‘What of it?’ said Fernando, more surprised than angry now.
‘What did you all make of it?’
Fernando shrugged. ‘Paolo always reminded me of Toad of Toad Hall. He was into one thing, then he was into another. He had such an appetite for life.’ He sniffed, and smoothed down his scarf once more. ‘Such a bloody waste.’
‘It seems obvious to me that the football obsession was due to Giacometti’s relationship with Aconi.’
He watched their three mouths drop open. Finally, here was something real. Nobody, not even these national institutions, could do surprise like that.
None of them said a word for several seconds until Fernando stammered. ‘Aconi, the footballer?’
‘The very same.’
‘Surely not.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, the guy’s straight, for starters.’ Fernando was looking at Scamarcio as if he was simple.
‘He’s not, he’s bisexual. But he keeps that side of things quiet — bad for business, and all that.’
‘For Christ’s sake.’ Dandini expelled a hot blast of air. For a moment, Scamarcio felt his rank breath against his cheek. He noticed that Dandini was blinking rapidly, that he seemed to be really struggling with this news.
Fernando remained one step ahead. ‘OK, let’s say we make that leap of faith, and it’s one bloody big leap — what the hell does that have to do with the Micky Proietti business?’
‘Micky broke them up. Paolo Giacometti was in love with Aconi, so Micky introduced Aconi to someone else, knowing he’d lose interest in Paolo.’
‘Why would Micky do that?’ asked Fernando, but Scamarcio sensed he already knew.
‘Because, as many people have told me, and, as I’m sure you’re all aware, it seems that Proietti was generally a bit of a bastard. And, more to the point, he was jealous of Giacometti.’
He studied the three men opposite him. They no longer appeared to be following him; their expressions were alternating between surprise, disappointment, regret, and fury. Fernando looked like someone who had just been betrayed in the worst possible way. Scamarcio couldn’t understand why he might feel like this; Giacometti had hardly betrayed him. Scamarcio considered whether Fernando might be jealous, then remembered seeing all the photo spreads of him and his beautiful young wife. He didn’t think it probable that Fernando would have a sexual interest in Giacometti. So what was it then, this sense of betrayal? And what was eating Dandini so badly?
Scamarcio was still missing something, something crucial.
He excused himself and stepped outside the café for a moment on the pretence of making a call. He really just wanted time alone to think. It had started to rain, and the film crew was packing up equipment. He watched a cluster of shabby pigeons descend from the roof of the cathedral to a spot by a bench where someone had discarded a soggy sandwich.
He lit another Marlboro and decided to make the pretence real. He called Manetti, taking a long smoke while the line rang out.
‘You got anything from that house where we found the boy?’ he asked when Manetti finally picked up.
‘Always wasting time with chit-chat, aren’t you, Scamarcio?’ he sighed.
‘Well, have you?’
‘It’s like Termini in there.’
‘What — rentboys and needles?’
‘No. I’ve got a shitload of DNA from a shitload of people, and so far, none of it matches anything on the database.’
‘What if I DHL you three samples from Trieste?’
‘What do you mean, what if? What will I do? Dance a jig of joy? Cancel my Friday-night date with the wife at Ditirambo — which, incidentally, is a last-ditch attempt to save my marriage …’
‘Is it?’
Manetti’s sigh sent a high-pitched shriek down the line. ‘Don’t make me fucking cancel my dinner date, Scamarcio.’
‘Look, if I send them now, they’d be with you by … er, I don’t know.’
‘They wouldn’t be here in time.’
‘Would you look at them first thing tomorrow, then? Please, Manetti. Chief Mancino has our balls in a vice. I’ve got to get a result.’
‘You and everyone else.’
‘I’m begging you. I’ll owe you one.’
‘You and everyone else.’
‘Oh for God’s …’
‘I’ll look at them when I look at them. That boy’s been found. I don’t see the urgency.’
The line went dead, and Scamarcio flung his mobile in the gutter. ‘Lazy fucker,’ he muttered before lighting another Marlboro and bending down to retrieve his phone.
