‘Caterina!’
Investigating judge Rodolfo Lazzarini checked his watch first, then his reflection in the mirror. He smiled. He was sporting his trademark crumpled look, his white shirt coming out of his trousers and ready to fall to his ankles any second. He tucked it back in. He needed to get another hole punched in his belt: it was new, but he always forgot how skinny he was and his trousers inevitably ended up sliding down. If only that were the extent of his problems.
Some men boast a certain innate elegance. Lazzarini thought of his friend and colleague Federico Astroni, who was always impeccable. He’d be more at home in London’s Old Bailey than the old courts of Milan. Lazzarini, on the other hand, was a small man who dressed badly and looked worse. He was aware of it, but it didn’t faze him. Even if he’d been George IV with his own Lord Brummell on hand for advice, he knew he wouldn’t look any better.
He looked at his watch again and raised his voice. ‘Caterina!’
It was late, but his five-year-old daughter was still in her room. When she’d checked that same hallway mirror and noticed an imperfection in her hair, unlike her father, she’d headed back to her room to sort it out. 254
Seven-year-old Piero was fidgeting by his side. ‘Daddy, we’re going to be late!’ Even at that age, he was already serious and precise like Rodolfo. His paternal grandmother called him a little gentleman. She was so proud of this grandson. And Piero was beautiful, like Mama and Caterina.
Teresa Aliprandi, now Lazzarini, was tall and blonde, with mesmerising green eyes. Her only flaw was her name. At least, that’s what students and colleagues thought when they met and fell in love with her. She’d always been the main topic of conversations, first in the Law faculty at university, then at work. Teresa wasn’t really a fashionable name, and it definitely didn’t suit that goddess. Her beauty was legendary. Everyone asked the same question when they met her for the first time, and the answer was always the same: she would never be a model. Rumour had it that her parents rejected the scouts from fashion firms who wanted her to model for them. The truth was, all she cared about was her studies and becoming a lawyer.
When she crossed via Festa del Perdono, she looked like ‘the only force capable of stopping the revolution’, a leader of the student movement used to say. In common with all the other men she met, he had only three things on his mind, and not necessarily in this order: 1) catch her attention, 2) start a conversation with her and 3) get her into bed.
Teresa had a few close friends, but she was kind to everyone and even if she was aware of her looks, she never showed it, a fact that only enhanced her reputation.
Rodolfo Lazzarini knew her, but he wasn’t interested in her. He was methodical, a planner, and during his first years of university his plan was to change his looks for the better. He didn’t care that much, but he figured it was something he could do. The 255 point was, there were other priorities and his primary focus was his studies. He didn’t worry too much, as he’d had his fair share of adventures since school. He’d always been an exceptional student, never swotty or snobby. He was kind and selfless, reserved yet charming. With his intelligence, his sense of humour and a self-deprecating streak, he was a magnet for girls rejecting film stars in favour of intellectuals. In his parka and carrying a Marxist philosophy book, Lazzarini offered an entirely unique experience.
So when he quite literally crashed into Teresa Aliprandi, it was love at first sight. Not for him, however. She was running out of a classroom and she tripped over him as he was walking down the corridor, lost in his own thoughts. The man of her dreams suddenly emerged from a flurry of papers and books. He didn’t have the slightest inkling that the person in front of him would eventually be his life’s companion.
Their first kiss took place in a dark cinema showing a film neither of them would remember. It was that kiss, more than her beauty or intelligence, that snapped Lazzarini out of his obsessional focus on his studies. A new, unknown world was opening up to the future judge, an unexplored universe: that of physical pleasure born of love and desire.
Later in life, he got laughs from friends and light slaps from his wife when he admitted that he’d entered their relationship in the spirit of a researcher taking on a new subject.
Against all predictions, their union was cemented with the birth of Piero, and shortly after that, of Caterina. Though both had law degrees, they’d taken different paths. Rodolfo won the competitive magistrate exam, and after two years in Apulia, they moved back to Milan. Teresa was employed in the legal department of a multinational pharmaceutical company, where she 256 earned twice as much as Rodolfo. The Italian offices were based in Lainate, so Teresa was always the first to leave the house. That morning, she’d left even earlier to catch a plane to Zurich for an important meeting in the company’s central offices.
