I left the office at about eight, went home, had a shower and change of clothes, and started off long before the appointed hour. I whiled away the time in one way or another, and headed towards the Fort at about ten.
I walked up the slope of Via Venezia, crowded as it always was at that hour in summertime.
Mostly with groups of youngsters. They exuded a mixture of deodorant, sun cream and mint-flavoured chewing gum. A few bronzed fifty-year-olds with twenty-year-old girls in clouds of perfume. Very few of my age. I wondered why, just to give my mind something to toy with.
I reached the Fort at least ten minutes early, but I felt better simply because time had passed. I leaned my back against a wall and lit a cigarette, waiting.
She arrived at about twenty to eleven.
“So sorry. It’s been a rough day. In a rough week. And that’s only to mention this week.”
“What’s happened?”
“Let’s walk, is that all right?”
We headed north, still on Via Venezia. The further we got from the area of the Fort, the more the crowd thinned out. Smaller groups, couples, a few solitary walkers, a uniformed policeman or two on duty.
We walked together without speaking until we drew level with the Basilica of St Nicholas. A fellow with a Corsican mastiff passed right by us and the huge dog stopped dead to sniff at Margherita’s legs. She stopped too, stretched out a hand and stroked the dog’s head. The owner was amazed that the ferocious creature allowed itself to be touched like that, and by a stranger too. It was the first time such a thing had happened, he said. Did the lady have a dog? No, she didn’t. She’d had one, but it had died years ago.
The dog and its owner went on their way and we sat on the low wall facing the right-hand side of the basilica.
“How’s it been going for you these last few days? How about the trial?” she asked.
“Well, I hope. Monday next we may see the end of it. And how about you?” Tentative.
She paused, then spoke as if I hadn’t asked any question at all.
“In the places where they teach you to knock off drink they also explain how to resist the temptation to backslide. In the first year after treatment an awful lot of people relapse, and even after that it’s very frequent. It was something they told us over and over again. There will be difficult moments – they told us – when you will feel depressed, you will have a terrible nostalgia for the past or fear of the future. At those times you will feel the urge to drink. An urge you feel you can’t resist, that will sweep over you like a wave. But it’s not irresistible. It seems so to you because at that moment you are weaker. But it really is just like a wave. A wave of the sea only submerges you for a second or two, even if when you are under water it seems like eternity. You come out easily enough if you don’t panic. So remember – they said – that at such moments you have only to stay calm. Don’t give way to panic, remember that your head will soon come out from under because the wave has passed. When you are struck by the overwhelming impulse to drink, do something to make the seconds or the minutes pass, or however long the crisis lasts. Do exercises, run two miles, eat a piece of fruit, call up a friend. Anything that makes the time pass without thinking.”
I remained silent, fearful of what was coming next.
“It has happened to me several times, as it has to everyone. Aikido has helped me. When the wave came, I put on my kimono and went through the technical moves, trying to concentrate only on what I was doing. It worked. When I finished training I’d forgotten the urge to drink.
“With time those moments have become rarer and rarer. For at least two years I hadn’t had one.”
I lit the cigarette I’d been holding between my fingers for several minutes. Margherita went on in the same tone of voice, gazing at some indeterminate spot before her.
“There’s someone in my life, there has been for nearly three years. He doesn’t live in Bari, and maybe that’s why it has worked for so long. We see each other at weekends, either he comes to me or I go to him. Last weekend he came here. I had already mentioned you. Casually, as one might normally, and at first he didn’t mind. Or if he did he didn’t say so.”
She turned slightly towards me, took my cigarette and smoked quite a lot of it before giving it back.
“However, I don’t know how, but the discussion cropped up again last Saturday. That is, not so much a discussion as a jealous scene. Now, I should tell you that he is not a jealous person. He’s quite the opposite. So I was taken aback and reacted badly. Very badly. We had been together, in a word we’d made love ...”
I felt a stab in the guts. Instant fog in the brain for I don’t know how long before I could grasp what she was saying again.
“... and then I told him that I’d never have expected him to say such things. That I was disappointed in him and so on. He got back at me by calling me a hypocrite. I was lying when I said that you were just a friend. Lying not just to him but to myself, which made me even more of a hypocrite. And I was reacting so violently just because I knew he was right. We argued most of the night. In the morning he said he was leaving me. That I must get my ideas straight, and try to be honest with him and with myself. After that we could talk about it again. He went off and I stayed put, sitting on the bed, my mind in a turmoil. Unable to think. The hours passed like a hallucination, and of course I got the urge to drink. A mad craving, such as I’d never had since I gave up. I tried putting on my kimono and doing some training, but there was no drive behind it. I had only this craving to drink, to feel good, to drown the turmoil in my head, to shuffle off responsibility and duty and effort, the whole bloody lot. Shit!
“So I went downstairs, got in the car and drove to Poggiofranco. You know that big bar that’s open round the clock, I can’t remember what it’s called, where they sell wines and spirits?”
I knew the bar and nodded. My mouth was dry, my tongue stuck to my palate.