When he stepped back inside the café, the three actors were talking animatedly, hands arcing through the air, fingers bunched in sharp entreaties. Scamarcio figured that, maybe, being actors, they always spoke to each other like that. But then he noticed Fernando sending furious glares Pepe’s way. There was trouble in paradise — no doubt about it. As Scamarcio approached, the three of them fell silent.
‘Here’s the deal, gentlemen,’ he said, placing both palms on the table. ‘You give me a strand of your hair, and then I’ll let you go. For the time being.’
‘Won’t an autograph suffice?’ said Fernando, rolling his eyes.
‘But we don’t have anything to do with this,’ said Pepe, sounding like a wronged child. He was the youngest of the three, and, with his round cheeks and downy beard, he did come across as the ingénue.
‘That’s why I need the hair — so I can eliminate you from my inquiries.’
Scamarcio took an evidence pack from his holdall, tore it open, and put on the plastic gloves inside. He then unsealed three plastic bags from their containers and snapped open the cap on a pair of sterile tweezers.
‘Bullshit,’ said Fernando, ripping several strands from the top of his head and looking for a moment as if he were auditioning to play the Jack Nicholson role in One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest. ‘I’ve done enough police procedurals to know where you’re going with this.’
‘And where would that be?’
Fernando barred his arms across his huge chest and just glared at Scamarcio. Scamarcio deposited his hair in the bag and sealed it. He wrote Fernando’s name carefully on the label.
‘And you, gentlemen.’ He held a bag open for Dandini, who quickly tore a hair from the crown of his head and then looked away.
Pepe seemed to spend some quite considerable time trying to decide which patch of hair to plunder until Fernando said: ‘For God’s sake. It’s one hair — nobody’s going to notice.’
Scamarcio fell silent as he carefully finished packaging and sealing the evidence. He wished them well for the rest of the shoot, and assured them they’d be hearing from him soon. But even as he said the words, he had a sinking feeling that these three might yet slip away from him.
38
IT WAS LATE ON SATURDAY night when Manetti called. Scamarcio had been toying with the idea of paying Fiammetta di Bondi a visit, but kept rejecting it for a variety of different reasons that had at their root the same core issue: cowardice.
‘So what’s it to be?’ asked Manetti.
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Are you paying for dinner at Ditirambo for me and the wife, or will it be a cash prize, or a voucher for the Thai sauna on Via Pellice?’
‘Did you find something?’
‘It’s not whether I found something,’ said Manetti, exasperated. ‘It’s whether I did the work. I gave up a Friday night and a Saturday for you, Scamarcio.’
‘For which I’m extremely grateful,’ said Scamarcio, not feeling grateful at all. He couldn’t feel grateful if there wasn’t a result.
‘I got a partial match on Dandini.’
Scamarcio scratched at the side of his mouth. ‘Well, that doesn’t really rock my boat, Manetti. His half-brother is mar
ried to the woman who owns the apartment. No doubt, there’ll be a partial.’
‘Yeah, but I got two partials.’
Scamarcio screwed up his mouth. ‘How can you get two partials?’
‘I got a partial on male DNA that matched the conductor fellow whose wife owns it.’
‘And the other partial?’
‘On the little boy, the Proietti boy.’
Scamarcio’s mind couldn’t catch up; he saw black, and rubbed at his forehead. ‘Sorry, tell me again.’
‘Jesus, I thought you were supposed to be the department’s great white hope. I got a partial match between Dandini and Proietti’s boy.’
‘So, what does that mean?’
‘Scamarcio, did you go through police training?’
Scamarcio still couldn’t follow. Manetti seemed to grow tired of waiting, and snapped: ‘If I get a partial to Proietti’s boy, it means Proietti’s boy is not his boy. You read me, Scamarcio? You even there?’
‘Fuck,’ he said, realisation finally dawning. ‘Proietti is Dandini’s kid?’