Whenever Rodolfo talked about his wife’s job, everyone – everyone – looked at him as if he were a madman. He understood why. They all thought that a woman that gorgeous could easily have found some ‘distraction’ in her position. ‘A woman like that…’ a lawyer once said to him, ‘I’d lock her up at home.’ Lazzarini just shook his head. No one really understood what united them, from ideas to values, from educating their children to sex, which everyone else obviously saw as disappointing for her. All unfounded, ridiculous rumours that Rodolfo and Teresa Lazzarini dismissed, strong in the knowledge of what held them together.
With Teresa leaving so early, he was the one to get the children ready, give them their breakfast and take them to school. They were always pressed for time, chiefly because of Caterina’s dawdling, and that particular December morning he was sure to be even later, despite both schools being practically downstairs.
The little girl finally emerged from her room. Lazzarini tried to detect what had induced her to go back and change her hair at the last minute. She had on a black, knee-length skirt with dark tights, gym shoes, and a polo neck jumper. There it was: the woolly hat! The previous one had had a pompom. Her blonde hair, just like her mother’s, poked out from beneath it.
Lazzarini couldn’t help himself. ‘Caterina, did you change your hat?’
She stared at him with her piercing green eyes, almost pitying him. ‘Daddy, it didn’t go with the jacket,’ she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 257
Rodolfo avoided looking at himself to see just how little of his get-up went together. He gently nudged his children onto the landing and called the lift.
Rodolfo’s penultimate thought came to him in the form of an adjective. Opaque.
‘This city is opaque.’
He was formulating the sentence as he opened the door to his building and found himself assaulted by the grey smog that blanketed Milan in winter. He was used to it, having been born in Barona, but Milan was the one, unspoken dissatisfaction of his life – even before his two years in Apulia, and the discovery of entirely new flavours and smells, before he developed his penchant for windy, briny days with a view of the sea. He didn’t have a single drop of southern blood, and yet he felt like a southerner, and would proudly become one if he could. On mornings like this, he imagined what it would be like to walk his children to school in an explosion of colour, even in winter. Apulia. If he hadn’t been married to Teresa, he’d probably have stayed down there.
Lazzarini walked to the left and emerged in piazza Bazzi, just opposite the school on the other side of the road.
‘Lazzarini!’
Rodolfo’s final thought was I hope they can aim. He’d turned round to see who was calling, only to find two guns pointed at him. Piero was holding tight to his right hand, while Caterina was walking on his left.
Lazzarini was afraid for them, not for himself. More than anything, he was surprised. There had always been a trail of blood 258 across the judiciary sector, and though he’d considered that he might be a victim, he reasoned that moving into financial crimes would remove him from the list of targets. Clearly not.
He was shot eight times in total. The first bullet caught his arm, but the second had already fatally hit his lung. He shoved his children aside, silently apologising to them. Caterina ended up on the pavement a few metres away from him while Piero held even tighter to his father’s hand. When Rodolfo fell, Piero went down with him. He saw one of the two killers come closer for a final shot to the man’s head – but the shot never came. The killer turned and walked away.
Piero Lazzarini uttered a howl of despair. As one of the witnesses reported: ‘I’ve never heard anything that sounded less like a human.’
‘Are you animals? Cover that body immediately!’
Captain Annibale Canessa’s yelling washed over the Carabinieri standing next to the corpse of Judge Lazzarini, along with some high-ranking officers of the special branch of the police.
Canessa and Repetto had been in Milan following up a tip about a Red Brigades hideout when they’d heard about the ambush. Canessa was baffled by the name ‘Lazzarini’: he had no idea who the man was.
‘Who is this poor guy?’ he’d shouted to the team, as they organised themselves in the via Moscova barracks.
