by Gordon Kerr
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 gre
edy 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.
21
3rd May 2000
Knightsbridge
London
White.
White was all he had been able to see at first. He had been unable to move. Something had held his head in place and his entire body had felt like it was in splints, cool splints, holding him fast.
The white had, at first, been unblemished, a pure and unending absence of colour, stretching, for all he knew, from here to eternity; perhaps it was, indeed, the colour of eternity. Then, slowly, more had begun to leak into his cracked vision. A break in the lack of colour here, a stain there. A light bulb; the top of a poster. Sounds had leaked in like water gradually filling a basin. Gently at first, and then almost deafening. Offensive to his ears. Traffic, voices, the distant growl of a train, the scream of a plane about to land, the crashing of what sounded like dishes, the continuous hum of conversation, buzzing like a huge swarm
of bees around him. He had wanted to reach up with his hands to his ears and block out the sounds but found himself unable to move.
Now, here he stood, six months later, unbelievably, on his own two feet, alive and mended, they said.
‘Michael!’ Harry Jones stalked towards him through the crowd like a predator homing in on its prey. It was his way.
‘Michael! ‘How are you, my boy?’
‘I’m better than I was, Harry!’ Michael said, reaching out a hand, pleased to see his old friend.
It could have been worse – a broken leg, and burns to his back. He had been unconscious when he had arrived at the hospital and his hearing had been damaged by the explosion, taking weeks to return to normal. But now the visits to hospitals and doctors were over. He had been luckier than the Ronconis, however. Antonio had not survived the explosion and subsequent fire while Teresa had suffered serious injuries and would never again chase butterflies around the garden as Luigi Ronconi had fondly remembered her doing as a little girl. Her spine had been damaged and the remainder of her days would be spent in a wheelchair, much of it in a prison cell. Saddest of all for Michael was the knowledge that Renzo was being prosecuted on serious charges and would be going to jail. In a letter from the prison where he was being held, he had confessed to Michael that he had got in way over his head, but had no idea what Pedrini was really up to. He admitted to becoming frightened of the others and what they were doing as time went on. It had all got out of hand but he had only become involved for the sake of his precious village and the expunging of its painful history once and for all. Michael could only hope that the judges might consider his loyalty to his community a reason for leniency, but only time would tell.