Hunted

by Monty Marsden

  “Long time no see, Greta! You look wonderful, you’re so beautiful.” Montanari was wearing an expensive suit and his smile had clearly been brightened up by some expensive whitening procedure.

  “You’re still good at lying.”

  “And you’re just as sarcastic as you used to be, good to see that nothing has changed!” Montanari pulled out a chair for Greta at the table. “Nothing like the woman who decided to drop her glittering job to become a blog writer.”

  “I’m happy with what I do,” Greta answered. However, her smile hinted at all of the uncertainty she was going through.

  “You never answered my phone calls,” Montanari added.

  “You didn’t call that many times – only a few times during the first few months after Morphy, that’s all.”

  “I took it that you preferred to isolate yourself. You’ve always been on my mind and I’m glad to see you again today.”

  Greta took a quick glance at the menu. “Why did you want to see me?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the menu. “Or rather, what do you want from me?”

  Montanari leant towards her. “Okay, I’m not going to beat about the bush. As you know, I produce TV programmes that are usually shown late at night.”

  Greta nodded. “I know that your audience is pretty large.”

  “We have an amazing market share – we beat some of the most popular talk shows on other channels.”

  “I’m glad for you… what do I have to do with this, though?”

  “The next show will be tonight and it will be broadcast earlier than usual. It will be live and all about Riondino. We will tell his story from the beginning, we will try to understand his illness, we will explain how he escaped and we will summarise the investigation aiming to find him. Basically, it will be like a full documentary on the whole thing. There will be a lot of guests who cover important roles in the police force and they’ll say more than just what has already been heard on the subject. It will be a great show, Greta, and I’d like you to be on it.”

  Greta raised her eyes from the menu. “I think I’m going to skip the antipasti and jump straight to the main course. Truffle ravioli. You’re going to pay for this meal, right?”

  “Come on, Greta. Nobody knows Riondino’s story better than you. I gave you the task of following his story years ago.”

  “Which wine would you suggest? Nebbiolo or rosso di Montalcino?”

  “You’ve been hiding away for too long, Greta. I know you and I don’t think that you have changed that much. Don’t tell me that you don’t miss the thrill of being live on TV, being involved in the news. The thrill of being alive again. The reflectors’ light, the red LED lights of the cameras in action… and millions of people who know your face.” Montanari leaned over again and took Greta’s hand. “You’re a journalist,” he whispered. “A real one. Not the faceless blog writer that you pretend to be. It’s time you were back.”

  Without realising, Greta pressed her lips together. For a moment, a feeling of déjà vu took over, reminding her of the old times. She pulled her hand away from Montanari.

  Again, she smiled nervously, while all she wanted was to look confident. “Do you really think you know me? Don’t you think that I have changed over the years?”

  Montanari remained silent – he kept his eyes fixed onto hers.

  “If anything,” Greta added. “I’m the one who knows you well. There’s always something in it for you. You have dozens of people who will know Riondino’s story just as well as I do on your show and I don’t believe that all you want to do is take me back to where I belong. What’s the real reason you want me to be on the show?”

  Montanari smiled the smile of a kid who has been busted stealing sweets. “I’ve missed you, Greta. Okay – we have tried to get in touch with Professor Reti and Doctor Rinaldi for an interview or just for some of their opinions. Rinaldi has fallen off the radar and Reti has politely declined the offer. I have tried to convince him in person but he won’t change his mind… but he told me that he met you and Claps yesterday and that you talked about Riondino a lot.”

  “And now you want to interview me to find out what Professor Reti told us about Riondino.”

  “What’s wrong with that? We’re friends, right? And we are colleagues, not competitors. You write blogs and I do TV shows. We should help each other. I’ll take you back to TV like a true journalist, back to what your life should be; and you help me out by revealing information that other people won’t.”

  Greta remained silent for a few seconds. “You know, it’s a shame…” she said eventually.

  “To have been away from each other for so long, right?”

  “No, I was talking about the ravioli,” Greta said as she stood up. “I haven’t had truffle for years. Goodbye and good luck with your show.”

  *

  “Did you investigate the last report, Maiezza?” Sensi swallowed down the last sip of his coffee. It was his sixth cup of coffee that day and it was only early afternoon.

  “I don’t know whether to believe the witness.”

  Maiezza told Sensi what Rosa Fumagalli had told him in the office.

  “I showed a photo of Matteo Contri to the woman who was on the till that day,” he concluded, “and she recognised him as one of the customers she had spoken to.”

  “A man from Florence who looks remarkably like Matteo Contri. Riondino drove out of Florence showing Matteo’s driving licence to a policeman who was patrolling the road, right?”

  Maiezza was perplexed. He didn’t want to have to trust an old lady’s alleged day-dream. “A quirky quiff and a pair of red framed glasses may be enough go through a roadblock, but now we have two witnesses who have seen Riondino in a photo and in real life. Does Riondino really look so much like Matteo Contri?”

  “The witnesses have compared what they have seen on a photo to a person in real life, that’s not always reliable. Let’s make some identification photos using Riondino’s face and Matteo Contri’s glasses and hairstyle, let’s see what we can come up with. Can you take care of this right away?”

