Death in Tuscany

by Michele Giuttari

  'You may be right. . . And what happens then?'

  'We'll be there, waiting for him.'

  'If he comes! He could just as easily send someone else, don't you think?'

  'That's not the most important thing. The important thing is to get Massimo and Simonetta back

  'But at this point it's better if you get him.'

  The words, spoken in a low voice, struck him. Are you afraid?'

  The old man smiled ironically. Afraid? Me? Salvatore Laprua has never been afraid of anyone! I've lived with fear since I was born, now I don't even know what it is any more . . . No, it's not that. . . it's just that we don't like these foreign criminals. They don't have any rules, they don't respect women, they don't keep their word, they kill people for no reason . . . they're turning Italy upside down.'

  It might have seemed strange, coming from him, but it wasn't. The fact that he referred to rules that were fast disappearing from the underworld marked Zi Turi out as a boss of the old generation. A generation that had considered Italy, or at least a part of it, as their own property, and therefore opposed change.

  Ferrara smiled at the irony of the bizarre alliance between police and Mafia which he had set up. The forces of order and the underworld united against the foreign invader!

  'What now?' Laprua asked. 'Now we wait for his text message.'

  The old man nodded and looked at his watch. 'Rina!' he called.

  The woman soon appeared.

  'Chief Superintendent Ferrara is honouring us with his presence at our table. Get out a bottle of Firriato, please!'

  Ferrara hadn't counted on this, but he realised that he couldn't say no.

  Before his wife walked out of the room, Laprua added, 'Rinuzza, another thing ... if anyone asks for me, I'm not feeling well. I don't want to see anyone. The chief superintendent and I still have a lot of things to talk about. He's a Sicilian, did you know that?'

  The lunch was all based around authentic Sicilian products, like the wine which Laprua kept praising.

  'They make it in our area, in Firriato, near Trapani, a place rich in wines. They make as much wine as Piedmont and Tuscany put together . . . What a taste, eh?'

  Ferrara would have preferred not to touch alcohol, but he knew it would be rude of him not to humour his host. As he drank, he realised it would have been unforgivably rude twice over.

  'Do you know why it's called that?' 'The wine?'

  'The village, too. It's a very old name. To increase the population, the prince who founded the village gave the peasants pieces of land for growing vines, and these pieces of land, which were under his protection, were known asfirriati.'

  'Nice to know'

  When it was time for Ferrara to go, the two men said goodbye with a firm handshake and the understanding that as soon as Laprua received the text message, he would let him know with three rings on his private mobile, Ferrara having left him the number.

  'To you, my home is always open!'

  These were the words with which Zi Turi bade him goodbye.

  38

  The following morning, while they were taking stock at Headquarters of the first phase of Operation Stella, assessing the outcome of the house searches, and waiting to interview the men under investigation for criminal conspiracy, an important interview was getting under way in the Prosecutor's Department.

  It was exactly nine o'clock when Emilio Zancarotti, escorted by two prison guards, entered the room used for interviewing witnesses who might turn State's evidence. Waiting for him, along with Superintendent Ciuffi, were Deputy Prosecutors Erminia Cosenza and Anna Giulietti.

  From the start, Zancarotti demonstrated the clear intention of cooperating with the law in order to be included, together with his family, in a witness protection programme which would guarantee his physical safety.

  He started by explaining the drug trafficking and money laundering operation in which he was involved, supplying details both of those members of the Albanian criminal organisation whom he knew, and of how the money had been invested. Then he talked about the abduction of Simonetta Palladiani and was just telling them what he knew about the murder of Claudia Pizzi, which had been ordered by Salvatore Laprua, when Ciuffi felt his mobile vibrate in the inside pocket of his jacket. He left the room to answer it. It was Serpico.

  'A message from the chief. Can you tell Deputy Prosecutor Giulietti that the contact we were waiting for has been made.' 'What does it say?' 'Four.' What?'

  'Four!' Serpico repeated, and continued, 'Just that. The chief knows what it means and he's gone to see the person

  'Got that, Sergi,' Ciuffi said. 'I'll tell her.'

  'Good morning, Zi Turi,' Ferrara said, shaking his hand firmly. 'I came as soon as I heard the three rings.'

  'I got the message,' Laprua replied, dressed in his best clothes and ready to go out.

  'What does it say?'

  'Four.'

  Ferrara nodded, pleased that Laprua was keeping to his word: the number corresponded to the text message his men had intercepted. The public phone had been placed under surveillance along with the others.

  'Shall we go?' he said.

  'There's no rush ... we still have time and the bar's right near here.'

  'But I'd prefer it if we left now,' Ferrara insisted.

  As you wish,' Laprua replied, with a slight smile on his lips. 'Rina, I won't be long,' he said to his wife.

  The woman, who had not spoken a word the day before, didn't say anything this time either.

  *

  The two plain-clothes officers on guard, one of them pretending to read a newspaper on a bench in the square not far from the apartment, the other lounging in the doorway of a building across the street, smoking a cigarette, were surprised to see Chief Superintendent Ferrara come out with the old Mafia boss.

