I was trying to digest the meatballs in tomato sauce from the rosticceria, watching a special edition of my favorite quiz show, when someone rang the doorbell. I got up reluctantly to answer it. That night, instead of the usual contestants, they had celebrities. They couldn’t answer most of the questions, but they were clever and amusing, turning their ignorance into entertainment. When I saw it was Ivana Stella, I was less annoyed by the interruption. It could turn out to be an interesting night.
“Why on earth did you come at this hour?” I asked. “Did your daughter let you out?”
Signora Tessitore was in no mood for jokes. “I’ve just come from the police station, not from home. A superintendent called Valiani sent for me. He wanted to know if I’d spent a certain afternoon here in your company. How could you humiliate me like this?”
I offered her a healthy shot of cognac. “I needed an alibi. That cop suspects I’m implicated in the disappearance of the Siviero couple.”
“That’s clear. He asked me if I knew them or heard you talk about them. You mustn’t allow me to get mixed up in this. How embarrassing! I had to admit we’ve had sexual relations.”
“You told the truth. Don’t blow this out of proportion. Nothing serious happened.”
“For you perhaps. I had to answer very intimate questions.”
“Like what?”
“Valiani asked how and when we met, and he wanted to know if it was the first time I came here. And especially if it was you who asked me to come.”
The superintendent was shrewd. He suspected I was using Ivana Stella as an alibi. “Did he ask you anything else?”
“Why? Doesn’t this seem like enough to you?”
“You’re overeacting for someone who makes a habit of visiting prison convicts. You should know by now how that world works.”
“I don’t like your tone. Instead of apologizing for involving me in an embarrassing situation, you mock me because of my volunteer work.”
“What work? You’re just a frustrated woman who devotes herself to good deeds to give meaning to your life because your marriage failed.”
“I won’t allow you to insult me.”
“Shut up. You’re not capable of holding on to a husband because you don’t know how to satisfy a man. And now the inmates aren’t enough for you anymore. You’ve started to drink.”
“You’re cruel. I thought you loved me.”
“Strip and you’ll see how I love you.”
She snatched her bag and headed for the door. “I’m leaving.”
“Go out that door, and for sure you’ll never see me again.”
She hesitated for a moment. “I’ll stay only if you change your attitude.”
“Of course. Right now I just want to have sex.”
“I don’t.”
“Then there’s the door.”
“Please, don’t treat me like this.”
“Don’t you waste my time.”
She sat back down on the couch and poured herself another cognac. “Let’s talk, Silvano.”
“Later. Now get undressed.”
“No. I want to know what you have to do with the disappearance of the Siviero couple.”
“That’s nothing that concerns you.”
“Can I know why you’re so hostile towards me?”
I jumped up and grabbed the dictionary. I leafed through it till I found what I wanted. “A sentence,” I started to read out loud, “is a punitive measure provided by a judicial system for transgressions against the law, commensurate with their gravity. Synonyms: chastisement, punishment, sanction, penalty.
“Do you understand? Prison is a place of expiation where rules are in force, and inmates have rights and duties. Nowhere is it written that a sentence provides for consolation. Only those who’ve suffered from the actions of criminals are entitled to that.”
I was shouting and shaking with rage. Ivana Stella stared at me, frightened. I took the photos of Enrico and Clara from the drawer and shoved them under her nose. “Look at their open chests, empty, black. When the autopsy was finished, the organs were thrown back inside any old way, and the bodies were sewn up slapdash with thick nylon thread. No one has ever consoled me for this. The words of comfort have never gone beyond the obvious. That’s what insults you and gnaws at your mind till you’re driven mad with pain. And rage.”
I was out of breath. Ivana Stella had turned pale. “Calm down, Silvano, I understand—”
“No, you don’t understand,” I interrupted her. “Otherwise you’d side with the victims, not the convicts.”
“Prison makes people worse than they are,” she said calmly. “We try to help inmates understand their mistakes so once they’re out they won’t commit more crimes. That’s all.”
“And us?”
“You victims receive justice at the trial. This is why the law exists. The state can’t help you overcome the pain, but people can. And I wanted to be with you for this reason as well. But especially because I’d fallen in love with you. You seemed a special person to me, but you’re just wrong and desperate.”
