Judge Mirenghi read out the ruling with the air of someone who thinks that a certain matter is dragging on and wants everyone else to realize it.
“Having taken note of the witness’s declaration that he wishes to exercise the right to lawyer-client confidentiality regarding all questions pertaining to his conversations with the defendant Fabio Paolicelli while functioning as his counsel; having taken note of the statement by the defendant and the observations of his present counsel, who has requested that the witness be ordered to answer since he has been released from the obligation to observe confidentiality about his conversations with his client, which alone would justify the right to remain silent; noting that the right to invoke lawyer-client confidentiality is there to protect both the client and his counsel and to guarantee the untroubled and confidential performance of the counsel’s difficult professional task; noting therefore that Paolicelli’s declaration is not sufficient to invalidate the above-mentioned right to remain silent, which is also intended to protect the defence counsel; for such reasons the court rejects Avvocato Guerrieri’s motion, declares that the witness Macri has the right to invoke lawyer-client confidentiality regarding all questions pertaining to his relationship with his former client Paolicelli, and stipulates that proceedings continue.”
Then he turned to me. I was looking at him and at the same time observing Macri’s face. He had his old expression back. He was pleased. He must have been thinking that he’d be on his way home in a few minutes.
“Avvocato Guerrieri, you have been informed of the court’s decision. If you have no other questions, I mean questions not pertaining to the substance of the conversations between the witness and the defendant, perhaps we could-”
“I accept the court’s decision, Your Honour. I only have a few more questions. Obviously on topics not covered by lawyer-client confidentiality.”
He looked at me. He was getting impatient and made no attempt to hide the fact. “Go ahead and ask your questions, but please bear in mind that the matter of their relevance will be subject to the most rigorous scrutiny from now on.”
“Thank you, Your Honour. Avvocato Macri, just a few more questions, if you don’t mind.”
I looked at him before going on. His face was telling me different things. One of these was: Guerrieri, you’re a loser. I offered you an opportunity to get out of this mess gracefully, but unfortunately for you you’re an idiot. So in a few minutes I’ll be walking out of here as cool as a cucumber, and with my money still in my pocket.
“The defendant’s wife, Signora Paolicelli, has told us that when the sequestration order on her car was lifted, you personally went and fetched it from the police pound. Can you confirm the circumstances of this for us?”
“Yes. Signora Paolicelli asked me if I’d do this for her as a favour, and as she was alone, and in a difficult situation-”
“Actually, Signora Paolicelli told it rather differently. She said it was you who offered to go and pick up the car.”
“I think Signora Paolicelli’s memory is at fault. Unless someone advised her to remember it that way.”
I felt the blood rush to my face, and I had to make an effort not to rise to the bait.
“Very well. We’ll take note that you and Signora Paolicelli have given different accounts. Now I’d like to ask you if you know a man named Luca Romanazzi.”
He controlled himself, but couldn’t help giving a slight start. The question about the car he’d been expecting. This one he hadn’t. I had the impression he was doing a quick, nervous mental calculation as to what was the best thing to say. He must have concluded – correctly – that as I had brought up the name Romanazzi I presumably had some evidence that they knew each other, so it would be a stupid idea to deny it.
“Yes, I know him. He’s a client of mine.”
“Do you mean you’ve defended him in court?”
“I think so.”
“You think so? In which court?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where was the trial? Reggio Calabria, Rome, Bari, Bolzano?”
“I really don’t remember… And anyway, what has Romanazzi got to do with any of this?”
This was a tricky moment. If Mirenghi intervened now and asked me to explain, then in all likelihood everything would go pear-shaped.
“So you don’t recall where it was. Are you sure you defended him in court, or is it possible you merely gave him legal advice on some matter?”
“That’s possible.”
“I see.”
“But I repeat, I’d like to know what Romanazzi has to do with any of this. Apart from anything else, you’re asking me questions about my relationship with a client, and I have no intention of answering such questions.”
I was about to reply but Mirenghi beat me to it. A few moments earlier, I’d seen Russo whisper something in his ear.
“In point of fact, Avvocato Macri, it isn’t the same thing at all. In this particular case, you are being asked whether or not you know a certain person and under what circumstances. You are not being asked to report anything relating to your professional relationship. There are no grounds for lawyer-client confidentiality. Please answer the question.”
“It’s possible it wasn’t in court.”
“You advised him, then?”
“Yes.”
“When you still worked in Reggio Calabria?”
“No. I’m sure it was later, in Rome.”
“I see. I assume the two of you met in your office.”
He made a movement with his head. It could mean yes, but I wanted it to be in the transcript. In the course of a few minutes, Macri’s mood had changed a lot. His troubles weren’t over yet. On the contrary.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
“Is it correct to say that you and Signor Romanazzi met only in your office, and only for professional reasons?”
“I can’t say for certain that we never bumped into each other outside my office…”
“Naturally. Is it correct to say, though, that the relationship between you and Romanazzi was strictly professional?”
And now there were other emotions on his face besides hatred. Including the beginnings of fear. He didn’t answer the question, but I didn’t mind.
“Could you tell us if Signor Romanazzi has a criminal record?”
“I don’t believe he has.”
“You don’t know if he has ever been charged with cross-border drug trafficking?”