“I went in and asked for a bottle of Jim Beam, my favourite. At that point I felt calm. Deathly calm. I went home, got a big tumbler and went out onto the terrace. I sat down, broke the seal of the bottle – you know that lovely snap when you open a new bottle? – and helped myself to three fingers of bourbon, for a start. I did it slowly, watching as it poured into the glass, the colour of it, the reflections. Then I raised the glass to my nose and breathed in deeply.
“I sat for a long time staring at that glass, with thoughts whirling in my head. You’re a naughty girl. You’ve always been one. You can’t fight your own destiny. It’s useless. Several times I raised the glass to my lips, looked at it and put it back on the table. I was sure I’d drink it in the long run so I might as well take it slowly.
“Darkness fell and there I still was with that glass of bourbon. I felt like filling it some more. I put it down on the table and poured, very slowly. Halfway, two-thirds, right to the brim. And still I went on pouring.
“Very gradually the liquid began to overflow, and I watched it dribbling down the outside of the glass, then spreading over the table, dripping onto the floor.
“When the bottle was empty I set it down on the table. I took the glass between finger and thumb and slowly tipped it, without lifting it. It began to empty. Very, very slowly. As it emptied, I tipped it more. Finally I turned it upside down.”
I passed my hands across my face, breathing at last. I realized my jaws were aching.
“At that point I got up, fetched a bucket and floor-cloths and cleaned everything up. I put the rags and empty bottle into a bin-liner, went downstairs and threw the lot into the rubbish. I wanted to call you, but it didn’t seem right. I had to deal with this on my own, I thought. So I just sent you that message.”
She stopped abruptly. We were silent for a long time, sitting on that wall. I was burning with questions. About him, of course. What had happened after that evening? Where had she been today? Had they met again, and talked, and so on?
I asked none of them. It wasn’t easy, but I didn’t ask a sin
gle question. All the time we were sitting there and after, walking across the city to our building. Until the moment came to part, at her door. Then it was she who spoke.
“What do you think of me, after what I’ve told you?”
“What I thought before. It’s just a bit more complicated.”
“Would you like to come in?”
“No, not this evening. Don’t misunderstand me, it’s just that—”
She interrupted me, speaking quickly. Embarrassed.
“I don’t misunderstand you. You’re right. I oughtn’t even to have said it. Did you say the trial ends on Monday?”
“Most likely. It depends on one last check-up ordered by the court. If certain documents arrive in time, then we should wrap it up on Monday.”
“Will you be speaking in the morning?”
“No, I don’t think so. Almost certainly the afternoon.”
“Then I’ll almost certainly manage to come. I want to be there when you speak.”
“I’d like you to be there too.”
“Then ... goodnight. And thanks.”
“Goodnight.”
I was already on the stairs.
“Guido ...”
“Yes?”
“I did go to him afterwards. I told him he was right. About the hypocrisy – mine – and all the rest.”
She paused briefly, and when she spoke again there was an unfamiliar timidity in her voice.
“Did I do right?”
I took a deep breath and felt a knot dissolving in the pit of my stomach.
I told her yes, she had done right.
35
The mobile-phone records arrived punctually on the fifth day after the hearing during which they had been ordered. I was assured of this by the carabinieri sergeant who had carried out the court order. He was a friend of mine, so I had called him up to find out. On his assurance I went to the law courts to examine them.
It was Saturday, 1 July. The Palace of Justice was deserted and the atmosphere slightly surreal.
The door to the Assize Court chancellery was closed. I opened it and found no one inside, but at least the air-conditioning was working. I therefore entered, closed the door behind me and waited for someone to come back and let me see those records.
After a quarter of an hour a clerk arrived at last, a little titch of about sixty whom I didn’t know. He gave me a vague look and asked if I needed anything. I did need something and told him what. He appeared to reflect upon the matter for a while before nodding thoughtfully.
The search for the documents was a laborious business and pretty exasperating, but one way or another the little man finally managed to unearth them.
From the mobile-phone records it emerged that Abdou had certainly told the truth about his trip to Naples. The first call was at 9.18. It was an outgoing call from Abdou’s mobile to a number in Naples, and had lasted two minutes fourteen seconds. At the time of the call Abdou was already in Naples or the immediate vicinity. There followed four other calls – to Naples numbers and to mobiles – always from within the Naples area. The last was at 12.46. Then nothing happened for more than four hours. At 16.52 Abdou received a call from a mobile. At that time the area was Bari city. The call after that was at 21.10. It was an outgoing call from Abdou’s mobile, still from Bari. Then nothing more.
I sat there thinking over the result of that inquiry. Certainly it was not decisive and it failed to sew up the trial. There was a gap of more than four hours, and smack in the middle of those four hours the child had disappeared. What emerged from the phone records did not exclude the possibility that Abdou, returning from Naples, had gone on to Monopoli, reached Capitolo, kidnapped the boy and done God knows what else.
I got up to leave and noticed that the little man had sat himself down on the other side of the chancellery, with his chin on his hands, his elbows on the desk and his gaze lost in space.
