20

18 November 1999
Valtellina
North Italy

 

 

There was no moon and the switchbacks came upon them without warning in the short stab of light that the headlights threw out. Once again, they followed the road as it cut deep into the high mountain valleys and no longer looked down on the floor of the Valtellina, where the lights of towns and villages blinked like stars in a cloudy sky.

They came upon the road leading off to the right that led to the house and, driving past it, they again abandoned the car in the trees about thirty metres further on.

Arriving at the start of the track, Michael took out his mobile phone and dialled.

‘Bruno!’ And then to Helen, ‘Thank God, it works! I’ve got a signal! Yes, Bruno, it’s Michael. Yes, yes I’m fine. Look Bruno, it’s a very long story and I still don’t really know what the real truth is, but I am up in the mountains above the Valtellina and I’m very close to the house in which Teresa Ronconi is being held. Yes! That’s right. Look, if I give you instructions how to get here, I need you to pass them on to the police in Morbegno. Yes. Thanks … Yes, I’m alright. No, I don’t have time … Look, you’ll get the story. Just pass it on to the police.’ He proceeded to give as exact directions as he could. ‘Tell them I’m here. That’ll make them come, but tell them to get here quick!’ He closed down the call and put the phone back in his pocket. ‘Come on then, let’s see if we can find out exactly what’s going on.’

They walked on, shivering at first from the cold, the wind having died down from earlier in the evening, but still leaving chill air in its wake. As they came closer to the house, they stiffened and walked carefully so as not to make any noise. This time, however, instead of hiding in the undergrowth, they walked on, climbing the wooden gate that led into the property.

‘What are we going to do?’ whispered Helen.

‘I have no idea, which makes it the second time tonight that I’ve arrived somewhere with big intentions and then bottled it at the last moment. I really don’t know. Maybe this is crazy. Pedrini’s a gangster after all. I’m really not sure …’

Just as he said that, the door at the side of the house opened and the man who, with Pedrini, had kidnapped Michael, came out and walked towards them.

‘Michael!’ hissed Helen.

‘Quick, in here!’ He grabbed her arm and pulled her through a half-open door into the large barn-like construction that stood to the side of the house.

He quickly pulled her down behind the shape of a car covered by a dark, heavy tarpaulin. The man walked into the barn, throwing a switch that turned on a single, bare light dangling on a long wire from the roof. Michael and Helen crouched down even further. The man was collecting logs, presumably for the fire whose seductive wood-scent they had smelled as they approached the house. He threw the logs into a wooden box and picked it up, walking back towards the door. Just before he put the box down to switch off the light, Michael looked down and suddenly felt himself going cold. The back of the car, right in front of them, was uncovered. It was a blue car and he realized immediately that he had seen it before. He knew this because its blue was quite extraordinary; not the kind of blue you see very often. It had a metallic glint to it and was almost as if it had little slivers of silver mixed in with the paint.

The light flickered before going out and they heard the man grunt as he lifted the box before the door creaked shut.

‘Michael!’

He did not move.

‘Michael!’ She elbowed him in the ribs.

But he was elsewhere. He was running out of a shop, change scattering in every direction, his heart pounding and his mind screaming, seeing his wife’s broken body crumpled at the side of the road, blood pooling around her head, and beyond her the rear end of a blue car, engine racing as it rounded the corner on the road to Sondrio. The blue of the car glinted in the afternoon sun.

He stood up, pulling desperately at the tarpaulin.

‘Michael, what are you doing? Stop it, he’ll hear you!’ She grabbed his hands, but he pushed her away. At last the tarpaulin was off and a blue Audi TT stood in front of them. Its beauty was flawed, however. Its front bumper and bonnet had been crumpled by an impact of some kind.

He ran round to the back of the car and there it was. He had got it wrong, however. The design on the back of the vehicle was not, as he had told the police, a bird. Rather, it was a butterfly, the silver outline of a tiny butterfly.

‘This is it!’ he cried, scanning the length of the vehicle.

‘This is what, Michael? What are you talking about?’ she sounded almost afraid of him.

‘Helen, this is the car that hit her … that killed Rosa! This is it!’ It was those bastards who did it.’

