The two of them hadn't seen each other for more than a year, ever since Spiderman had been arrested on his way back from Naples with a quantity of pills he had hoped to sell that weekend. It must have been a tip-off, he'd thought when he was stopped at the exit from the Florence South tollgate by an unmarked car carrying plain-clothes carabinieri from the drugs squad and asked to follow them to their barracks, where they had dismantled his brand new Rover piece by piece.
'So, Spider, how were things inside? Five-star service?'
'Fuck off, Pino. You try it some time, and tell me how many stars you'd give it.'
'Hey, just kidding. I'm pleased to see you.'
'I don't like that kind of joke, Pino, especially coming from a friend.'
Pino decided to change the subject. 'What's new on the prison grapevine? Anything hot for me? Anything that'll make me look good?'
'What?' Fabio hadn't quite heard because of the loud music.
Ricci repeated the question.
'Don't make me talk, Pino. I don't want to do that any more. People have started to cotton on. In stir, you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.'
'What do you mean?'
'When they took me to sector A, where they keep the remand prisoners, I swear people were looking at me suspiciously. Most of the people there were pushers, and they all knew me. Some of them had been arrested because of me. I was shit scared! When I got out of solitary, after the deputy prosecutor had interrogated me, I asked to be transferred to the other wing, where they keep convicted prisoners. Some of them I knew quite well. There was even one of the accomplices of the Monster of Florence there. He was on his own in the cell opposite mine.'
'The one Chief Superintendent Ferrara put inside.'
'Yes, that's the one. I felt sorry for him, he's quite sick. It's no joke being in prison when you're over seventy'
'Don't forget what he did when he wasn't yet a decrepit old man, and how many families suffered because of him.'
'That's true, Pino, but when you're in prison you see things differently. Deep down we're all human beings.'
'Not all of us, Spider. People who commit certain crimes don't belong to the human race any more. But let's not talk about that, I'm fed up with all that shit about the Monster. So, nothing at all to tell me? Damn it, doesn't anyone talk any more in the slammer?'
Spiderman seemed reluctant to answer.
Pino needed to re-establish their old bond. 'Let's go to the bar, Fabio,' he said, smiling. ‘I’ll buy you a drink to celebrate your return to civilisation.'
Spiderman followed him.
'Two whiskies, Lucio,' Pino ordered, pretty sure he knew what Fabio would like. He was right, though his friend was quite specific: 'Make mine Glenn Grant.'
They took their two glasses and walked back to the pillar where they had met.
Pino drank a little of his whisky and asked, 'How are things with Gabriella?'
'Drop it, Pino, I don't want to talk about it. I hadn't been inside a month and the bitch had already taken up with another guy.'
'Shit! I thought you two were getting on so well
'So did I, until I got out. It's not easy for a woman to stay faithful to you when you don't come home, especially when you're locked up in prison and nobody knows when you're coming back. Anyway, let's drop it. I'll give you something, even though you don't deserve it. You didn't do anything to make things easier for me. You forgot all about me.'
'I'm just an ordinary police officer. You can't ask me for the moon.'
'I know, but if you'd talked to your boss he could have put in a good word for me.'
'Right, and then I'd have had to tell him you were my informant! My boss needs to know the information, not the source.'
Fabio nodded.
'So, what have you got for me? I hope it's clean . . .'
'You should tell the Homicide people to keep an eye on Antonio Salustri, the owner of the shop in Santo Spirito where that assistant was murdered. You know the one I mean, right?'
'Sure. You're talking to the right person, I'm working on that case. I'm not in Narcotics any more, Sergi wanted me in his squad. You remember Sergi, don't you?'
'Sure - Serpico. Is he still a hippy?'
'Oh, yes. You'd expect to see him on the barricades. Same long hair and beard, same casual clothes.'
'What a guy! I really can't see him as a policeman. He should be in the movies! How does he stand working with idiots like you?' Fabio laughed, and Pino joined him.
And why should we keep an eye on this Salusto, or whatever you said his name was?'