  “One more thing – the man at the supermarket said that he worked at the Piccolo theatre, but nobody knows him there. I already checked.”

  “The Piccolo theatre?” Sensi was beginning to feel frustration mixed with anger.

  “Yes, he said to the woman on the till that he was an actor.”

  “Did you just say an actor?” Sensi asked sharply.

  Maiezza stared at Sensi without understanding what he meant.

  “Did you say that he walked away from the supermarket? He didn’t have a car?”

  “That’s correct…”

  “That’s the Actor, one of Riondino’s personalities! The motherfucker is ambling around the city using Matteo Contri’s ID and he has dressed up to look like him!”

  “One of his personalities? Another one, like Hannibal?”

  “I’ll explain everything in detail later on, we don’t have time right now. Let’s check all CCTV recordings near the supermarket and let’s try to predict where he might have been heading. I want to see if we’re lucky enough to find his hideaway this way.”

  A rush of adrenalin gave Sensi new energy – he almost dived on the map of the city hanging on his office wall. “If he walked away from the supermarket, his hideaway can’t be that far from there – you wouldn’t expect him to walk across the city to go to the supermarket. Where did they see him? Where is this supermarket?”

  Maiezza pointed to the area where Riondino had been seen.

  “Fuck,” Sensi said. That’s near the San Vittore prison – that’s good for him, he’s not going to have to move to a different area when we finally catch him. Let’s flood the area with plain clothes police and give them a good look at Matteo Contri’s face beforehand. Make sure that they don’t look suspicious, please! I also want two squads ready to go into action if anything happens. I want one of them to be inside the supermarket, in case Riondino decides to go back to do some
shopping again. What did he buy there? Groceries?”

  “No, he didn’t buy any food. He got some make-up products, coloured contact lenses… he said to the woman at the till that he needed them for his job.”

  “Fuck, he’s preparing to retire that identity and take up someone else’s!”

  “He might decide to wait a little – he only has Matteo Contri’s documents right now.”

  “Yeah, but he can’t use them any more – he showed that ID to the patrol but he’s not stupid and I’m sure he knows that Matteo Contri is well known to the police now.”

  “I’m sure we can identify precisely the stuff that he bought and make some identification photos based on it.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll get down to analysing the CCTV recordings in the area – let’s see if he was filmed when he walked out of the supermarket. Oh, and one more thing – let’s spread the word that we think he’s a long way from here… for example, in Rome.” Sensi said as he walked back to his desk.

  Maiezza nodded. “That way, he’ll be more confident moving around in the city and he might decide to leave his hideaway more often.”

  “That’s right. I’ll stir up some action in Rome, I’ll ask local police departments to deploy officers in the capital. The media will fall for it.”

  15

  It was late evening when Maiezza showed Sensi a bunch of photos which portrayed Riondino at the supermarket. “These are stills from the CCTV recordings – the technical department have analysed them.”

  “Is that him?” Sensi asked impatiently.

  “They just said that the stills are not suitable for analysing the anatomical features of his face, but…”

  “Is it or is it not him?”

  “They gave a 90 per cent chance that that’s our man.”

  Sensi didn’t need Maiezza to confirm it, but a wave of chills ran up his back when he heard the answer anyway.

  “Did the external CCTV show anything?”

  “Unfortunately not. The rain. It’s impossible to see any faces, because of the umbrellas.”

  “So it’s impossible to guess where he went?”

  “It seems that he walked in the opposite direction to the San Vittore prison, but then we lost track of him.” Maiezza almost sounded like he wanted to justify himself. “There just aren’t that many CCTV cameras that enable us to see passers-by – just a couple on the main street and then a couple outside the banks.”

  “Let’s put a few more up then, for goodness’ sake!” Sensi turned towards the city map yet again. “One kilometre radius… close monitoring twenty-four seven of the whole area… with police on the streets and CCTV, we’ll spot him as soon as he steps out.” Sensi grimaced a little, his voice became harsher than usual. “We got him, we fucking got him.”

  *

  Claps had hoped to feel better, but it hadn’t happened yet. After the meeting with Sensi, he had returned home with a feeling of emptiness, a sense of agony that dazed and oppressed him.

  He had decided to sit in his armchair reading a book for a while – he couldn’t tell how long he had been sitting there and he didn’t even know the title of the book that he was trying to read. He hadn’t flicked past the first page.

  It felt as if he had no thoughts any more – just a feeling of extreme tiredness and a lack of peace. It was as though what he was trying to run away from was maliciously chasing him; it kept the same distance all the time and it never got him, but it never gave him a chance to feel completely free either.

  Claps’ mobile phone vibrated – it was Greta. Claps didn’t answer the call, he waited for the voicemail to kick in. Then he turned off his phone – his hands were shaking a little.

  *

  “Did you hear me, Jack? A bitch, one with huge tits!”

  “Calm down, Earl – this is the time to keep calm and hide away. Just a few more days of patience.”

  “It’s been seven years since I’ve been with a woman. I don’t even remember their scent any more. Do you, Jack?”