‘It can’t be! How do you know?’

It’s the colour, exactly the same colour. Look at the damage to the front. And it’s got the picture on the back. I thought it was a bird … I only saw it from a distance … and it’s quite small … but it was a bloody butterfly. That means it must be Teresa Ronconi’s car.’

‘But why, Michael? Why, if Antonio Ronconi was having an affair with her would he kill her, or have her killed?’

‘I … I don’t know …’ He tried to work it out. ‘Perhaps the photographs. Perhaps they found out that she knew what was going on … that Teresa and Antonio were complicit in this whole kidnap business.’

‘Hmm, in fact that’s not a bad piece of deduction, Michael.’ The voice came from the door, emerging out of the darkness just before the light was switched on. There stood Vito Pedrini, holding a revolver and beside him, as always, his henchman. ‘Before we go any further, perhaps you would do me the great favour of throwing down the gun I believe you are now in the habit of carrying.’

Michael took the gun from his pocket and dropped it to the ground. Helen moved towards him and held him tightly round the waist. He could feel her tremble.

‘You bastard, it was you who killed Rosa,’ Michael said quietly, but with a venom of which he would never have believed himself capable.

‘Oh, you flatter me, Michael. I am not quite as clever or as devious as you imagine. What you find in my line of work is that no matter how much you calculate, no matter how far ahead you plan, everything can be undone by an act of passion, an act of the heart. People’s fucking emotions. They just can’t be trusted.’ Pedrini stood to one side of the door, directing with his gun. ‘Now, let’s go into the house where we can discuss this properly. And where we can think about what we’re going to do with you. We’ve got a bit of a dilemma, you see.’

Michael and Helen came out from behind the car and walked uncomfortably into the night, negotiating the short gap between the barn and the house.

As he left the barn, Michael stole a glance back to the tortured front bumper of the Audi.

 

They entered the house by the back door, Pedrini pushing the barrel of the revolver into Michael’s back to hurry him along. From the kitchen they entered a hallway and were directed in through a door that lay open to their left.

‘Michael! What the hell are you doing here?’ Renzo stood up and seemed unconsciously to be retreating from the sight of Michael at the door. Michael and Helen stopped, but the imprint of a gun barrel in the back soon pushed them on into the room.

Antonio Ronconi sat on one side of a log fire, slim, black-jeaned legs nonchalantly crossed, hands folded in his lap. He did not make a move when he caught sight of Michael and Helen – as if they were neighbours dropping in for a drink. Teresa Ronconi, however, standing at the rough timber table in the middle of the room, immediately signalled her alarm at the name ‘Michael’ by knocking over a glass into which she had been pouring wine. It rolled across the table and smashed on the floor, its sound shattering the silence that was interrupted only by the crackling of the logs on the fire.

‘I could ask you the same thing, Renzo, but then I did see Ronconi there with you at your front door last night. So, I had a feeling you were somehow involved in this nonsense.’ Renzo looked confused. He then turned to Pedrini.

‘Put that gun away. Do you think we’re in New York? This is my late sister’s husband!’

‘Shut the fuck up, Renzo.’ Pedrini replied angrily, waving the gun in Renzo’s direction. After all, Gianni and I haven’t been paid yet. And there’s the other guys that also have to be taken into consideration.’ He leaned against the wall at the door and his silent partner added to the firepower by raising another gun to cover the assembled group.

‘What the hell are you playing at, Vito?’ Now Antonio sat up straight, his eyes blazing.

‘Quite simply, I think this is all going to go to hell, Antonio, this entire fucking venture. I always felt it wasn’t right. When it was explained it to me, I thought Di Livio had finally gone mad. And as it has progressed, I’ve become even more convinced of it. Never work with amateurs, my old boss in Sicily used to tell me, but, Christ, when you move north, my friend, that is just what you end up doing. The pickings can be easier, I have to admit, but you have to work with fucking idiots.’

‘What’s he saying, Michael?’ Helen whispered, only to feel the side of Gianni’s hand silence her question as it swiped across her face. She slammed against Michael’s side.

‘Shit!’ screamed Michael moving towards Gianni. ‘You can’t …’ He fell backwards as Gianni’s fist slammed into his face for the second time in just a few days.