‘Bingo. Christ, you’re off the boil. Was it a late one?’
Scamarcio ignored him. ‘Maia Proietti had sex with Dandini and fell pregnant by him …’ he said, trying to process it.
‘If someone has a kid that generally tends to be what happens first; what sets the whole thing in motion, as it were.’
‘Fuck,’ Scamarcio repeated.
‘Not only smart but eloquent,’ muttered Manetti before hanging up.
Scamarcio was leaving the squadroom, heading out for Dandini’s place, when he saw the young actor Bini coming up the stairs. There was an expression in his eyes that Scamarcio didn’t like.
‘Mr Bini. How can I help you?’
‘I wanted a word, actually.’
‘I’m just going out. I’ve got a development on the Proietti case I need to follow up.’
Bini looked at him nervously, his eyes shifting away from his gaze. He seemed considerably paler than when they’d met at the commercial shoot, although Scamarcio reminded himself that he had been caked in foundation back then.
‘That’s why I’m here, Detective. I’ve got information I think you should have.’
‘Is this something you’ve learned since we spoke?’
Bini looked at the ground, studying his pristine Stan Smiths. ‘I wasn’t completely straight with you.’
Scamarcio motioned to the two uniforms he’d arranged to take with him to Dandini’s. ‘Give us ten minutes. I’ll see you around the back.’
When Bini was seated on the other side of Scamarcio’s untidy desk, he said: ‘So, this information of yours?’
‘Dandini and I are good friends.’
Scamarcio nodded, saying nothing.
‘I think he may have been involved in the Proietti thing.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because he and Maia Proietti had been having an affair.’ Bini coughed nervously and added: ‘For years now.’
Scamarcio frowned. ‘That’s quite an age gap.’
Bini scratched at his nose and recrossed his legs. ‘Love works in mysterious ways.’
Scamarcio allowed it to sink in for a moment. ‘But why would Dandini go so far as to stage a kidnapping?’
‘They wanted to flee, to run away. I think it could have been part of the plan.’
‘How would that have played out? Dandini wouldn’t have been able to work again if they’d disappeared.’
‘I don’t think they’d thought it through that far. I just know they were in love and that they wanted to finally get away from Micky. Be a family.’
‘Be a family with Dandini’s kid.’
Bini’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ of surprise. ‘So you know?’
‘Just found out, as it happens.’ Scamarcio evened out some crumpled papers on his desk as he allowed a thought to take shape. ‘Why are you telling me all this now?’
‘I’m worried about Dandini. He’s been in pieces since Maia died. He’s desperate — I’ve got a feeling he might try something stupid.’
‘Stupid like what?’
‘Like trying to snatch the kid again.’
Scamarcio looked up sharply from his notepad. ‘You think?’
‘He called me after he got back to Rome last night, saying all kinds of weird stuff. He’d been drinking, but he’s clearly in a very dark place. I’m worried he’s going to drag the kid right down there with him.’
Scamarcio scratched at his temple. Dot the Is, cross the Ts, he told himself. ‘Where does Paolo Giacometti fit in to all this?’
‘I came across him and Dandini chatting one time, after rehearsals. They were talking about “roughing up Maia”. When I asked Dandini about it, he said they’d just been discussing a practical joke, that there was nothing to worry about. It was only later, when the news of the kidnapping broke, that I began to put two and two together.’
‘Why the hell didn’t you come to us earlier?’
‘I wanted to put it to Dandini first.’
‘You were up in Trieste shooting with him — you had more than enough time to do that.’
Bini said nothing.
‘For fuck’s sake — there was a kid involved.’
Bini just looked into his lap and swallowed.
Scamarcio gave him a few moments and then asked: ‘Why would they do this? Come up with such a bizarre plan?’
Bini sighed. ‘There are an awful lot of people who feel like they have scores to settle, who’ve seen their pay diminish year after year under Proietti. Dandini used to complain that his value had been slashed, despite providing Micky with success after success. I’d heard others say the same.’