'Antonio Salustri. If his name doesn't mean anything to you, you're behind the times. He's an up and comer, clean on the surface but actually a front man.'
'Carry on.'
'Lately, this Salustri's been hanging out with a guy from the Calabrian Mafia named Salvatore Dieni, who's big in the antiques racket.'
And you're sure of this?'
'Sure I'm sure!'
And this Salustri. Did he have anything to do with Alfredo Lupi's murder? That's the assistant.'
By now they had moved to a small table in a corner, where a few seats had become free. People had started to leave. It was getting close to closing time: four o'clock.
'There was this guy in prison - don't ask me the name because I wouldn't tell you - he told me some things in confidence.'
'What kind of things?'
'He told me the murder had something to do with the antiques racket. From what he'd heard since he'd been in prison, the guy who was killed had probably found out what his employer was up to. Maybe he'd seen something he shouldn't have seen and paid with his life.'
'Seen what?'
'He didn't tell me and I didn't ask him. When you hear something like that, you shut up and listen. Anyway, that's all I know. You keep an eye on Salustri and you won't regret it-'
'Looks like it might be worth it. But just tell me one thing.' 'What?'
'This guy from the Calabrian Mafia, Salvatore . . . what did you say he was called?' 'Salvatore Dieni.'
'Right. Who is he?'
'I met him years ago. Not a big shot, but he's got all the right contacts. The Calabrians trust him totally. They know he'd rather die than betray their code.'
In other words, as long as he stayed loyal, he and his family would live, Pino thought as he and Fabio sipped another round of whiskies. This time they'd had them brought to the table.
'What kind of guy is he?' Pino asked.
'He lives alone and whenever you see him he's alone. Officially he runs a bureau de change near the Borgo San Lorenzo. It's a front for money laundering. With all the tourists around, Florence is a great place for it.'
'Of course. People never think of organised crime in connection with Florence. We don't have Mafia killings, bombs, extortion, kidnapping . . . This is interesting. What else can you tell me?'
'Hey, I'm not going to arrest Dieni and Salustri for you! I've given you their names and told you what they're involved in - what more do you want? You're the copper, not me. I don't want anyone knowing I told you! I'd be a dead man and you'd have me on your conscience.'
'What do you think I am? You know I'd never betray you. That's why you had to do your time - because I didn't want to betray you, not even to my boss. I hope you've realised that by now.'
'Sure, I already knew it. That's why I trust you. I hope it works out for you.'
'Thanks, Spider, I'll be thinking of you.' 'Me too.'
They toasted each other, downed their whiskies and went their separate ways.
*
'Pino, tell the boss what you just told me,' Sergi began as soon as they sat down in front of Ferrara's desk. It was 8.15 on Monday 10 January.
Officer Ricci gave a faithful account of what he'd heard from his childhood friend, referred to as 'one of my most reliable sources who's proved useful on several occasions'.
'You remember two summers ago, when we caught those people who'd robbed the Central Post Offi
ce, just as they were escaping?'
'Of course I remember. It was one of your informants who tipped us off.'
'Well, chief, it's the same source. He's never been wrong. I can vouch for him.'
'Okay, Ricci, put all this in a report and give it to Inspector Sergi. Sergi, I'd like you to find out as much as you can about Salustri and Dieni. Check in the Headquarters' records, not just the Squad's.'
'Of course, chief. I'll get on to it right now and keep you informed.'
They left the room. Feeling pleased with himself, Ferrara lit a cigar. This was what he called a good start to the day.
Later that morning, the first results arrived.
'Neither of them have records, chief,' Sergi said. 'No arrests, no complaints. Absolutely nothing. There's just one thing we've corroborated so far. Dieni does indeed have a bureau de change in the Borgo San Lorenzo, just near the Piazza del Mercato. I even went past it and had a look. There was a girl cashier behind the counter, no customers.'