The whole place became a cauldron of sound to Michael. He could see shapes moving over him and came round with Helen and Renzo leaning over him. Beyond her he saw Pedrini and Gianni still holding their guns, Gianni by the door, Pedrini at the opposite side of the room.

‘He knocked you out for a moment, Michael. You’re alright.’ Helen looked down at him imploringly, the side of her own face red. ‘For God’s sake, don’t antagonise them. These guys aren’t messing about here.’

He sat up, his head spinning, feeling his face swelling under his left eye.

‘Now, people, let’s get a few things straight here, eh,’ said Pedrini.

‘What I want to get straight is who the fuck killed my wife,’ said Michael, heaving himself up onto his knees. ‘You might be interested in this, Antonio, as I know you were having an affair with her.’

‘Please speak in Italian, signor Keats, so that everyone can understand.’ Pedrini then translated what Michael had said into Italian.

‘Che cosa?’ exclaimed Renzo, who was standing in front of the fire. ‘What are you talking about, Michael?’

‘He and Rosa, they were having a bloody affair, Renzo. Helen here served them breakfast in their love-nest in the Scottish borders. Rosa bought him a diamond tie-pin worth hundreds of pounds. I was a fool, Renzo. Your sister, my wife, was screwing this fucker!’

Renzo looked at Antonio who was staring into the dying embers of the fire, unable to look Renzo in the eye.

‘But I tell you what’s even more interesting, Renzo,’ He raised himself to his knees as he said this, ‘is the fact that the car that hit Rosa – you know the one that killed your sister and then drove on as if nothing had happened? – it’s sitting out there in the barn.’

It suddenly felt as if there was no oxygen, as if everyone had breathed in at once and sucked all the air out of the room.

Renzo stiffened.

‘What are you talking about? What do you mean the car is out in the barn?’

Pedrini smiled and spoke, looking at Teresa. ‘Be sure your sins will find you out, huh?’

From the other side of the room, Teresa began to cry softly, her sobs muffled by her hands covering her face.

‘Let me take you back,’ said Pedrini. ‘Oh what would it be; it seems like months, but it’s only weeks. Her car had been driven up here by Antonio because his was in the garage. He left it outside with the keys still in the ignition. Teresa was free to walk outside, naturally, and we were not here to guard her, after all because, as you now know, she was here completely of her own free will. We kidnapped her and made it look as real as we could. She was even manhandled a little bit which made her scream because she wasn’t expecting it. But it all added to the reality of it if there were any witnesses. We even gave her the same chloroform treatment we gave you.’ He nodded at Michael, recalling that night. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, we were at the back of the house with Antonio and didn’t hear her start the car. By the time we realized, she was long gone. We thought the whole thing had fucked up, but about an hour later she was back. We found her sprawled across the front seat of the Audi, dead drunk. The front of the car was fucked and, I fear, as we found out later, so was your sister, Renzo. Shame. She was a pretty girl, judging by the pictures in the papers. Naturally, after you described the car to the police, we had to have some papers forged so that when the police came enquiring Antonio could prove she had sold it just before she was, as it were, kidnapped, and that it had been taken abroad. It helped that you were adamant that there was a bird on the back of the car that killed her, Michael.’

As Pedrini talked, Michael felt his heart exploding and it was all he could do not to collapse to his knees. To have the death of the woman he had loved talked about so flippantly overwhelmed him. Shaking his head, hot tears beginning to well up in the corners of his eyes, he looked across at Teresa, who stared at the ground as if she wanted it to swallow her up.

‘What are you talking about, Pedrini? Teresa! Antonio! What the hell’s going on?’ Renzo was agitated to the extent that Gianni felt the need to approach him and stick the barrel of his pistol close to his head.

Antonio’s head turned slowly back from the dying embers of the fire. Sobbing came from the back of the room where Teresa had slumped over the table, her shoulders heaving.

‘I’m sorry, Renzo. I’m so sorry.’

‘You see, the trouble was …’ Pedrini smiled. ‘Teresa and Antonio have always been very close as half-sister and half-brother. Some would say a little indecently close. But, hey, these things happen.’ He smiled a sickly smile.

