Tm sorry if I've ruined your holiday, Francesco,' he said, noticing immediately that Rizzo hadn't even had time to get a tan.
'What's going on?' Rizzo asked, sure that whatever it was must be serious.
Ferrara filled him in, and gave him all the documents and the memo he had prepared. Rizzo looked over the memo.
OPERATION STELLA
- Complete the map detailing all the buildings in the area where the girl was found.
- Wait for the authorisation to see Stella's medical records and have them examined by Dr Francesco Leone.
- Follow up the tests on Stella's clothes currently in progress by Forensics.
- Follow up the development of all lines of inquiry already begun (drug dealers, paedophiles, illegal immigrants).
—Assess whether it is necessary to involve the Juvenile Division further in the investigation.
- Follow up checks on the phone card used for the call to the emergency services.
- Follow any other leads as you see fit.
'If I'd read about this, chief, I'd have come back straightaway without waiting for Fanti to call me.'
'It hasn't been in the papers. When they found her, she was just one more junkie, that's not news, and when she died she was one more dead person in a hospital with more than a thousand patients.'
'Maybe it's better that way . . . All the same
'Go on, Francesco.'
'I was thinking we could put out a press statement, with Stella's description and photo . . . unless you've already done it.'
'No, it didn't seem appropriate. Besides, as she's a minor, we have to proceed with the utmost caution
'I know, but at this point publishing the photo may be of use to the investigation. It may be that someone will come forward, even if only through an anonymous phone call.'
'You may be right, but you'll have to ask Deputy Prosecutor Giulietti for authorisation.'
'You want me to do it?'
'Yes, Francesco. From now on, Operation Stella is all yours. I have something else to see to.'
And he told him about Massimo Verga's disappearance and the murder in Marina di Pietrasanta.
'Incredible,' Rizzo commented, genuinely concerned. He was a man of few words, but as down-to-earth and solid as his physique.
'Incredible but true, unfortunately. So you understand why I can't handle the Stella case as well? Apart from the time factor, my heart isn't in it.'
'Of course!'
'I'm going to the Versilia coast today to talk to the journalist who's been covering the case. And I may stay there for a few days.'
'If you need us, chief, we're here.'
'Thanks, Francesco, I know.'
'What about Commissioner Lepri? What shall I tell him?'
'Don't worry, I'll deal with him. I'll go and see him now and explain the situation. Apart from anything else, we have jurisdiction over Pietrasanta for certain kinds of crime, and anyway the victim lived in Florence and had his business here.'
'Let's hope he understands that and doesn't just say that the Carabinieri are dealing with it,' Rizzo said. Prophetic words.
As soon as the green light came on, giving him the go-ahead to enter Lepri's luxurious office, Ferrara was hit by an unstoppable torrent of words.
'How much longer will I have to keep calling you to order, Chief Superintendent? Don't you realise your work is here, in the most important city in Tuscany, a showcase of interest to the whole world? You have duties, you can't do everything off your own bat, trampling on the rules and cheerfully ignoring the hierarchy!'
He was purple. Ferrara had never seen him like this.
'I don't—' he began.
'"I don't" what? First you get the doctors at the Ospedale Nuovo all worked up, but I close my eyes to that. Then you interfere in a Carabinieri investigation, in another town to boot, and I have to hear about it from Rome, where they may well be starting disciplinary proceedings! Well, let me tell you this: if they do, I'm not going to save your skin. On the contrary ..."
Captain Fulvi is good, Ferrara thought.
'I haven't interfered in anyone's investigation,' he said, adding mentally: so far. 'I went there at their request to talk to them about an acquaintance of mine.'
'Oh, yes, Massimo Verga, the heartbreaker, the intellectual,' Lepri said, contemptuously. 'Watch out for that one! I've been making inquiries, you know. A subversive! You make a good couple! So, you "haven't interfered" . . . Oh no! It wasn't you who questioned the Contessa Servi, it was your double. And it wasn't your secretary, Fanti, who gathered information on Ugo Palladiani, the victim of the murder the Carabinieri are investigating. He also has a double. Florence is full of doubles!'
The Contessa Servi was good, too. Well, he should have expected it. Contessa or not, she was a gossip.
'It's true, I went to see the Contessa—'
'And I'm sure it wasn't to talk about the robbery, which strangely enough you haven't solved. I had to listen to all her complaints. The thieves are living it up in Florence, Ferrara, and you go to Pietrasanta to bother the—'
A friend of mine is involved in that case.'
The Commissioner leaned back in his armchair, exhausted. 'We've talked about that, Chief Superintendent, I don't want to hear any more. Drop the Palladiani case. That's an order. The Carabinieri are dealing with it and they're the only ones who should be dealing with it. If I find out you're anywhere near there again, for any reason, I'll take measures that'll make you regret it, I assure you! And make sure you don't bother the Contessa again . . . unless it's to restore her bloody fan collection to her!'
