“Do many people visit your garden, Mr Bencivenga?”
“No… nobody.”
“Then how did it get there?”
“I don’t know.”
Sensi paused for a few seconds, he glanced at Claps, then carried on talking.
“Did somebody take it off for you?”
“Maybe.”
“Did you see this necklace before you found it?”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean maybe?” Sensi was beginning to sound impatient. “Did you see anybody else wear it?”
Bench didn’t seem to notice that Sensi’s approach had changed. He answered in his expressionless tone. “Yes.”
“Who?”
“Maybe one of the twins.”
“The Cellini girls?”
“Yes.”
“Elisa? Do you mean Elisa?”
“No, the dead one.”
The dead one. Claps felt shivers run through his body.
“Dead? How do you know that Denise is dead, Mr Bencivenga?”
“She never came back…”
Sensi paused for a long time.
“Are you sure that the necklace belonged to Denise Cellini?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Sensi glanced at Claps again, then carried on talking. “You’re certain. Elisa and Denise were twins, they were almost identical. And yet you’re certain that the necklace belonged to Denise. How come? Did the girl give it to you?” Sensi’s tone became even harsher, it was a metallic hiss. “Or did you take it forcefully from her, Mr Bencivenga? What happened in the cellar?”
Bench’s face didn’t betray any emotion.
“No, I found it in the garden… I could distinguish between the twins.”
Sensi inhaled deeply.
“Why… didn’t you… take it back?” Claps asked.
“I liked it, I kept it.”
“Do you have… anything else… that belonged… to Denise?”
Claps stared into Bench’s eyes in a futile attempt to detect any emotion, trying to spot a sudden wince, a small muscular movement.
“No.”
“Okay.” Claps pulled Aisha’s edited photo from his jacket. “What about her? Do you have anything that belonged to her?”
Bench took the photo in his hands. He ran the tip of his finger over the girl’s face.
“She’s pretty… very pretty.”
“Her name… was Afya… do you… remember her?”
Bench lifted his eyes towards Claps – once again, there was no trace of emotion.
“I never remember anybody… ever.”
Nobody spoke for a few seconds. Then Sensi resumed his questioning of Bench. “Let’s make a fresh start, Mr Bencivenga. Did you find Denise Cellini very pretty?”
“Yes.”
“How pretty?”
“Very… very pretty.”
“More than Elisa? Considering the fact that you could distinguish between the two…”
“Yes, Denise was more beautiful.”
“Did you desire her?”
“What does desire mean?”
“Come on, Mr Bencivenga, it’s between lads… Did you ever wish to touch her, to kiss her?”
Bench remained silent for a while, it was as if that question didn’t make sense to him.
Sensi spoke again, hissing his words harshly. “Did you ever want to fuck her?”
“I never desire anybody.”
Bench hadn’t changed his expression, even though the tone of the conversation had changed considerably.
Sensi made a gesture to indicate that he had given up. Then he sighed and carried on talking. “Let’s move on, again. Do you remember the last time that you went to Milan? It was about three months ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you go there?”
“I was recording.”
“A music CD?”
“Yes.”
“Jazz?”
“Music.”
“Of course, music. Do you remember the last day that you were there to record?”
“Yes.”
“Very well – we found out that you were at the recording studio between midday and three in the afternoon, but you didn’t get back to the place you were staying until three in the morning. That’s twelve full hours, Mr Bencivenga. Where did you spend them?”
“I don’t remember, I was around.”
“Around where?”
“In town, I can’t remember. I think I played.”
“Where did you play?”
“In the car.”
“In the black Golf?”
“No, I don’t have a Golf.”
“You didn’t eat anything for twelve hours? You didn’t need to go to the toilet? Did you sit in your car playing the trumpet all the time?”
“No, I was at a bar.”
“Which bar? Is there anybody who can confirm what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know… maybe, I’m struggling to remember.”
“Try to remember then, it’s for your own good.” Sensi sprang up from his chair. “Enough for now. I’m afraid we’re going to have to keep you in custody because you’re suspected of the kidnapping of Denise Cellini. You can contact a lawyer if you wish and we can let any of your relatives know that you’re with us.”
Bench remained impassive, it was like nothing really mattered to him. Claps stood up to follow Sensi. He turned towards Bench before walking out of the office.
“Do you… hunt… Mr Bench?”
“No, I don’t like hunting.”
*
“A white Volvo?”
“Yes.”
The Volvo garage Pianigiani – which belonged to the Fiat and Renault chain – was in Roccastrada. It was the tenth garage that Elaji had visited that day.
“An estate car?”
The mechanic had greeted Elaji whilst approaching him, wiping his greasy hands with a cloth. He was a middle aged man with a receding ginger hairline. He didn’t look particularly happy to see Elaji or answer his questions.
“Yeah, it has stickers on the rear windscreen, all around it.”
A car was suspended on some kind of ramp; underneath it, a young man was fiddling with the exhaust pipe.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because he lost this.”