Silence. The only thing moving in that filthy, unused room was the dust. Everyone knew the real reason behind the captain’s fury. A few months earlier he’d compiled a list of potential terrorist targets, and Lazzarini did not feature on it. He couldn’t have, not even with the best will in the world. They couldn’t protect all of 259 Italy’s judges and magistrates. The ‘Canessa list’ contained only the names of those who might be active targets. It started with people on the front line against terrorism, be it red or black, and included any who might somehow represent the State. Lazzarini belonged to neither category.
‘He dealt with financial cases, tax evasion, insider trading, laundering, that kind of thing. He was good, best in his field. Everyone had great expectations for him.’
‘Who said that?’ the captain asked, clearly impressed.
A young brigadier, a recent addition to the team.
Canessa didn’t wait for an answer. He’d already moved on.
And now Investigating Judge Rodolfo Lazzarini lay on the ground, his head and chest in the grass and his legs on the pavement. His great expectations had been drowned in a pool of blood, and he had fallen victim to a group of ruthless fanatics, certain they could change the world by killing and maiming in order to draw it in their own image.
Canessa would never get used to it, to human stupidity. Those bastards would go nowhere. He’d catch them all himself if he had to.
Lazzarini had fallen with his right leg at an unnatural angle, a shoe flung from his body and only one white sock still on.
A police officer finally arrived with a white sheet, bought in a nearby shop. None of the magistrates, officers, or agents present at the scene had reacted at all. Not even the major, in theory Canessa’s superior.
In theory, but not in practice.
Everyone knew Canessa’s reputation, his ties to the general, his incredible success, the shooting in Rome when he’d saved Verde, 260 the freedom he enjoyed. But as one chief constable put it: ‘Sure, he has help, he has friends in high places, he has freedoms we can’t dream of. But even without all that, it’s how he looks at you: as if he could blow your brains out on the spot. The man is terrifying.’
One of the police officers explained, ‘There were two of them waiting for him. They called out his name. Usual m.o. But they’ve never killed anyone with children nearby. The bastards!’
He raised his voice on the final word. But Canessa didn’t even notice. ‘Children? Where are they?’
Canessa left Repetto downstairs to deal with the scene.
‘Make sure they’re doing things properly. Given that for once we got here pretty much as it happened, we can’t overlook anything. I doubt there’ll be much, but if there are any interesting clues, we need them bagged and tagged.’
He sent a young brigadier to a toy shop he’d spotted in via Foppa on the way over. He called the lift and headed to the fourth floor.
A uniformed police officer stood at the door. Fortunately he recognised Canessa immediately, since Canessa was famous for demolishing cops who wasted his time by not keeping up to speed. Inside the flat were the usual crowd of people who turn up after a tragedy, all playing their part. Family, friends, police, colleagues. Canessa knew how grief worked. He observed from afar, but without playing a part.
The flat was large, with four bedrooms and a vast living room, all of them opening onto a long corridor that led to the front door.
Captain Canessa removed his coat and hat and hung them up with all the others. A commissioner he’d met before came up to him. One of the few he liked, because he didn’t get bogged down in preambles. 261
He cut right to the chase. ‘The wife just landed in Zurich. They sent someone from the consulate. Efficient for once. They’re bringing her back to Milan.’
‘The kids?’ Canessa asked.
The police commissioner shook his head.
‘The eldest was still holding on to his father’s hand. They had to pry him away. He’s got a small wound to his arm. Nothing serious, but he was covered in blood and in shock. The doctors wanted to take him to the hospital, but his grandmother—’ he pointed to a woman in her sixties, her eyes puffy from crying ‘—didn’t want him to go. He’s in his bedroom with a paediatrician, Lazzarini’s cousin. He’s not ill, but he won’t speak.’
‘And the girl?’
‘She cried. Then she said that her dad is dead because some bad men shot him and she wants someone to do the same to them. After that she too went quiet. I’m waiting for Mummy, she said. She’s in her room with her preschool teacher. The school’s just across the road and the teacher came over to help almost immediately.’
The commissioner paused, looking around to make sure no one was listening. ‘You want to know what I think? She isn’t even five, and she’s tougher than some people I know. She might be able to help with a police sketch.’