  When they were near the officer in the square, Ferrara apologised to Laprua, asked him to wait, and walked over to the bench.

  The officer stood up.

  Turning his back on Laprua, Ferrara quickly gave him his instructions and then told him to follow him. He led him over to Laprua.

  'This is one of my men,' he said. 'I trust him. It'll be up to him to protect you when I'm not there.'

  The old man made no comment. He realised he was under a kind of house arrest, and could only hope it was just a temporary measure until the Chief Superintendent's friend was recovered. Then, if Ferrara kept his word, it would all be over.

  If Ferrara kept his word.

  For Ferrara, all that mattered right now was that the old man knew he could not leave home freely.

  They continued walking towards the canal.

  Laprua walked slowly, stopping from time to time.

  His breathing was somewhat laboured, a sign that he was not in very good health.

  They walked along the quayside. The place was packed. Locals, holidaymakers and fishermen mingled in a carefree, brightly coloured crowd, and Ferrara wondered if they would be equally carefree knowing that a powerful Mafia boss walked among them, a man who dealt in drugs and death. Was it a good or a bad thing that they didn't know?

  They entered a cafe called the New York and Laprua looked at his watch. There were still ten minutes to go. 'Let's have a coffee,' he suggested, and chose a table. 'It's on me.'

  'No. It'll be a pleasure for me to buy you a coffee. You offered me a cigar yesterday . . . and this is where I live, it's up to me.'

  When he ordered, he told the young waiter that he'd taken the liberty of giving the telephone number of this cafe to a friend, and was waiting for him to call, could he please let him know when the call came.

  'No problem,' the waiter replied. He did not seem to know Laprua, nor did anyone else in the place.

  The call came exactly on time.

  Laprua stood up, and when Ferrara did the same he reacted slightly irritably but made no objection. Ferrara followed him at a short distance. The bar was packed and noisy and he couldn't hear much of the conversation, but if ne
cessary he'd be able to hear the recording later.

  'Viktor?' Laprua said as soon as he picked up the receiver. Then, a few moments later, 'I have it.'

  After that, Ferrara caught only snatches over the din of voices and dishes and orders hurled from the room to the barman.

  '. . . you have to come here this time . . .' 'there's no danger . . .' 'that's your problem, once I've handed it over . . .'

  The negotiation took a while, and Ferrara felt a pang in his heart when he caught the words '. . . do you still have the man . . .?' but he couldn't read the answer in the old man's glacial expression.

  Nor in the way he stared at Ferrara after he had put the phone down and was coming towards him.

  'Well?' Ferrara asked.

  'Ten o'clock tonight, quarry 225.' 'Does he still have Massimo Verga?'

  The man let a few seconds go by, still looking in Ferrara's eyes, enigmatically. 'Yes,' he said at last.

  The lump in his throat - and in his soul - dissolved all at once in an expression that surprised him more than Laprua, but would have moved Petra.

  'Gott sei Dank!' he exclaimed and closed his eyes.

  They had gone back to Laprua's apartment, where they had gone over the preparations. Ferrara did not want to go before making sure there would be no other contacts, even though all the telephones were being tapped and he felt quite calm because everything that Laprua had done so far had showed that he was keeping to his side of the bargain. In any case, he preferred to wait there for Rizzo's call.

  Laprua said he was feeling tired and asked permission to go to his bedroom and take a nap. He left his mobile in the living room. Ferrara could only hope he didn't have another one.

  Rizzo's call came just after two. 'Chief, it's all arranged. They're ready to move in. Everything's going well at the Prosecutor's Department, too.'

  'What happened there?'

  'Zancarotti has come clean about everything . . . even the murder of Claudia Pizzi.' 'Excellent, Francesco.'

  'They only finished a few minutes ago and Ciuffi is joining me at Headquarters with a copy of the statement and the request from the Prosecutor's Department to the Head of the State Police to provide immediate protection for Zancarotti and his family'

  'Good. We'll talk about that ... In the meantime get the men together as agreed. We'll meet at the police station in Carrara at six.' 'Okay, chief.'

  Laprua, having finished his nap or perhaps having been disturbed by this conversation, came back into the living room and they went over the strategy.

  They fine-tuned the last details and Ferrara said goodbye.

  'We'll pick you up about five, is that okay?'

  'I'll be waiting.'

  39

  'A black Ford Fiesta with four people on board, a red lorry with a green tarpaulin, no passengers, just the driver, and behind it a silver Alfa 156 with another four people.'

  Superintendent Ascalchi was hidden in the vegetation just after the last bend in the dirt road leading to quarry 225, talking on his two-way radio to Chief Superintendent Ferrara and the two strategically placed patrols, one just above and one just below the Fantiscritti fork, which the Albanians would have to pass on their way back.

  'I'll give you the licence numbers ..."

  It was 9.45 p.m.

  Ferrara was in the quarry, waiting for the convoy, along with Salvatore Laprua, Superintendent Rizzo, Inspector Sergi, Sergeant Fanti, two constables and one of the workers. The other workers, almost all unskilled labour put in by the Mafia, had been sent home in the afternoon by Laprua, who had kept just that one worker because he trusted him blindly.

