t the slightest intention of spending the evening with some old pervert. As they were getting ready to go out, the phone rang. Her friend answered and turned to Christine, saying, “The receptionist says there’s a car waiting for us out front.”
They burst out laughing and decided to ignore the car. But a half-hour later, when they were passing the reception desk on the way out, the receptionist pointed outside and reminded them the car was still waiting. They stared in amazement at the black stretch limousine. As if hypnotized, they went toward it to check that it was really for them. When they got near, a chauffer got out, greeted them, and opened the door for them.
“Who sent it?” Christine asked.
The chauffer replied, “Mr. Vucci. He said he spoke to you on the beach.”
They laughed again and got in.
At dinner they were at first reserved with Mr. Vucci, but after they had drunk two glasses of champagne each they became more talkative. Five waiters kept bringing food and drink. They’d already had two appetizers and were eating their entrées.
Carlo looked at Christine and said, “I’m so glad you decided to accept my invitation.”
“We didn’t have anything special to do,” Christine lied.
Her friend was so busy stuffing herself with food that she couldn’t speak.
“I hope you like the food here. This restaurant is highly recommended. They say it’s one of the most expensive ones around.”
“It’s fantastic,” Christine replied.
Her friend nodded.
“If you want, we can go on to some bar or disco. My treat, of course.”
For a moment the two young women’s eyes met and they raised their eyebrows.
Christine was impressed with Carlo. When she saw how he threw money around, she immediately liked him. So what if he is a little old? she thought.
They danced until four in the morning. They had a table reserved in the best corner of the nightclub, with a chilled bottle of sparkling wine always on hand. By the time they left, they were all so drunk they barely made it to the limo.
The next day Carlo invited them for lunch. Afterward, they strolled around the streets full of clothes stores.
“Why not go in?” he said. “Maybe you’ll find something nice to wear.”
“Why not?” Christine replied. “I’ve had my eyes on some shoes, but they’re pretty expensive. Maybe I’ll get them today.”
“Show them to me,” Carlo said, “so that I can see if they’re worth it.”
When she put them on, he said, “They’re very nice.” Then he turned to her friend. “And which do you like?”
She also chose some wonderful leather sandals.
“They’re simply marvelous,” he said. “Quick, let’s go to the checkout. I’d like to buy them for you.”
“Oh no, I can’t allow that,” she objected.
Christine was also surprised. “No, no, please. We have our own money.”
“Let it be a present. I like your company and I’d like to give you something.”
They looked at each other again and shrugged.
In the days that followed he bought them leather bags, cashmere sweaters, umbrellas, and many smaller items. At first they resisted, but then they stopped objecting. “He’s obviously got too much money,” Christine said to her friend one evening. “Let him spend it on us. For now he doesn’t seem to want anything in return. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Some weeks later Carlo invited Christine to his home. When she saw the house and he introduced all his staff, she made her decision.
“I don’t want to work in that damn factory,” she told her friend. “I can’t do it anymore.”
A month later, Christine’s friend was maid of honor at a magnificent wedding.
Chapter 45
_______________________
Attorney Leonard Hopkins arrived at eleven in the morning. He was not in a good mood. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that the judge set bail extremely high, at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I’m sorry—”
“What? Are they crazy? Where can I get that kind of money?”
“I really am sorry, Simon, but it is a murder we’re talking about and in such cases bail is always extremely high.”
Simon ran his fingers through his hair. “No one’s going to lend me that kind of money. It’s ridiculous.”
“It’s terrible, I know, but you’ll have to stay in jail until we prove them wrong.”
“Never. I’m not staying here. There are some dangerous people in here. Do you have a cell phone?”
&nbs
p; “Yes, of course. What are you going to do?”
“Please lend it to me, I must send a text.”
The lawyer offered him his cell phone and Simon grabbed it from him. In less than a minute he had typed a message and sent it to Christine.
“Let’s wait,” he said, “maybe I’ll get a reply right away.”
A minute or so later, the phone beeped. The message said: “No problem. It’ll be done today.”
Simon confidently returned the phone to the lawyer. “Everything’s OK. I’ll get the money.”
Hopkins said, “What? I thought you said—”
“Luckily, I have some good friends. Don’t worry, Leonard. Go and find out how the bail has to be paid. I’m not going to stay here a minute longer than necessary.”
With surprise written all over his face, Leonard Hopkins nodded and left the room.
Two hours later, Simon Patterson was sitting in a small car next to Edna Weiss, relieved to be going home. Edna leaned forward, gripping the wheel as if she feared that someone would jump out at the car at any moment. They drove extremely slowly, but Simon didn’t care. The main thing was that he had been released.
“Edna, I can’t begin to tell you how very grateful I am that you were willing to pay over the bail money.”
“Of course, Dr. Patterson, anytime.”
“And there were no problems?” Simon asked cautiously. He was keen to know who had handed over the money.
Edna pouted in a funny way. “This man called and said that he was an old friend of yours. And then guess what, he rang the bell, put the bag with the money by the door, and left, so that I didn’t even see him. I just heard him running up the stairs. I had no idea then about the sum of money involved. My God, I had to pay two hundred and fifty thousand dollars into the special court account. You really do have some good friends if they’re prepared to help you like that. But I don’t understand why your friend couldn’t pay the money personally.”
“I’m very grateful for all you’ve done for me. And I assure you that I didn’t kill Helen.”