  “Leave me alone, Earl.”

  “Do you remember how good it feels to touch a woman’s thighs?”

  “Stop it, for fuck’s sake!”

  “We’re free now. We can do it.”

  “We will, we will… but this is not the right time.”

  “How long do we have to wait? Come on, Jack, let me show up – a couple of hours will be enough.”

  “Shush, we have to wait… you’ll have to keep quiet for a while if you want me to let you appear.”

  “Shut the fuck up or I’ll lock you up like I did with Hannibal – is that what you’re saying?”

  “Your choice.”

  “You know that you wouldn’t be able to keep me locked up for long. I would show up sooner or later, whether you allow it or not. Whenever you get distracted or have a rest…”

  “There’s no need for all of this. Just a couple of days, Earl. I promise.”

  “Not a minute longer.”

  *

  “Fuck you!” Greta had muttered those two words to herself while thinking about Montanari all evening. Cussing out loud kind of reminded her of her old self. She looked at herself in the mirror – was she slowly becoming herself again? Perhaps spending three hours at her old hairdresser’s had helped with feeling like she was back in the days of TV glory? “Let’s dye it red, I want my colour back,” she had said to the hairdresser.

  And even if she was indeed feeling a little more like her old self, would this have helped her feel better? How much? How could she figure out how much better she was feeling? Maybe she should have begun to wean herself off the anxiolytic drugs?

  Greta sank into her sofa. She took her shoes off and stretched out her legs. Then she turned on the TV.

  She stared at her toes, which were visible through her tights. Perhaps it was time to use some nail polish again.

  Greta Lafenice wasn’t ginger; she didn’t use nail polish and she didn’t cuss. She avoided wasting time, she blocked out her past. She ignored the present. She filled herself up with anxiolytic drugs. Greta Lafenice tried to convince herself that she was okay.

  Greta Lafenice did not exist. She had always known that.

  “Fuck you,” she muttered once again, thinking about Montanari. The theme tune of the talk show episode dedicated to Riondino had begun. The cameras gave an overview of the TV studio and the audience, then one of them focused on Montanari and his face filled whole screen in a close-up shot.

  “Today we have the pleasure of hosting a number of authoritative guests who will help us to portray the person of Giacomo Riondino. We will tell his story and the terrible events that we all have witnessed recently. First of all, let me give you some breaking news – a large number of police moved into an area of Rome this morning. Let’s talk to our correspondent, Clelia Penna, to hear more information about the happenings in Rome. Can you hear me, Clelia?”

  The reporter appeared in the corner of the screen – her face was illuminated by strong spotlights and a crowd of people had gathered around her.

  “Yes, I hear you. I’m in via Panama, which is where Giacomo Riondino has supposedly been seen. The whole area is under police control and patrols are currently circulating all around the area, especially the main routes leading in and out of the city.”

  “He hasn’t been seen by anyone since – is that correct?” Montanari asked.

  “That’s correct – at least up to the present moment. I must say that the police activity seems to have slowed down a little now.”

  “Was it a false alarm? Was it one of the many sightings that turn out to be unreliable? What do the authorities say?”

  “The authorities have not revealed any official information, I’m afraid, but it seems that the sighting was a real possibility. If it wasn’t true, it would be difficult to explain why so many officers are in the area at the moment. It seems that the man who walked out of the building that you can see behind me, number 22, was indeed Giacomo Riondino.” />
  “Excuse me, Clelia, did you say that the investigation has become a little less intense now?”

  “Yes, it has slowed down during the last hour or so. There are still patrol cars in the area, but… how can I put it… there is no tension in the air any more.”

  “What could the reason be for that?”

  “There is some breaking information that could explain that.”

  “Go on, we’d like to hear.”

  “It’s just some unofficial information that hasn’t yet been verified.”

  Montanari smiled to the camera – again, his face filled the entire TV screen as the camera zoomed in on it.

  “Our reporter Clelia is one of the most skilled and original journalists that I’ve ever met – more than half of the information that we get is unofficial and can only be verified later on… So don’t worry, we’re used to that…”

  “Okay, apparently Riondino has found shelter in this area but he sneaked away as soon as he noticed the first few police around. There might be a few witnesses who said that they have seen somebody who looked very much like the man in question.”

  “So are they trying to find his hideout first, rather than the man himself?”

  “That’s correct… at the same time, they’re looking for him across the entire city. Streets, stations and the Tevere river are being constantly monitored to make sure that he doesn’t get away.”

  The camera zoomed in again on Montanari’s face.

  “Thank you, Clelia. Please feel free to interrupt us any time, if you have any news. Now let’s go back to our studio for a moment…”

  Greta followed the whole show; she didn’t take her eyes off the screen for a moment until the very end. She was certain that the show would have been seen by many that night, even thought it was full of flaws from a journalistic point of view. The reporter had been very imprecise, some of the pseudo-experts actually had very little knowledge of Riondino. Some ridiculous hypotheses had been advanced by alleged witnesses who had seen little or nothing in via Panama in Rome.

  She wouldn’t have allowed this to happen on her own show.