Elaji showed the mechanic a man’s bag.
“It fell off the car roof when he set off. He had put it on there for a moment, and then he forgot it.”
“That’s not very clever of him, is it?”
“There’s no money or documents, just some of his belongings… I just wanted to give it back to him.”
“… and hopefully get a reward?”
“Of course.” Elaji forced himself to pull a wry smile.
“You didn’t see the number plate?”
“No, I just saw it fall off the car.”
“Then why did you come here? You have to report it to the police, I’m just wasting my time with this.”
“I was nearby… I saw your garage sign… I thought…”
“Go,” the mechanic interrupted him. “Go to the police station. We have work to do here.”
“Hang on.” The young man slid out from under the car and placed part of the exhaust pipe on the floor.
“We worked on that car about a month or two ago… if I remember correctly.”
The mechanic looked at the young man questioningly, he was obviously very impatient.
“Yeah,” the young man carried on. “He’s not one of our regular clients. The car had an oil leak and we fixed it. I installed the new filter.”
“Since when were you so good at remembering things?”
“The stickers. They were all from hunting clubs… mostly boar hunting clubs.”
“Were they all around the rear windscreen?” Elaji’s voice had begun to shake.
“Yeah, they were all around like a frame.”
E
laji took a deep breath in a desperate attempt to control his emotions.
“And do you remember the name of the—”
“I changed the filter in a couple of minutes and then he drove off, I didn’t ask his name.” The young man interrupted Elaji. “He was kind of in a rush, he was very tall. I think he said that he was from Prata… or maybe Niccioleta.”
Elaji’s heart had begun to beat uncontrollably fast. He turned towards the mechanic.
“Do you have a… list of clients? Some kind of receipt?”
“For a five minute job? Come on.” The mechanic said, no longer attempting to hide his irritation. “Go to the police.”
*
“Bench may not be the culprit then.”
Professor Trevis was visibly shocked by Claps’ story.
“He was close… to Denise.” Claps spoke incredibly slowly this time. “And he was close… to Ami Demba… when she was… taken… we also… found a necklace… that belonged… to Denise… at Bench’s house.”
“It must be a series of coincidences, there must be some kind of explanation.”
Claps sat still, he was staring at the professor.
“Bench is not the culprit.” The professor repeated confidently. “And I’m not saying that just because I can’t explain the inexplicable. There are solid reasons behind my deduction.”
Claps wasn’t surprised to hear those words from the professor, he nodded to invite Trevis to carry on talking.
“Look, I didn’t know Bench at the time Denise was taken, but I was seeing him as a patient when Ami and the other girls were kidnapped. It’s psychotherapy, Mr Claps. Psychotherapy! I can understand a lot more about my patient than any other relatives could; I would have known if he had done anything similar to those things. The therapy sessions have never failed me.”
That was exactly the same doubt that Claps had, a problem that had troubled him since that morning.
And yet, Bench seemed to be the culprit.
“Are you… sure? Did you… see… Bench… regularly… like with Elisa?”
“No, I used to see him often at the beginning, then the number of meetings per month lessened…”
“Did he interrupt… the therapy… every now and then?”
“Yes.”
“Was that for… a long… period of time?”
“Sometimes only for a week.”
“And… recently?”
“I just see him five or six times a year now. He doesn’t need the therapy any more.”
“Is it possible… that during… the periods… where everything… seemed under… control…”
Professor Trevis interrupted him. “I would have noticed anyway,” the professor said confidently. Claps remained silent for a few seconds.
“What if he… forgot… what he did… and acted… like it was someone else… who did it?”
“Some kind of multiple personality disorder? It sounds unlikely – Bench’s illness is schizophrenia, I’m certain.”
“Schizophrenia.” Claps muttered to himself.
“It’s ten times… more likely… for someone to commit crimes… if they suffer… from that illness.”
Another few seconds of silence.
“Have any… patients… ever misled… the psychologist?”
“It happens during psychotherapy, especially at the beginning. It’s not uncommon for a patient to mislead his psychologist. They do it because they mislead themselves in the first instance, and it’s this kind of misleading that causes them to be ill.”
“Let me… word… my question… more clearly… has anybody… ever managed… to mislead… their psychologist… all the way through… the period of therapy?”
“It may have happened.” Professor Trevis admitted, almost unwillingly.
“I know… a more honest… answer… yes… there are many… cases of patients… who seemed… inoffensive… in the eyes… of their… psychologists… and yet they…”
“Okay,” the professor interrupted Claps. “Let’s imagine… in fact, let’s even assume that I didn’t notice anything during the sessions due to my own limitations. There are still other factors which suggest that Bench isn’t the author of those murders. I’m talking about objective factors.”
“Which… factors?”
“You’re a criminologist, Mr Claps. I’m sure you know them well. Tell me, what kind of characteristics are common in murders committed by schizophrenic individuals?”