Antonio leaned back in his seat, the leather of his jacket creaking as he did so.

‘Theresa became increasingly jealous of her brother’s attentions. And when she found out about the PO box Antonio had concealed from her, and the little presents your wife had been sending him, well …’ That afternoon she drank too much gin, took the car and sat outside your house, Renzo. It seems she didn’t know what the fuck she was going to do, but when she saw you and Rosa leave the house, she decided to get Rosa out of her brother – her lover’s – life. You know the rest, I believe.’

‘Teresa!’ A look of horror creased Renzo’s face. ‘This isn’t true. Tell me it isn’t true.’

‘We’re waiting, Teresa,’ said Pedrini, the same smile still on his face. ‘Tell them that you didn’t put the Audi into gear, follow them down the hill, wait until she was standing at the side of the road and put your foot down hard on the pedal, aiming the car straight fucking at her. Tell them you didn’t feel a sickening thump as the car struck her and threw her into the air …’

‘Shut up! Shut up!’ Teresa screamed, standing up but leaning forward, her hands on the table. Antonio rose from his seat and moved towards her, putting his arm around her and pulling her close to him. It was hard to say what the gesture cost him. They both looked grief-stricken, but Antonio’s face was contorted by other emotions as well – anger, pain and regret.

‘I wanted to die, too. I thought I was killing both of us. I was just going to keep on driving into the fence at the side of the road and down the hill into the river at the bottom, but I couldn’t do it. I was too big a coward. I swerved back onto the road at the last moment and drove back here.’

Antonio embraced her, stroking her hair and whispering in her ear as the room went silent once again. Michael looked down at the floor, shaking his head in disbelief. Renzo had slumped down in his chair and was staring into the fire.

‘But why all this? Why the kidnapping in the first place? I don’t understand …’ asked Michael, anxious to get to the bottom of it.

‘Look, we have to fuck off out of here,’ said Pedrini, looking at his watch, ‘and, of course, we have to deal with all of you somehow first, but there is just time to explain this piece of nonsense to you. Perhaps you should tell them Renzo. Go on, tell them why Teresa was kidnapped.’

Renzo looked at Antonio and Teresa. He sighed and began to talk, his voice sounding exhausted.

‘You don’t know about this, Michael, but during the war, there was a terrible betrayal. Someone informed the Germans where the partisans were going to be on a couple of occasions and a lot of men were massacred as a result. There are many in Dulcino who will be unable to rest until the person who committed that act of betrayal is exposed. Fathers have passed to sons the hatred of this unknown person and it has become a kind of silent hysteria, festering in the minds of the people of the village. We felt it too in our family because we lost a couple of relatives as well. Most people believed that a young local man called Alessandro Bellini was the traitor; he survived when others died and then disappeared. What else would they think? But, a couple of months ago, they found out that the traitor was, in fact, Luigi Ronconi. I must say it was difficult to restrain a number of the older men, and indeed some of the younger ones, from travelling to Beldoro to kill him there and then. Of course, they knew they could not take the story to the press – Luigi’s power over that is still immense and he has managed over the years to stifle any stories about him. And, anyway, they feel no one will believe them as they have little or no evidence. Just some uncorroborated stories. They feared the litigation that could ensue. It might ruin their families. So, we spoke to Antonio and Teresa, told them what we thought was the truth about their father and it was decided to blackmail him into admitting his crimes by pretending to kidnap Teresa. Antonio has connections in the south – a man called Massimo Di Livio – and that is how Pedrini and his friend became involved. They work for Di Livio.’

‘It seems, you see that our father is a monster who stole money during the war – money that he used to set up his businesses.’ Antonio picked up the thread of Renzo’s story. ‘He killed an English officer who was carrying a considerable sum of money. And we believe he was not the only person he killed for money.’

‘But how could you do this to your own father? asked Michael. ‘Look at the efforts he made to find you after the war …’

‘Ah, Michael. You don’t know the man. Yes, he did find me after the war, but that was only because I was a possession of his. As was my mother. He started out looking for her in Germany, but soon discovered she had died in the camps. So, he then shifted his search to me. He is a man who has never lost in his life, who has to come out on top in every situation. In fact, this is the secret of his success in business. He found me a couple of years after the end of the war, paid off the German couple who had taken me out of the camp and brought me back to Italy. But then he took no further interest in me. I was brought up by a series of nannies and rarely saw him. He had won by getting me back and that was the end of it for him.’