I wished him good day. He turned his head, looked at me as if I had said something extraordinary, then turned away again and gave a vague nod. Impossible to say if he had replied to my greeting or had still been elsewhere, talking to some ghost.
The air outside was scorching. It was midday on Saturday, 1 July and I was bound for the office to shut myself in and prepare my speech for the defence.
I was in for a long weekend of it.
36
The hearing began on the dot of nine-thirty. The court took note of the arrival of the mobile-phone records, and we all agreed that we did not require explanation from an expert in order to understand the data. For our purposes, what was written in those records was clear enough. The Telecom engineer who had presented himself for the hearing was thanked and told his services were not required.
Immediately afterwards the judge went through the last formalities and called upon the prosecution. It was nine-forty.
Cervellati got to his feet, pressing down on the table and shoving back his chair. He adjusted his robe, glanced at his notes, then raised his head and addressed the judge.
“Your Honour, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, today you are called to give judgement on a very horrible crime. A young life, a very young life, brutally cut off, as the result of an act so iniquitous that we are unable to grasp the motive or the measure of it. The consequences of this iniquity are tragically irremediable. No one can restore this child to the love of his parents. I cannot, you cannot, no one can.
“You, however, have a great power, an all-important power, of which I hope you will make good use. Of which I am sure you will make good use.”
I thought: now he is going to say they have the power, and also the duty, to see justice done. To see to it that the author of such a heinous crime does not get away with it, due perhaps to some cavil or quibble.
“You have the power to see justice done. And this is a power of great moment, because it brings with it the duty of doing justice. In the first place to the family of the little victim. But thereafter to all of us who, as citizens, expect a response when such abominable things occur.”
It was one of his favourite dictums in the Court of Assizes. I think he was convinced that it impressed the jury. Anyway, he continued in this vein and after a little my attention began to stray.
I heard his voice like a background noise. Every so often I followed his drift for a minute or two and then my thoughts went rambling off again.
He spoke of what had taken place in the course of the trial, in a monotonous drone read long chunks of the records and explained exactly why the evidence advanced by the prosecution was totally convincing, bar nothing.
One of the most tedious closing speeches I had ever heard, I thought, as I leafed through my file just for something to do.
But at a certain point he came to speak of the evidence of the bar owner, the heart of the whole trial.
He re-read Renna’s statements – but not his answers to my questions – and commented on them. I forced myself to listen carefully.
“So we must ask ourselves, you must ask yourselves: what reason did the witness Renna have for bringing false accusations against the defendant? Because the question, in fact, is very simple and the alternative is clear. One hypothesis is that the witness Renna is lying, thereby paving the way for an innocent man to be sentenced to life imprisonment. Because he is well aware of the consequences of his testimony, but nevertheless persists in it, despite the difficulties we saw in the course of his cross-examination. If he is lying, thus accusing an innocent man of a crime punishable by life imprisonment, he must have a reason. Indeed, a ferocious and ignoble personal antagonism, because only hatred of such a kind could explain so aberrant an action.
“Is there any proof, or even the suspicion, of such destructive hatred on the part of Renna with regard to the defendant? Naturally not.
“The other hypothesis is that the witness is telling the truth. And if there is nothing to tell us that the witness is lying, we have to recognize the fact that – in spite of approximations, errors, under
standable moments of confusion – he is telling the truth.
“The effect on the outcome of the present trial is obvious. For do not forget that the accused denies being at Monopoli, at Capitolo, that afternoon. And if he denies it when in fact he was present in those localities – and we can assert it with complete confidence because we are told it by a witness who has no cause to lie – then the explanation is one and one only and, unhappily, is there for all to see.”
I made a note of this concept too, because it had a sense to it that had to be confuted explicitly.
Cervellati continued, following the proceedings in chronological order, and finally came to discuss the mobile-phone records.
He said what I expected him to say. The verification requested by the defence had not only failed to prove the innocence of the defendant, but, on the contrary, provided further material in favour of the prosecution.
Because that gap of four or so hours with no telephone calls, during which the instrument was probably switched off, was an item of circumstantial evidence worth exploiting. And Cervellati exploited it. There was a degree of verisimilitude – a high degree, he said – in the hypothesis that the defendant, having returned to Bari from Naples, had gone on to Capitolo, having already formed a plan of action. Or perhaps in the grip of a “raptus”, or brainstorm. It was probable that he had switched off his mobile phone so as not to be disturbed during the heinous deed. And this, better than any other hypothesis, explained the absence of calls between five and nine o’clock that evening.
I took notes on this part of the speech as well. It was an insidious argument and might well influence the jury.
There followed a hypothetical reconstruction of how Abdou might have put his plan into effect, basely and craftily exploiting the little boy’s trust in him.
What had occurred after the kidnapping could be easily imagined. The child, realizing what was happening, had tried to resist the attempted violence. Maybe he had tried to escape, and this had sparked off the lethal reaction of the accused. It is probable that no signs of sexual abuse had been found because the situation had got out of hand before such abuse – which was certainly the defendant’s object – had taken place.
Involuntary Witness Page 19