'I'd like that bureau de change put under surveillance, to see who uses it. When Dieni puts in an appearance, put someone on his tail. I want to see the kind of things he gets up to.'
'Yes, chief.'
'Oh, one other thing.'
'Chief?'
'Put Antonio Salustri under surveillance, too, at least for a few days.' 'Yes, chief.'
'And keep me informed.' 'Of course, chief.'
Three days later, Inspector Sergi burst into Ferrara's office.
'Sorry I didn't knock, chief,' he said, blushing, when he saw the look of surprise on Ferrara's face. 'I didn't mean to be rude.'
'Don't worry, I have nothing to hide from any of you. Sit down, take a deep breath and tell me everything.'
'We stopped Dieni. Or rather, the traffic police stopped him. They're holding him now.'
What happened?' Ferrara asked, worried that a false move might spoil things.
'Early this morning, the boys who were tailing him saw him meet the driver of a lorry with a Reggio Calabria number-plate in a car park on the autostrada. They unloaded some things from the lorry and Dieni put them in the boot of his Mercedes. The boys got suspicious because the men were moving around furtively, as if they didn't want to be seen.'
'Okay, what happened then?'
'They asked the traffic police for help. The traffic police stopped him at the Florence North exit, as if it was just a routine check, together with the car in front and the one behind so as not to make him suspicious.'
'Good!'
'They asked him the usual questions, registration, licence,
tax . . . Then they asked him to open the boot, and he didn't want to, he said the lock was damaged. That gave the officers a good excuse to take him to the Florence North barracks, where they opened the boot. There were four paintings inside, all old. Dieni claimed he didn't know anything about them. He said someone must have put them there without his knowledge. Maybe in the car park he always uses, the one near the Santa Maria Novella station.'
'Go and get him. I want him and his car here right now. I'll call the traffic police and arrange it.'
Serpico was just about to leave the office when Ferrara called him back.
'What about the lorry?'
'It carried on along the autostrada going north. It's one of those lorries they use for transporting fruit. I gave instructions not to stop it for now, just follow it at a safe distance until further orders.'
'Good! You can go now.'
Sergi hurried out.
Ferrara prepared for the interview. He knew it wouldn't be easy. It was obvious that the provenance of the paintings was illegal, but it was also obvious that, unless Dieni cooperated, it would be difficult to trace them back to their source quickly. The traffic in stolen works of art is an area in which gathering the corroborative evidence needed to bring charges is a long, complex process. There is no up-to-date catalogue of stolen works and investigating art theft is the exclusive remit of a special unit of the Carabinieri, who guard their privileges jealously.
Less than an hour later, Dieni was in Ferrara's office. Sergi and Pino Ricci sat next to him. Ricci was looking pleased with himself: at least the tip-off he had been given was yielding results, even though there was no apparent connection between the stolen paintings and Alfredo Lupi's murder.
Salvatore Dieni was a short, thickset man with a pockmarked face, olive skin and anxious black eyes. He was clearly scared.
Ferrara took advantage of his nervousness. 'Let's cut to the chase, Dieni,' he began, in a tone of voice that left no doubt about his intentions. 'We don't have any time to waste listening to bullshit.'
'What do you mean by bullshit, Inspector?' Dieni protested, but his voice was faint and his eyes were fixed on the surface of the desk separating him from Ferrara.
'You're not talking to an inspector,' Sergi said. 'You're talking to Chief Superintendent Ferrara, head of the Squadra Mobile. I'm an inspector. I told you that when I introduced myself.'
'Yes, you did, Inspector, but I don't know the ranks. And anyway, you're all in plain clothes. But why have you brought me here? Maybe I should call my lawyer now. I feel as if I've been kidnapped.'
Ferrara leapt to his feet, propped the cigar he was smoking on the ashtray, looked down at the now-terrified Dieni, and in a loud but steady voice said, 'You told the traffic police a pack of lies, Dieni! I want the truth! Keep the fairy stories for your grandchildren, if you have any. This isn't the place for them. The play acting is over, is that clear? And look at the person you're talking to, not down at the floor or the desk.'