  Ferrara and Fanti ran to hide behind the tanker lorry. Laprua stayed where he was, next to the sheet metal prefab which served as an office. Rizzo and the others spread out,

  although they all remained well within sight, close to Laprua, as if they were his men.

  Ferrara would have preferred to be closer to the thick of the action, so that he could control it, but he was too well known and he did not want to take the risk of being recognised by the Albanians.

  At last the vehicles appeared: first the Ford Fiesta, then the lorry, and finally the Alfa Romeo. They stopped at the entrance to the clearing.

  The scene was illuminated by the moonlight reflected off the white wall of the mountain, as well as the weak lighting from the prefab and the car headlights.

  The Albanians got out of their vehicles.

  Nine of them in all, armed with pistols and submachine guns. Two of them stayed close to the lorry, ready to open fire at the least sign of danger.

  From his position, Ferrara squinted with the effort to make out Massimo's silhouette in one of the vehicles, but they all looked empty. The hostages must be in the lorry, hidden under the tarpaulin. He tried to figure out which of the men was Viktor Makregi, but as far as he could see none of them bore any resemblance to the identikit that had been put together from Elisa Rocca's description.

  As Laprua had predicted, the Albanians' boss had been too cautious and mistrustful to show up.

  For a few minutes, they were all still, sizing each other up. Then the Albanians, satisfied that no one on the other side seemed to be carrying a weapon, talked briefly among themselves, and one of them, either the man in charge of the operation or the one who spoke Italian best, started walking towards them.

  Laprua did not go to meet him. He stayed where he was and waited for the man to come closer, as if to underline his superior rank in the hierarchy.

  'Where are they?' he asked, when the man, who was short and sturdy with black hair and sky-blue eyes, was near him.

  'And heroin?' the Albanian retorted. 'Where is?'

  'It's here. We've got it hidden. But first you have to show me the woman at least . . . You're all armed. What's to say you won't take the drugs without keeping your side of the bargain?'

  The man made a face. Armed, yes ... we make conditions, not you.'

  'You're wrong. If you kill us, you'll never find the drugs. More than that, you'll never get out of here alive. You can only see a few of us. We have other men in hiding,' he bluffed. 'They're on the mountain and on the road, and they're watching you. They have their orders. If all goes well, they won't do anything to you, they won't harm a hair on your heads, but if anything goes wrong ..."

  The Albanian's left eye twitched. Wait here,' he said and turned back to confer with his people.

  They talked in Albanian for a few minutes which seemed to last forever, then the man came back followed by two others. In the meantime Rizzo and the others started to gather around Laprua.

  'Not good. If your men wait for us, we do swap then you kill us . . . not good.'

  'You have to trust us,' Zi Turi said.

  The man translated and the other two burst into a scornful laugh. Then one of them gave him a few curt, almost shouted instructions.

  'We do swap, then you come with us.'

  Ferrara stiffened. He hadn't foreseen this possibility and he didn't like it.

  Rizzo clearly didn't like it either. 'Leave him be,' he said. 'He's an old man. I'll come with you.'

  Christ! Ferrara thought. Has he gone mad? He knew perfectly well what Rizzo was doing, but he couldn't allow one of his men to sacrifice himself, not even to save Massimo's life. Why wasn't he there instead of Rizzo, as he should have been?

  He was about to make the irreparable mistake of coming out into the open when the Albanian's contemptuous reply prevented him.

  'You no good. They kill us and also you, who cares? But they not kill him.' He nodded towards Laprua.

  Now everything depended on Laprua.

  'I'll come with you,' he said.

  But Ferrara didn't like this either. He couldn't allow the situation to get out of control, even in the smallest way. He was almost tempted to radio Ascalchi and tell him to come immediately with the teams who were waiting just a few miles down the road, but in all probability that would lead to a bloodbath. For the second time, he just had to resig
n himself to the situation.

  'On one condition,' Rizzo said, freezing the smiles of satisfaction on the Albanians' faces.

  'What?'

  'We follow him and bring him back when you let him go.'

  The man translated. Then the man who was giving instructions exchanged a few words with the others. Finally the one who was translating said, 'You follow us, we kill him.'

  Rizzo didn't have time to reply. In a tired but determined voice, Laprua said, 'I guarantee, no one will follow you. Now let's go.' He gave Rizzo a cold look and started walking slowly to the Albanians' cars.

  He was made to sit in the back seat of the Alfa, and one of the Albanians sat down next to him.

  They lifted the back of the tarpaulin and took out two flat metal boards. The hostages must have been under a false bottom on the bed of the lorry.

  Ferrara kept his eyes peeled on the lorry. It was hard to see clearly because of the glare of the headlights, but he had the impression they were bringing a man out first. Yes, it was a man, and Ferrara had to make an effort to hold back a sudden wave of emotion. The man had his hands tied behind his back and a hood over his head. He seemed in a poor physical state, perhaps in pain, at least judging by the way he moved. Unsteady on his legs, he groped for the side of the lorry as if for support.

  Then it was the turn of a woman. She, too, had her hands tied behind her back and a hood over her head. She was steadier on her feet than the man, as if she had been treated more gently during her captivity.