'Don't worry, I won't bother her. In fact . . .' - the idea came to him as he spoke - '. . . the reason I came to see you was to tell you that I'm taking a few days' holiday'
'Good idea. Yes, go. I think you need it. You never take a break. It'll do you good. Go, go. Get as far away from here as you can!'
When he got back to his office, he summoned all his men and told them that he was putting Rizzo in charge. They all guessed the true reason for this sudden 'holiday'. The team's bad mood was tangible.
It was then that Ciuffi of Narcotics, as if to relieve the tension, said, 'Chief, we may be about to nab those two Albanians I told you about on Monday. They're on their way back to Florence, together with a Florentine we think they're in cahoots with. They left this morning, stopped rather suspiciously in the Versilia service area on the A12 autostrada, carried on as far as the tollbooth, then turned round and started back. I've given orders to the traffic police to stop them for a routine check as soon as they've passed the Lucca tollbooth. Some of our people will be with the patrol. If they're carrying what I think, those three are well and truly fucked!'
'Well done, Ciuffi. It certainly doesn't seem normal for someone to go for a little drive along the autostrada and then just turn round and come back! Did you see what they were doing during their stop?'
'Almost nothing. They parked in the heavy goods vehicle area, and were practically hidden in the middle of all the lorries. Our people couldn't go any nearer for fear of being spotted. But they did see them load a spare tyre in the car, so in my opinion we're on the right track. The whole scene was captured on video and in still photos. We'll be having a good look at them.'
'Good. Who knows? Once you've got the three of them, you may even be able to get them to give us a lead on the dealer who supplied the drugs that killed Stella ..."
'Possible . . . But these are tough cookies.'
Tm sure they are, but you know what they say? Where there's life there's hope.'
Ciuffi smiled. 'They also say "That'll be the day".'
'Whatever happens, report back to Superintendent Rizzo, he'll know what to do.'
'Right, chief.'
'And if you need any of the team, they're here.' Everyone nodded.
*
While Petra packed, Ferrara started phoning around in search of a hotel that still had a room available even though it was high season. At the fo
urteenth attempt, he had a stroke of luck: a room had become available that very day at the Principe, one of the best seafront hotels in Marina di Pietrasanta.
They arrived early in the afternoon. They had spent the whole journey in silence, not even playing music, as neither of them felt in the mood for it.
Once they had unpacked, they went out for a stroll along the seafront.
It was very hot, but for Petra it was an attempt to take her mind off things and for Ferrara a chance to have a look around. They went as far as the Twiga, which was on the border between Marina di Pietrasanta and Forte dei Marmi, and could be recognised by its logo, a giraffe's head, on a banner. Just before they got there, Ferrara saw Simonetta Palladiani's villa again. It was no longer being guarded, but it had been sealed.
The sun was high. Cars, mopeds and lots of bicycles sped along the street. The entrances to the bathing establishments, some of them quite elaborate and imaginative, blocked the view of the sea, which was glimpsed only through the odd gap. The beach was packed.
On the way back they stopped in front of the villa and peered, like any two curious passers-by, through the cracks in one of the two solid wooden gates, one giving access to the drive leading to the garage behind the house, the other to the small, well-tended front garden. The house itself was a handsome pale ochre building. There were two side wings, each two storeys high, set slightly back, flanking a central one-storey section topped by a broad terrace beyond which a corridor joining the side wings was visible. The dark green shutters were closed.
'A pity about that thing,' Petra said, pointing to the canvas-covered scaffolding which towered over the perimeter wall. 'It blocks out the view. What's the point of having a house facing the sea and then not being able to see it?'
'Yes,' Ferrara agreed, at a loss for an explanation. It seemed unlikely that it was an attempt to shield the villa and its occupants from prying eyes, and he noticed that this wasn't the only villa protected like this.
The mystery was solved by the porter at the Principe when they got back to the hotel. The canvas was a special material which let those inside see out but prevented sand and salt, blown in on the wind from the sea, from corroding the door and window frames, or at least slowed down the effects.
It was nearly time for his appointment. Ferrara suggested to Petra that she take advantage of the hotel's swimming pool, said goodbye to her, and set off for the Twiga.
The cars parked in the palm-shaded car park of the Twiga Beach Club made it very clear that this was an exclusive venue.
Young waiters and waitresses, all in yellow ‘I-shirts bearing the club's logo, were serving aperitifs to members sitting around low tables in surroundings decorated in African style. A beautiful girl came up to him and asked him if she could help him, in such a way as to make it clear to him that if he wasn't a member, and didn't intend becoming one, he wasn't welcome. He told her he had an appointment with someone and she asked who. The name Claudia Pizzi meant nothing to her, but a man who was just passing, and who also seemed to be part of the staff, heard him and butted in.
'She's a journalist on Il Tirreno. She told me last night she'd be coming in for an aperitif with a friend. Show him to the Chiringuito.'
'Follow me,' the beautiful girl said, and led him past the swimming pool. The pastel shades of the huts, each one a different colour, were reflected on the surface of the water. They reached a bar covered over by a straw roof, at the very edge of the beach. Two barmen in identical T-shirts were serving.