“They’re dis… organized.”
“Exactly. They’re extremely disorganized. They become aggressive out of the blue, without any real reason. There is no concern whatsoever about being caught. The schizophrenic person doesn’t worry about being caught, hiding the evidence and denying his guilt.”
Professor Trevis paused for a little while, then he carried on talking. “I don’t think this applies to the person who committed these murders; in fact, it’s the complete opposite.”
Claps tried his best to remain impassive.
“That’s not all. These murders are motivated by a burning sexual desire, a delirious need for possession, and a search for power. Trust me, Bench is free of these things. He’s not the culprit.”
Claps was still dubious, but he nodded in agreement.
*
Maiezza was surprised to see Claps’ phone number on his mobile’s screen. They had been together for a quick dinner at Sensi’s only a few minutes earlier.
“I have… a question.”
“Go ahead, Claps.”
“You know when… we began… to suspect… that Bench was… the culprit… do you remember?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“Did you… personally… do the search… that I had… commissioned?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you… finish… the search… after… we had identified… Bench?”
“Are you asking whether I have inspected the remaining files from the hotel?” Maiezza began to feel embarrassed.
“Yes.”
“Err… no, to be honest. I didn’t have time, because we had to hurry to meet you soon after.”
“Were… there… still… a lot of… names?”
“Quite a few,” Maiezza admitted. “All the names related to the hotels in the outskirts of Milan near the area where Ami was taken, and also near Crema.
“Okay… can anybody… take care… of this search… tomorrow?”
“I’ll call the office and I’ll commission someone.”
“Tomorrow… morning… please?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
When the call ended, Maiezza groaned with annoyance.
*
Dr Manara dropped herself on Bench’s sofa – she was exhausted. “What time is it, pal?” Dr Portanova sat straight backed on the other end of the sofa – he looked less tired than Dr Manara.
“It’s about ten.” Dr Portanova said, trying to take off his gloves to glance at his watch. “The last time I checked was when we began to illuminate the last area with the Krimescope UV. Here… it’s 10:32 p.m.”
“Did we even have anything for dinner?”
Dr Manara lay on the sofa with her eyes closed and her arms stretched out and spread wide.
“Yup, you had a couple of sandwiches and a coke. I had some bread from Tuscany with some prosciutto ham and a glass of Chianti. A few hours ago. Don’t you remember? I can still smell that ham.”
“All I know is that I’m starving now. Despite the stench of metilbenzidine and methyl salicylate.” She pulled one of her faces to emphasise her words.
“How long have we been awake?” she continued, keeping her eyes closed.
“I would say twenty hours?”
“And what have we found in that fucking cellar?”
“Nothing.”
Dr Manara opened her eyes and lifted up her chin.
“No fucks were found, my friend. That’s how we say it scientifically – no fucks were found.”
*
The fu
ll moon was shining that night and it illuminated the Cellini family’s garden.
It was windy, a cold, hissy wind.
The grass had grown uncontrollably thick and wild and trembled in the wind.
Claps was walking through it and it was almost as tall as he was, opening and closing pathways as he made his progress.
He was struggling to move forward, it was as if a giant octopus was holding him back from attempting to reach the house. And yet he didn’t surrender to it. He had to carry on walking, he had to find what he was looking for. But he couldn’t see anything in front of him apart from the trembling green wall.
Claps’ breath had grown heavier, as he opened up a way forward by moving the grass to the sides with his hands. He had expected to find some kind of sign at each step, an indication that he was following the right path. Then, all of a sudden, he saw the fence. It wasn’t the chain link fence that he had seen before – this was Denise’s necklace, which was stretched to an incredible length and shimmered in the moonlight.
Claps wasn’t surprised and crossed over the necklace with ease – he saw a bright light shining in front of his eyes.
The green octopus seemed to have forgotten about him now. He walked easily towards the light. That light filtered through the windows at the entrance to Bench’s cellar.
He walked towards the windows. He tried to look through them, but the glass was opaque and he couldn’t figure out what was happening inside the cellar.
“I have to go inside”. Claps thought, and he was overwhelmed by a sense of anguish.
The dark cage was there, one step away from him.
Claps closed the grating behind him and the cage began to descend slowly.
It was pitch dark.
The stench of the mine hit him almost immediately. Soil and iron.
As he made his way into the centre of the earth, the walls of the shaft began to shrink. They moved slowly at first, then their inclination grew sharper until they tightened on the cage, which struggled to make its way down, creaking and screeching. The cage jerked and jolted, it was almost as if it wanted to free itself from the grip of that dark monster.
All of a sudden, Claps saw a grave. It was illuminated by a dim light and it was right in front of him, dug into the walls of the mine. The cage moved slowly past it as it descended.
Claps held his breath and then he saw Ami, she was laid snugly inside it and was wrapped in cellophane. Her face was uncovered; her big eyes were wide open in an eternal expression of terror which he couldn’t understand.
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