Tancredi was giving evidence in court that morning. The usual kind of case: a sexual assault on a little girl.
Usual. A nice adjective for something like that.
Sometimes I wondered how Carmelo had managed to cope all this time, dealing with that kind of filth every day. On the few occasions when I’d represented abused children, I’d felt as if I was walking in the dark down corridors filled with insects and other repulsive creatures. You can’t see them, but they’re there, you can sense them moving close to your feet, you can smell them, you can feel something sticky on your face.
I’d once asked him how he did it.
When I asked the question, a kind of deep, metallic glow flashed across his face. It was a fleeting thing, barely perceptible, almost scary.
Then everything went back to normal. He pretended to think about my question and gave me a trite answer. To the effect that somebody had to do it, that not many policemen wanted to work in that squad, and so on.
I entered the courtroom. Tancredi was on the witness stand and a fat young lawyer I didn’t know was cross-examining him.
I sat down to wait for him and, incidentally, to enjoy the show.
“When you were answering the assistant prosecutor’s questions you said, among other things, that my client would lurk in the vicinity of the school. Could you explain to us what you mean by lurking? You used a very specific expression and I’d like you to justify it. What was the defendant doing? Was he hiding behind cars, was he using binoculars, or what?”
The fat man finished the question with a little smile. I’m sure he had to make an effort to stop himself casting a knowing glance at his client, who was sitting next to him.
Tancredi looked at him for a few moments. He seemed to hesitate, as if he was searching for an answer. I knew perfectly well that he was acting. That apparently innocent expression was the expression of a cat about to catch a mouse. A big mouse, to be precise.
“Yes. The suspect, that is, the defendant, always reached the school about twelve-twenty and took up a position on the opposite corner. The children would come out a few minutes later. He would watch them come out, and stay there until they’d all left.”
“Always on the other side of the street.”
“Yes, I already said that.”
“He never crossed the road and approached any of the children?”
“Not during the week we were watching him. Subsequently, we discovered other evidence-”
“I’m sorry, but for the moment we’re interested in what you saw, or didn’t see, during that week. Is there a bar near that school?”
“Yes, a bar called Stella di Mare.”
“During the time that you were watching him, did my client ever go into that bar?”
“Obviously I wasn’t personally on duty all the time, but as far as I remember, I saw him go into that bar a couple of times. Both times, he stayed there for a few minutes and left just as the children were coming out of school.”
“You do know, Inspector, that my client is a salesman, dealing with foodstuffs and other products for bars.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know if the manager of the Stella di Mare is a customer of the defendant?”
“No.”
“Can you rule out the possibility that my client was in the vicinity of the school and the bar for reasons connected with his work, rather than those you have surmised in your report and your testimony?”
He was sure he had landed the killer blow.
“Yes,” Tancredi replied simply.
The lawyer was stunned. He seemed to have been thrown almost physically off balance. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, I can rule it out.”
“Indeed? And why is that?”
“You see, Avvocato, we followed Signor Armenise for several days. We followed him even when he was working, when he went into bars and restaurants for reasons connected with his work. He always had with him a leather briefcase and one of those binders in which you can insert and remove pages. You know, the kind that salesmen use to show the range of their products. On the occasions when we observed him outside the school he never had either his case or his binder with him.”
“I’m sorry, but when Signor Armenise entered the Stella di Mare, were you or any of your subordinates inside the bar, so that you could hear the conversations he had with the manager?”
“No. We were on the other side of the street.”
“So it’s on the basis of mere conjecture that-”
The assistant prosecutor intervened. “Objection, Your Honour. Counsel for the defence cannot make statements that are offensive to the witness.”
The fat man was about to reply but the presiding judge got in first. “Avvocato, please confine yourself to asking questions. Any comments you may wish to make you may leave for your closing argument.”
“Very well, Your Honour. So, is it correct to say that during the week that you were watching Signor Armenise you didn’t gather any evidence to confirm the complaints you’d received?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that was correct. When parents report that someone is molesting their children close to a school, and I then discover that this person is in the habit of standing outside another school when the children are coming out, for me that is evidence to confirm the reports. Obviously if, during the course of the investigations, we actually witnessed a sexual assault being committed, as sometimes happens, we would then arrest the person involved. But that’s another matter.”
The fat man tried again to argue that these were personal opinions, but this time there wasn’t even any need for the assistant prosecutor to intervene. The presiding judge asked him, in a not very friendly tone, if he had any other questions relating to the facts of the case. If not, the cross-examination could be considered closed. The man stammered inaudibly and sat down. The assistant prosecutor had no more questions for Tancredi, so the judge thanked him and told him he could go.
“Let’s get out of here if we want a coffee,” Tancredi said. So we left the courthouse and set off through the streets of the Liberta. As we walked I told him about the latest developments, especially the phone call from my friendly colleague. Tancredi listened without making any comments, but when I told him that Macri had threatened me, he gave a quick grimace.
“What are you thinking of doing?” he asked me. We were having coffee in a bar frequented by smugglers, whores, lawyers and policemen.
I didn’t like the question. It seemed like a way of asking me if I was thinking of dropping the case.
I replied that there wasn’t much to think about. If Macri came to court the day he had been summoned to appear, I would examine him and try to extract some evidence useful to my client. If he didn’t come, I would ask for him to be brought to court by the carabinieri, and yes, I knew perfectly well he would go crazy, but I couldn’t do anything about that.
“But you can still give me a hand.”
“You want police protection when the Calabrian Mafia send their hitmen to get you, is that it?”
“Very funny. I need some more information about this Macri.”
“What kind of information?”
“Something to use when I examine him. Something I can spring on him to try and wrongfoot him. Bear in mind that I’m going into this more or less blind. If he sounds convincing I’ve lost the case.”
Tancredi stopped, lit a cigar, and looked me in the eyes. “Well, you’ve really got nerve, I’ll say that for you.”
I didn’t say anything. I knew he was right.