He ordered a soft drink and watched the members sunbathing or relaxing in the shade of wide, elegant white tents, each supported at the sides by four wooden poles. Each tent contained two deckchairs, two sunbeds, a director's chair and a small table. He didn't even want to think how much it cost to spend a day here, let alone the whole season.
What he thought instead was that for the first time he was truly alone: alone to confront what was probably the most difficult mission of his life. The journalist he was waiting for might be the only ally he could count on. She certainly seemed to have the same respect as he did for the value of friendship.
But she was late. He looked at his watch. It was 6.14.
At 6.30 he started to get worried, and at 6.40 he tried to call her on her mobile but either there was no network or the phone had been turned off. At 6.55 he phoned the newspaper but they told him they hadn't seen her all day. He tried her home number and got the answering machine as usual. Once again, he left a message asking her to call him, adding this time that he was staying at the Principe and giving the number of the hotel.
At 7.15 his mobile rang.
'Ferrara!' he said, hoping that his tone made it clear that even if she was a woman she didn't have the right to make him wait so long.
Am I disturbing you, chief?'
It was Rizzo.
Were they already starting to bother him from the office?
'No, not at all. What is it?'
'It's sensational, chief! Ciuffi caught those Albanians red-handed. And what a haul!' 'How much?'
'Ten kilos of heroin, chief! Ten kilos!'
Ferarra let out a prolonged whistle. It really was sensational, the kind of coup that rarely happens in the life of a policeman, and only if he's very lucky. 'Have you told Lepri?'
'I thought you'd want to do it.'
'I'm on holiday, Francesco.'
'But. . .' his deputy tried to insist, knowing full well that if he did so, he would end up getting the credit for the operation.
'No "but"s. You tell Lepri, but first put me through to Ciuffi, if you can.'
'Sure, he's right here. Hold on a second.'
'Good evening, chief.' Ciuffi sounded rather emotional.
'Congratulations, Ciuffi. Excellent work. I hope you still have wall space left to cover with newspaper articles!'
'We haven't informed the media yet.'
'I'm sure Lepri will see to that, don't worry. It's only right that your work is publicly acknowledged.'
'Thank you, chief.'
He was about to say goodbye, when he remembered Stella. 'One more thing, Ciuffi.' 'Yes, chief?'
As soon as possible, put in a request to the deputy prosecutor - it's Cosenza, isn't it? - for authorisation to bug the Albanians' cell, unless you've already thought of it.'
Listening to the prisoners' conversations might give them useful information, especially on the source of the drugs and the names of any accomplices. But Ferrara also hoped they might be able to kill two birds with one stone and learn something that would help them in the Stella case: although he was no longer dealing with it directly, it was still on his mind. That'll be the day, Ciuffi had said, but maybe the day was coming.
'Not just the Albanians, chief. There's also the guy from Florence, Emilio Zancarotti. The three of them are in the same cell.'
'Better still. Maybe they'll talk in Italian, not just in Albanian!'
It was already after seven thirty. He paid and left.
14
The newspapers on 9 August did not mention any significant new developments in the Ugo Palladiani case, although all of them, including Il Tirreno, took it as an established fact that it had been murder. Il Tirreno tried to recapture the ground lost the day before, with a long article by someone other than Claudia Pizzi. He called the editorial offices, but it was early and they told him she wasn't there yet, so he tried her home number, without success.
He tried again a little later, while he was having breakfast with Petra in the still half-empty dining room, but just got the answering machine as he had the previous evening. He did not bother leaving a message. He immediately dialled Claudia's mobile number, which rang for a long time without being answered. He assumed she was in her car, on her way to the newspaper. She must have had the phone in her handbag along with a thousand other things, like all women, and in all probability did not even hear it. But she would see that he had called and would phone him back, so it was best not to insist and to concentrate on his n
ext move.
What should it be? He decided he did not have much choice. Too bad if the Carabinieri found out.
He left his car in a car park near the Piazza Carducci, one of the gateways to the 'Athens of Italy' beloved by the poet Carducci. A marble plaque on the wall quoted a sentence from one of his letters: 'What I like about Pietrasanta: a beautiful town, with a unique square, a big city cathedral and the Apuan Alps in the background.'
The square and the cathedral were right there, but to find the Via Martiri di Sant'Anna he had to ask his way several times, walk the whole length of the Via Mazzini to the other side of town and then through part of what until a short time before must have been the outskirts, with fields all around.
Once he was there he had no difficulty in spotting the apartment building Claudia had described. The other buildings were all villas.
There were two entrances with two entry-phones, and next to one he saw a handwritten card that said Barberi. He rang the bell.
Once, twice, three times. At the third long ring a man's voice answered.
'If you're the press, you can shove off,' the man almost yelled, clearly exasperated by the harassment he must have received from journalists. Ferrara knew how persistent and annoying they could be, especially in a small town like this where nothing usually happened.
'I'm not the press,' he replied, gently but determinedly.
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