Dieni obeyed. Nobody present could tell whether the look he now gave Ferrara was one of defiance or of fear. 'I'm not a liar, Superintendent. I told the truth. It's up to you to prove those paintings are mine.'
'That means you haven't understood a thing, Dieni. Either that or you don't want to understand. I think I need to explain myself better. That way there'll be no more misunderstandings and we won't waste any more time, because time is precious to us. So listen carefully, I'm not going to repeat myself, is that clear?'
He paused for a moment, then sat down again, lit another cigar and inhaled once, twice.
'For a start, one thing is certain, Dieni. You're not going to be exchanging money any more, and you can go back to Calabria where you came from. There's no place in this city for someone like you. That much I can assure you.'
'What is this?' Dieni asked, stunned. Are you threatening me?'
'It's not a question of threats. We found you in possession of objects that were obtained illegally. Whatever the outcome of any legal proceedings you may face, that's more than enough for us to get your licence revoked. And that's not all. . .'
'But Superintendent, those paintings aren't—'
He had no time to finish his sentence. Ferrara again leapt to his feet, and for the second time in a few minutes he raised his voice. 'Don't you get it, Dieni? Let's stop this play acting now!'
'What play acting?'
Ferrara's voice went up another octave, sending a shudder through Salvatore Dieni. 'I've had enough of this, Dieni! Maybe you'd like to see the video footage my men shot, showing you transferring the paintings from the lorry to your car? You're guilty of some serious offences, including aiding and abetting. You can get up to four years in prison for that, and that's without taking the aggravating circumstances into account. And I can assure you you'll serve your full sentence, even if you have had a clean record up till now.'
Dieni went limp on his chair. He had realised there was no way out. He was completely silent, his head ever more bent towards the ground. Ferrara took another cigar out of his leather case. His third that morning. He kept lighting them without smoking them through to the end. He needed that first taste, the strongest and best.
Sergi and Ricci were silent, too. You could have heard the proverbial pin drop.
Dieni was the first to break the almost tomb-like silence. 'It's true, I was moving those paintings. I'll tell you eve
rything, superintendent, but I don't want the lorry driver to get into trouble. He has nothing to do with this. He's a family man, and to support his family he has to keep going up and down between Reggio Calabria and the markets in Milan, transporting fruit.'
And drugs, Ferrara thought as he sat down again. 'Carry on,' he said. 'You're doing well.'
'I'll talk, but don't send me back to Calabria. I need to keep working in Florence. You've got to believe me.'
The man was begging him. Ferrara knew what that meant. He knew all about the Calabrian Mafia, having spent more than ten years in Reggio Calabria; that was where he had leaned his trade and he often said that there was no better school. There was a real risk for Dieni that his 'godfathers' might think he wasn't reliable any more. He wasn't afraid of someone informing on him, or of going to prison, what scared him was the thought that he might have to pay, perhaps even with his life, for not being more careful while moving the paintings. If, because of him, an innocent-seeming bureau de change was closed down, he'd be depriving the clan of a valuable money-laundering operation.
It was the ideal situation, and Ferrara had to take as much advantage of it as he could.
'Where do those paintings come from and who were they intended for?'
'Could I have a coffee first?'
Without waiting for Ferrara to ask him, Ricci left the room. He returned with four coffees in paper cups and a litre bottle of mineral water.
Dieni drank his coffee quickly. 'Thank you, Superintendent, I really needed that,' he said, putting the paper cup back on the table.
'So did we,' Ferrara said. 'Now start talking. We're ready to listen.' He turned to Sergi and signalled to him to take notes.
'The paintings were stolen from a patrician villa in Sicily. I don't know who it belongs to, only that it's near Palermo. An old countess, or something like that, lives there now, on her own. I heard it was a plumber who did some work there who put the thieves on to it. That's all I know about it, but if the owner reported the theft, it should be easy enough for you to check it out.'
A Florentine Death Page 8