‘Hm,’ was Canessa’s reply. The young brigadier came back at that moment, holding a bag. Canessa looked inside, then squeezed it. ‘Good, nice and soft.’
‘It was quite pricey, sir,’ the young brigadier offered him the sales tag.
Canessa looked at the receipt and nodded. ‘Let’s hope they’ll cover the cost for us!’ He turned back to the commissioner. ‘Which one’s the girl’s room?’ 262
The police officer pointed it out. ‘Do you have something in mind?’
‘Actually, I do. I want to try something.’ Annibale pulled the stuffed lion out of the bag, looked at it, put it back and walked to the girl’s bedroom.
The hardest part, Canessa thought when he left the Lazzarini home, had been removing the teacher from the room without kicking her out, insulting her or having her cuffed as an obstacle to an ongoing investigation. That was his usual method for dealing with rioters, people who crossed him or wasted his time. The teacher wasn’t more than twenty-two or so, and not a fan of the cops or law enforcement. Like most of her peers, she obviously belonged to the far left, and way farther than the limit marked out by the Italian Communist Party.
‘I’m not leaving,’ she’d said, smoothing her velvet skirt and pressing her Camperos boots together. ‘I’m not leaving her alone.’
I’m not leaving the girl alone with a fascist pig like you, her defiant look said. But Canessa hadn’t fallen for it. He wasn’t there for a pointless fight. It was nothing personal, all part of the job.
He had to convince her to leave, and he didn’t have much time to do so: he wanted to talk, however briefly, to the girl, who was leaning against her pillow looking bored.
‘Listen: you know her. I don’t. But it didn’t take me long to figure out that she’s tough. She saw her father die, and she has the strength to help us figure out who did it. You might not believe me, but I’m actually great with kids and’ – he smiled – ‘with teachers. If I’m not seducing them, I’m arresting them. You’ll be out of here in a few minutes either way, but one method will be 263 more problematic for her. We don’t have much time, so please… I’d rather you left by choice.’
The young woman looked at him with a mixture of hatred and curiosity. She left the door ajar and stood outside.
The girl seemed interested in Canessa’s uniform. She kept quiet a little longer and then said, ‘My daddy is dead.’
Canessa nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Caterina.’
Her face lit up. ‘You know my name?’
‘Not only your name. I also know you like stuffed animals. So I brought you this one. His name is Leo.’ He handed her the toy.
Caterina grabbed the lion. She hugged it, bringing it to her face.
Canessa knew he only had one chance, and time was running out. As soon as her mother got back, she’d take the child away and her memories would fade, if not vanish entirely. This was the time to find out what she knew.
‘Caterina, I know this isn’t easy…’
‘Are you going to get the bad men?’ she interrupted.
‘I’ll try, yes.’
‘Promise.’
‘I promise,’ he said, regretting it immediately.
She hugged the lion again, brushed some hair out of her eyes, and looked at him. ‘You have a bad face too. I think you’ll get them.’
‘But I’m with the good guys,’ Canessa protested, feeling ridiculous.
She made a strange face. ‘It’s a compliment! To get bad guys you need a good bad guy.’
Canessa couldn’t hold back a smile. The child was incredible.
‘But I need your help to catch the bad guys. Do you remember anything about the people who fired the shots?’ 264
He worried that he might be stirring up some appalling memories, but if that was the case, she didn’t show it.
‘I didn’t see one of them very well. He had a beard, but not as long as Merlin’s. I saw the other one: he was short and had a cut from here to here.’ She touched under her right ear.
‘A scar,’ Canessa suggested.
‘Yes, a scar.’
The captain stood up. ‘Thank you Caterina. You’ve been very helpful. You’re a very special kid.’
‘Will you get them?’ she asked again.
Canessa turned back to see her staring at him with her green eyes. He shoved his hands into his pockets, then did something he had never done. It went against the Canessa Commandments. It was something a police officer should never do with anyone, least of all the family of a victim.
He made a promise.
‘I’ll get them.’