‘And I was also one of his possessions.’ Teresa spoke, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and rubbing the tears out of her eyes. ‘He destroyed my mother in winning custody of me as a child. She could not stand up to the money, the lawyers, he could throw at a court case.’ She stopped and sniffed. ‘And he didn’t even want me. He just had to win. Someone had stood up to him, had demanded something that he considered to be his and he couldn’t let that happen. So he won custody and then became nothing more than a distant shadow in my life, a figure viewed from a distance. My mother, though …’ she sobbed again. ‘My mother killed herself.’

‘He is a man who has destroyed lives.’ Antonio spoke quietly, stroking Teresa’s hair again. ‘There are many, many instances … too many. It’s time he was called to account.’

‘Hey, but hang on a minute,’ said Pedrini, sneering at Antonio and Teresa, ‘Let’s not forget, this is not all about altruism and fucking morality, is it? People might be interested to know that your father is about to cut you out of the family business, Antonio. All that money going somewhere else, eh? And Teresa, he was about to stop funding your little butterfly colony, wasn’t he? This, you see, Michael, is not a purely charitable act on the part of Antonio and his sister. The timing was just right for them to get their father into difficulties and take over the business, or get him to change his will. This, you see, is a complex kidnapping. Even Renzo gets something for helping out. He’s not letting us use this place for free, after all. And his precious village even gets something – truth and revenge. So, you see, everyone gets something out of it. Everybody wins!’ He laughed.

‘Except the two men you’ve killed, Pedrini. They lost everything.

‘Michael, I had no idea about any of that …’ Renzo began to say.

‘Oh, there’s always a bit of collateral damage in this type of business, Michael,’ interrupted Pedrini. ‘Scatti was a fucking greedy weakling who was threatening to share what he knew with the police if we didn’t pay him a bit extra. We couldn’t let that happen.’

‘Michael, I knew nothing about this part of it,’ insisted Renzo. ‘I just wanted the truth. And then when they started connecting you with the murders, I just couldn’t understand what was going on.’

Michael merely shook his head.

‘And what do you get out of it, Pedrini?’ he asked.

‘Oh, money, Michael. And lots of it. Antonio brought it with him tonight,’ he nodded at a large holdall in the corner. ‘But I fear it’s not going to my boss, which is what everyone thought. No. Gianni and I are going to use it to set up on our own a long way from this shithole.’ He beckoned Gianni back into the room from the door where he was standing. ‘But look.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s been a joy telling you all this, especially you, Michael, because you’ve put so much effort into it, but it’s time for us to fuck off. However, we have to, I’m afraid, take care of you first. Gianni will do the honours.’

The large man produced a length of rope from outside the door. He went round each of them, forcing them to the ground and tying their hands behind their backs and their legs together. As he did so, Pedrini stood guard, nodding approvingly.

As Gianni finished tying Helen’s legs, Michael was thinking fast. Shards of the broken glass that Teresa had smashed when they entered the room lay all around them. He wrapped his fist around a large piece that lay nearby, quickly slipping it under his legs unnoticed, pressing his knees close together to hide the fact that anything was there. Gianni finished tying Helen’s hands, and moved towards Michael. First he tied his legs. Then he bound his hands behind him, pulling so hard on the rope that Michael cried out in response to the sharp pain.

‘Oh, sorry, Michael. You mustn’t be so rough, Gianni!’ Pedrini laughed. ‘Still, it won’t really matter in a few minutes. Okay, Gianni.’ He nodded to the large man, who left the room. A moment later he returned with a large gas cylinder. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.’ A sickening smile spread across his face once more, as if he were a dinner host describing a dish to a roomful of guests. ‘A little drowsy, perhaps, at first, but by the time the gas has filled the room sufficiently to be ignited by the lovely fire that Gianni has built for you, I am sure you won’t be in any condition to be concerned. Pleasant dreams, everyone.’