I’d have liked to be able to read his mind, to see what was happening in his head. What frantic acrobatics he was doing to decide how to conduct himself, to figure out what he could deny and what he was obliged to say in order not to run the risk of being proved wrong.
“I think he has been charged with narcotics offences, but has never been sentenced.”
His upper lip was covered in small beads of sweat. He was feeling hounded.
“Now I’d like to ask you if you are aware of the fact that Signor Romanazzi was on board the same ferry on which the defendant Paolicelli travelled before he was arrested.”
How the hell did I know that?
“I know absolutely nothing about it.”
“I see. Have you ever had occasion to spend time with Signor Romanazzi outside your professional relationship? For, shall we say, private reasons?”
“No.”
I took a deep breath, before landing the next blow. Always breathe in before hitting hard, and out again once the punch has hit the target.
“Have you and Signor Romanazzi ever travelled together?”
The blow hit him in the solar plexus and took his breath away.
“Travelled together?”
Answering a question with another question is an absolutely foolproof indicator of a witness being in trouble. It means he’s trying to gain time.
“Yes, travelled together.”
“I don’t think-”
“Have you ever been in Bari with Signor Romanazzi?”
“In Bari?”
Another counter-question, to gain time. Weren’t you supposed to be destroying me, you son of a bitch?
“Have you ever stayed at the Hotel Lighthouse with your client Luca Romanazzi?”
“I’ve been in Bari several times, not just when I was defending Paolicelli, and I think I may have stayed at the hotel you mentioned. But not with Romanazzi.”
As he finished answering, the raincoat slipped from his arm and fell to the floor. He bent to pick it up and I noticed that his movements weren’t as agile as before.
“You know we can easily check the hotel register and find out if your client, Signor Romanazzi, spent the night in that hotel at the same time you were there.”
“You can check whatever you like. I don’t know if Romanazzi was in the hotel when I was there, but we didn’t go there together.”
He didn’t even believe it himself. He was like one of those boxers who keep raising their arms mechanically, driven by nothing but instinct. They’re no longer parrying, they’re taking punches all over, and they’re on the verge of going down.
“Would it surprise you to learn that, not just on one, but on two occasions, you and Signor Romanazzi spent the same night in the same hotel, the Lighthouse?”
“Your Honour” – he had raised his voice, but it wasn’t very firm – “I don’t know what Avvocato Guerrieri is talking about. I’d really like to know where he got this information from, if it was acquired legally and-”
I interrupted him. “Your Honour, I don’t have to tell the court that the defence is allowed to carry out investigations. And this is material covered by lawyer-client confidentiality. In any case, to avoid any misunderstandings, the question now is not: How did Avvocato Guerrieri come by this information? The question is: Is this information true or not?”
I looked Mirenghi in the face, waiting to continue.
“Go on, Avvocato Guerrieri.”
“Thank you, Your Honour. So, to sum up: you deny coming to Bari with Signor Romanazzi on two occasions and spending the night, on both occasions, at the Hotel Lighthouse.”
“It could have been a coincidence-”
“It could have been a coincidence that on two occasions when you came to Bari and spent the night at the Lighthouse, Signor Romanazzi was also staying there.”
It must have sounded ridiculous even to him, hearing it said aloud like that. So he didn’t say anything, just held his hands open.
“And can you confirm to us that you didn’t know Signor Romanazzi was on board the ferry on which the defendant Paolicelli travelled before he was arrested?”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“So you don’t know that Signor Romanazzi, on returning from Montenegro, spent the night in Bari, once again – as chance would have it – at the Hotel Lighthouse?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I let his last words hang in the air. As if I had been about to ask another question. I kept him dangling for a few seconds, expecting another blow. I savoured the moment, all by myself. Because I knew that the fight was over, but I was the only person in the courtroom who did.
I’ll destroy you.
Just try.
I wondered if Natsu was still in the courtroom and had seen it all. I suddenly remembered her perfume and her smooth skin, and it made me feel dizzy.
“Thank you, Your Honour. I have no other questions.”
Mirenghi asked the prosecutor if he had any questions for the witness. He said no, thank you, he didn’t have any.
“You may go, Avvocato Macri.”
Macri stood up, said goodbye, and walked out without looking at me. Without looking at anyone.
The atmosphere in the courtroom was electric. There was an energy in the air that you sometimes feel when a hearing comes off its pre-ordained rails and travels to unexpected places. It only happens every now and again, and when it does everyone notices.
Even Russo had noticed, maybe even the assistant prosecutor.
“Are there any other requests, before we declare the hearing closed?”
I got slowly to my feet. “Yes, Your Honour. Following the examination of the witness Macri, I wish to request that certain documents be admitted in evidence. For reasons I don’t think it is necessary to explain, I ask for the admission of Luca Romanazzi’s police file, a copy of the passenger list from the ferry on which my client Fabio Paolicelli travelled, and a copy of the register of the Hotel Lighthouse for the years 2002 and 2003.”
Mirenghi exchanged a few words with the other two judges. He was speaking under his breath, but I could hear him asking the other two if they should retire to their chamber to come to a decision about my request. I didn’t hear what the others said, but they didn’t retire. Instead, he dictated a brief ruling in which he accepted my requests and adjourned the hearing for another week, to allow time for those documents to be obtained and for closing arguments to be prepared.