Natsu Kawabata came to the office on Tuesday afternoon.
She was wearing the same blue coat as the last time. She looked more beautiful every time I saw her.
It was obvious she was of mixed Japanese and European blood. As her name was Kawabata, I assumed her father was Japanese and her mother Italian. Otherwise, how could she talk such perfect Italian? She even had a slight Neapolitan inflexion. I had no idea if she’d been born in Italy or Japan. And that dark complexion must have come from her mother, as the Japanese are usually light-skinned.
“Good afternoon, Avvocato.”
“Good afternoon. Please sit down.”
I found my own voice a bit over-emphatic, and that made me feel uncomfortable.
This time Natsu took off her coat, sat down, and even smiled a little. The same perfume as last time already hung in the air.
“I’m pleased you’ve accepted the case. Fabio was really keen on getting you. He says that in prison…”
I felt a slight irritation. I didn’t want her to continue. I didn’t want her to tell me how much faith Fabio Rayban had in me. I didn’t want her to remind me that I had decided to defend him for a reason he wouldn’t like and I couldn’t confess. So I made a gesture with my hand, as if to say, forget about that, I’m modest, I don’t like compliments. The gesture was a lie: I actually like compliments a lot.
“As I said, it’s just the way I work. I always like to look through the papers first to make sure there isn’t any reason for me not to take on a case.”
Why was I still talking such bullshit?
To put on airs, obviously. To play a part. To make myself look good. I was behaving like a schoolboy.
“What did you think when you read the file?”
“Pretty much what I’d thought before. This is a very difficult situation. Even supposing-”
I broke off, but too late. I was about to say, even supposing your husband is telling the truth – and supposing doesn’t mean conceding – proving it, or at least creating a reasonable doubt, will be extremely difficult. I broke off because I didn’t want to reawaken her more than reasonable doubts. But she understood.
“You mean: even supposing Fabio’s story is true?”
I nodded, lowering my eyes. It seemed as if she wanted to say something else, but whatever it was she obviously decided not to say it. So it was up to me to continue.
“To try and get an acquittal, we’d have to prove that the drugs weren’t your husband’s. Or at the very least present arguments to the court that cast doubt on the idea that the drugs were your husband’s.”
“That means we would have to discover who planted them.”
“Precisely. And as the whole thing happened in Montenegro a year and a half ago, I’m sure you realize-”
“That there’s nothing we can do. Is that it?”
Well, I replied, it was true that there wasn’t a lot we could do. But we could try to reconstruct, in as much detail as possible, what had happened in the days immediately prior to her husband being arrested. I told her, in a nutshell, what Tancredi had suggested – making it seem as if everything was my idea. I spoke in the tones of someone who’s used to this kind of investigation. As if all this was quite normal in my line of work.
When I’d finished explaining my plans for the investigation, she seemed impressed.
Damn, I was clearly someone who knew his stuff.
She asked if I wanted to start reconstructing the facts right now with her. I told her I preferred to talk to her husband first: I would visit him the next day, and then we two could meet before the end of the week.
She said that was fine. She asked me about the advance, I mentioned a figure, and when she took out a chequebook I asked her to see my secretary about that side of things. We princes of the bar don’t dirty our hands with money or cheques.
That was all for the moment.
When she had gone I felt quite good, like someone who’s made a good impression on the right person. I studiously avoided thinking about the implications of that.