She stood up and took her bag. “You used me, took advantage of me. I only hope you’ve had nothing to do with those missing people.”
“Maybe I’ll become one of your beneficiaries.”
She sighed. She looked older and tired. “Get some help, Silvano. There might still be time.”
I was disappointed. I didn’t manage to punish Ivana Stella, just make her suffer. She stood up to me, but I made myself sound ridiculous with those vulgarities about sex. Rage drove me to bare my soul and show her the autopsy photos. I shouldn’t have done that. It was disrespectful to Clara and Enrico.
I pulled out the bottle of Vecchia Romagna. Slipped on the headphones and started to listen to The Pooh. Clara had liked their songs so much. My woman, my love, the mother of my son. I tried to resist the alcohol, but at a certain point it laid me out like I’d been socked in the jaw.
I woke up in the morning with my face dirty from dried vomit. Before I got into the shower, I cleaned the floor.
When I opened Heels in a Jiffy, Valiani was already there waiting for me. He wanted to get on my nerves, but I wasn’t one of his ex-cons.
“Something dawned on me,” he said, searching for the lighter in his pocket. “I think Oreste Siviero had put together his partner’s share of the loot. You know why? I went back and reread the transcript of his interrogation fifteen years ago. Beggiato always said he couldn’t give up his accomplice’s name because the guy was saving his cash. It was safer than if he’d put it in a bank because Siviero could never screw him. Beggiato would get mad and rat him out.”
“Your theories are always fascinating, superintendent. But what can a miserable cancer victim do with all that money if he’s doomed to die in a couple years?”
“It’s one thing to die poor, another to die rolling in cash. Besides, you need to be familiar with the jailbird mindset. Beggiato hung on to his dream of the money for fifteen long years. To have it at his disposal even for a little while would make him feel better.”
“You talk about it as if you’re sure the money exists.”
“It’s a conviction based on indisputable evidence, my dear Contin. While examining the phone records for the cleaners, I found a number in Canton Ticino belonging to a known fence who also has a sideline: he changes money for the underworld.”
“Changes money?”
“Suppose you need euros changed fast. He takes ten percent and gives you dollars in return. Or other currencies. But in this case they were dollars. My colleagues in Lugano have confirmed it.”
“And I bet you’ve also kept this detail quiet.”
“You guessed right. I’m certain those lovely greenbacks are now in your hands. And I’m thinking how they might make a nice supplement to my pension.”
“Am I mistaken or are you offering me a deal?”
“The best deal of your life. My silence in exchange for the money.”
“Otherwise you’ll arrest me?”
“The judge would certainly find the evidentiary support sufficient for an arrest warrant. Blood and fingerprints are nasty business.”
“I doubt a Court of Assizes would be convinced. You don’t have the bodies. Maybe there was no murder. Siviero might have staged this charade to make off with Beggiato’s money.”
“Among the blood stains on the ceiling forensics also found microtraces of brain matter. There can be no doubt we’re dealing with a double homicide. At this point, we’re looking for two corpses. You’ll read about it in the papers tomorrow.”
“And when would Siviero and his wife have been killed?”
“The same day as their disappearance.”
“But I have an alibi.”
“You entertained Signora Tessitore in the afternoon. You could have murdered them after or just before. We would need the corpses to determine the time of death. I do agree, in any case, that what you call an alibi could seriously jeopardize the charge.”
“I think so too. An honest citizen doesn’t philander with a lady on the same day he commits a premeditated double homicide.”
“The rest of the evidence is so strong that the case would nonetheless go to trial.”
“I don’t think so. I am Silvano Contin, the man whose wife and son were killed.”
“Do you really think this makes you untouchable? It’s in your interest to consider my proposal carefully. It’s your only way out.”
I stood watching him as he walked away, dragging his feet. His left heel was worn down more than the right one. Typical of someone who suffers from sciatica. Shoes tell you a lot about the person who wears them. Their standard of living, first of all, and their social position. Valiani’s were a pair of black moccasins with laces. He couldn’t have paid more than forty euros for them. He was right: a little money would come in handy for him.