‘Bastardo, you won’t get away with this,’ shouted Antonio as Pedrini retreated to the door. Meanwhile, Gianni bent over the cylinder, turning the knob at the top. Gas hissed out of it. He took one last look around the room and disappeared through the door in Pedrini’s footsteps.

As Gianni had been fiddling with the gas cylinder, Michael had shuffled forward until the piece of broken glass was within reach of his hands. Slowly – so as not to be noticed – he had leaned back until he could feel the jagged edge of the glass against his fingers. Gingerly he’d wrapped two fingers around it and lifted it from the floor. As soon as Gianni had left the room he hissed:

‘Helen! Slide towards me and then turn round. Quickly!’ She began to shuffle on her backside towards him.

The room was already starting to fill with the heavy, sickly smell of the gas.

‘What are you doing, Michael?’ Helen was now sitting back to back with him.

‘I’ve got a piece of glass here … If I can just …’ He took a deep breath and focused. Now pull your wrists away from each other as far as you can. Make the rope as taut as possible. ‘… If I can just … break it …’

‘Ouch! Careful where you put it!’ He had nicked her skin trying to find the rope. As the smell of gas in the room became increasingly pungent, he readjusted his position and sawed away at the rope with the sharp edge of the glass, feeling it give way a millimetre at a time.

‘Hurry up, Michael. Hurry up!’ Renzo and the rest stared at Michael’s hands working away behind him. Suddenly, he felt the last piece give way. ‘There!’

‘You’ve done it, Michael. Give me the glass!’ Helen leaned forward to slash at the rope that was around her ankles. It gave way.

‘Quickly, Do mine now, Helen.’ She cut away at Michael’s and within another minute had cut through the rope binding his wrists. He then found another large piece of broken glass while she worked on Renzo. He cut through the binding on his ankle.

All of them were now starting to cough as the gas began to predominate in the room.

‘Get out, Helen. Get out!’ She was trying to open the shutters to let in some oxygen, but they were padlocked on the outside. She rattled them in desperation, moaning with frustration.

‘I can’t leave you, Michael!’

‘Bloody hell! Go! Now! Get Renzo out and then and keep running once you are out of here! Go!’ He stared at her until she was almost afraid of him, before hoisting Renzo to his feet and leading him from the room.

Michael moved towards Antonio, who was closest to him.

‘No … Save Teresa first! … Quick! It won’t …’ he coughed, ‘… last much … longer!’ Antonio screamed at Michael, his eyes bulging.

Michael changed direction and headed towards Teresa, who had collapsed onto her side. He picked her up, stumbling under the weight and gasping for breath. He was becoming confused as he staggered towards the door, his lungs scouring the atmosphere for air.

 

It was as if he was back in his old nightmare again. There was a rush of air, followed by a loud bang that seemed to make his ears explode. How he knew it he could not say, but he found himself lying on a bed which was flying through the air. The bed floated on a sea of flame – the heat was intense, but still, in spite of that, he could make out the familiar objects of the same old dream. As ever, blue was all he could see; a sea of dancing blue whose waves crashed against the walls beyond the flames and splashed against the ceiling.

There was the desk, a few feet from the bottom of the bed; the thick, leather-bound book; the jacket hung over the back of the same wicker chair in the corner.

Just on the periphery of his vision he sensed something massive and silent. Painfully – and now the pain was everywhere – his body was made of pain – he turned his head and once again discovered the familiar bulk of the ancient armoire with its massively mirrored doors.

As the pain crescendoed and he realised that there was, after all, a limit to the amount he could bear, the blue began to drain out of the room, along with the flames; together, they seeped under the door and oozed through the slats of the shutters, which lay fast against the light of the sun to his right, as if they were being sucked out.

The ceiling began to shimmer, as if a shutter were slowly being opened and light was being reflected onto it from the surface of a swimming pool. From outside came the sound of water lapping gently against stone.

Once more, he experienced the familiar sensation of watching rain fall on a watercolour. His vision dripped in long, slow elongations down the page of the room, and, just as he became aware that somewhere, in someone else’s dream, he knew this room, his eyes opened and he knew, all at once, that he would never dream this dream again.