‘Others like Fernando and Pepe?’
Bini waved a hand away. ‘That’s not the point. The point is the kid.’
Yeah, now you’re finally thinking about him, you hypocritical fucker. Scamarcio wanted to punch the idiot, rearrange his perfect white smile.
Scamarcio took a breath, trying to stay focussed. ‘Micky Proietti is surrounded by police officers, we’ve …’ He stopped. If Dandini was hell-bent on snatching the kid, he might yet find a way.
‘OK, I hear you, Mr Bini,’ said Scamarcio, reaching for his phone. ‘Don’t go anywhere; I need to make some calls.’
It didn’t take long for Dandini to show up outside Proietti’s apartment.
When Scamarcio and three officers emerged from the shadows, the actor tried to make a run for it, but he was too slow for the uniforms, and they had him pinned him to the ground within seconds.
‘He’s ruined my life. He’s ruined my bloody life, that bastard. All I want is my boy, let me get my boy,’ said Dandini, trying to wrestle himself free. For someone in his late fifties, he seemed remarkably strong.
Scamarcio bent down so his face was level with Dandini’s. The actor’s eyes were wild, and he was perspiring heavily. ‘You know we can’t do that, Mr Dandini. These kinds of paternity issues have to pass through the courts. You should have allowed all this to play out normally. Getting involved in this stupid scheme has resulted in nothing but disaster.’
Dandini shook his head violently. ‘You don’t understand Micky. He’s a fucker; a vindictive little shit. He’d never have allowed Maia and me to start a life together. He’d have done something, something terrible.’
‘More terrible than what’s already happened? More terrible than losing the woman you love? Than robbing your boy of his mother?’
At that moment, Dandini started trembling and sobbing. The officers lifted him carefully to his feet and delivered him to the waiting Panther.
As interviews went, it had started out straightforwardly enough. Dandini, burnt out and devastated, had confessed to his involvement in the kidnapping and to the paternity of Proietti’s son but, like G
iacometti, although he’d spoken about ‘others’, he’d refused to enter into specifics. Scamarcio concluded that the omertà among Rome’s acting fraternity was on a par with anything he’d ever experienced down south.
Maia Proietti, Dandini claimed, had been happy enough to play the victim in the ransom video. She knew all about her husband’s infidelity, and had no compassion left. It gave her some small satisfaction that he was finally being made to pay. Maia had been a trained actress, but Micky had never allowed her to pursue her career, Dandini lamented. It was at this moment that Scamarcio finally understood what had been bothering him about that video. Maia had given a good performance — it was highly convincing — but, like Dandini in the café, something in her eyes had told a different story. Scamarcio cursed himself for taking so long to understand this.
Dandini claimed that Antonio Proietti had been treated well throughout and had not been made to suffer. His tooth had fallen out of its own accord, and his arm was only sprained. ‘He was my boy, I’d never leave him in pain,’ Dandini had repeated, over and over. Scamarcio sensed that the actor was now struggling with a massive burden of guilt at the anguish he’d inadvertently caused his son.
‘Why did you separate them?’ he asked.
‘Who?’
‘Maia and Antonio.’
‘We were going to leave Rome. I thought we’d need to move separately. We were waiting for the right time,’ said Dandini, his voice trembling.
‘Where’s the driver?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The fake chauffeur you sent to Micky Proietti.’
‘Oh, the stunt guy?’
‘What?’
‘We had to make sure Antonio and Maia survived the crash.’ Dandini fell silent for a moment, then said: ‘He flew to Brazil, I think.’
Scamarcio shook his head in disbelief. ‘Knocking back pina coladas with the helpful passer-by, no doubt?’
Dandini shrugged, as if to say Why not?
‘Who was driving the other car?’
‘What car?’
‘The other bloody car — the car that took out Proietti’s Mercedes?’
‘Oh,’ Dandini sighed. ‘That was the stunt guy’s brother.’ It was as if Scamarcio had asked him where he’d bought his shirt.
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