Her family had owned Martini’s Restaurant for as long as she could remember, and over time her father Carlo had transformed it from a simple trattoria into one of the leading lights of Italian cuisine. When he had met and married her mother, the adventure had even continued beyond the ocean and there was now a Martini’s in New York, a favourite haunt of movie and TV stars. In the meantime, her mother had become one of the best criminal lawyers in that city, spending more and more time over there, with the result that their marriage had gradually unravelled.
Maureen’s relationship with her mother had never really been close. Mary Ann Levallier’s cold pragmatic temperament left little room for the kind of affectionate give and take that existed between the girl and her father. And so, at the time of the divorce, Maureen had chosen to remain in Rome with Carlo and, after gaining her law degree, had decided to join the police.
Maureen remembered only too well how badly her mother had taken it when she had told her of her plans. They had been sitting in the restaurant in the gardens of the Hilton, which was where she stayed whenever she came to Rome. Mary Ann was, as always, perfectly dressed, in a Chanel suit, and perfectly groomed.
‘The police, you say? What foolishness. I was thinking of a future for you in New York. In my firm we handle many cases in conjunction with Italy. There could be a great future for a bilingual lawyer with your training.’
‘Just this once, Mother, can’t you forget about what you want for me and think about what I want for myself?’
‘On the basis of what you’ve just told me, I doubt you have a very clear idea of what you want.’
‘No, unfortunately for you, I know exactly what I want. It’s a question of attitude. I want a job that allows me to catch criminals and put them in prison, regardless of what I earn. Your work is the exact opposite: you help criminals to get out of prison, and make a good living at it.’
Her mother had surprised her by using what, for her, was very explicit language. ‘You’re an asshole, Maureen.’
The younger woman had finally allowed herself the luxury of an angelic smile. ‘Maybe a bit, on my mother’s side . . .’
She had stood up then and left, leaving Mary Ann Levallier to tackle a scampi cocktail that probably bothered her because the colour didn’t match her blouse.
Duilio brought the Porsche, with the top down, up from the underground floor of the garage and parked beside her. He jumped out of the car and held the door open for her.
‘Here you are. End of the forbidden dream.’
‘What forbidden dream?’
‘A nice run around Rome in a car like this, on a day like this, with a beautiful woman like you.’
Maureen got in, smiling at him as she fastened her seat belt. ‘Sometimes you just have to dare, Duilio.’
‘At my age, signora? When I was young, I was always afraid women would say no. Now I’m terrified they’ll say yes.’
Maureen was forced to laugh, although her state of mind wasn’t exactly conducive to laughter.
‘Have a good day, Duilio.’
‘You too, signora.’
The Porsche was a gift from her father. She loved it, even though it was the kind of status symbol that classified her as a rich woman. Maureen was, like many self-confident people, modest by nature, and so she had never used that car much, and certainly not to go to and from the police station. If she was going to get along with her colleagues, she certainly didn’t want to intimidate them.
She joined the traffic and drove calmly through a tangle of small streets until she got onto the Via dei Fori Imperiali. Concealing her eyes behind sunglasses, she tried to ignore the looks that other drivers threw at her and at her car whenever she drew up at the lights.
As she drove down towards the river, her cellphone started ringing on the seat beside her. She put in the earphone and was surprised to hear Connor’s voice.
‘Hi. When are you coming back?’ he said.
‘I only just left.’
‘You won’t believe it, but that’s the same excuse Ulysses gave Penelope when he got back after twenty years away.’
‘Then we ought to synchronize watches. I haven’t even been gone twenty minutes.’
‘You’re lying. It’s been at least twenty-one.’
Maureen was grateful for the attempt to cheer her up. Connor knew perfectly well where she was going, and in what state of mind, and this was his way of making her feel she was not alone.
‘Why don’t you take a nice walk around Rome, eyeing up the girls, and then meet me in, let’s say, an hour and a half outside my lawyer’s office?’
‘Promise me that after that, we’ll go bum a dinner off your father.’
‘Aren’t you tired of eating there yet?’
‘Not while it’s free.’
Maureen gave him the address and hung up. In spite of his last remark, if there was one thing Connor didn’t care much about, it was money. Even though his albums were starting to sell well, Maureen had the feeling he didn’t even know how much money he had in the bank. When she had left the apartment, he had been on the phone, talking to Bono from U2 about a future project, his eyes shining like a little boy’s.
She drove sedately alongside the river, accepting the intermittent glare of the sun through the branches of the trees lining the street. Despite the warm spring air in her hair, there was a slight feeling of cold in her heart.
She turned left onto the Ponte del Risorgimento, then along the Viale Mazzini, and by a stroke of luck found a parking space just outside the building where her lawyer Franco Roberto had his office.
When he saw her enter, ushered in by his secretary, Franco rose from his desk and crossed the room to greet her. He was a tall, thin, dark-complexioned man with brown eyes and black hair. He could not be called handsome, but his face and eyes were alive with intelligence. He and Maureen had studied together at university, from which he had graduated with flying colours. She suspected that, during their student days, Franco wouldn’t have minded at all if their friendship had become something more. But Maureen’s attitude towards him must have convinced him to discreetly set aside whatever intentions he might have had, and her suspicions had remained just that.
Now Franco kissed her affectionately on the cheeks. ‘Good afternoon, Chief Inspector. How are things?’
‘Sometimes good, sometimes not so good. And I’m sorry that right now you’re part of the not so good.’
‘I’ll do my best to change that.’
He walked back behind his desk and opened a folder. Maureen sat down facing him, in one of the two elegant leather armchairs.
‘The situation is somewhat confused, but I don’t think someone with your service record should have anything to worry about at the hearing.’
‘Franco, you’re a naturally positive person and I’m not a naturally negative one. But I don’t think I’m wrong if I define the situation as rather more than just “confused”.’
‘Do you feel like talking about it again?’
‘All right.’
Franco stood up and went to stand by the open window. ‘Try to summarize the facts.’
‘There was this Albanian, Avenir Gallani,’ Maureen began. ‘He suddenly showed up in Rome and started going around in expensive cars, being seen in trendy clubs and showbiz circles, claiming to be a record and film producer. His behaviour and the money he was spending attracted our attention. From upstairs, we received orders to keep an eye on him, as he was suspected of being connected in some way with the Albanian Mafia, in particular with a big drugs ring. We ascertained that he had a fairly extensive criminal record in his country. We had him under surveillance for nearly a year, yet all we managed to discover was the likelihood that Avenir Gallani was a complete idiot. True, he had a lot of money – the source of which wasn’t clear – but he was still an idiot. At the same time, he had a kind of low cunning and the trouble with such people is that, sooner or later, they can’t help boasting about the fruits of their cunnin
g. That was the trap he fell into. He’d started a relationship with a TV starlet, the kind of girl ready to do anything to further her career. Gallani fell in love with her and wanted to look good in her eyes. We had his apartment bugged, and one evening we heard him bragging to her that in a few days he’d be clinching a deal worth many millions of euros. When that was done, he said, he was going to produce a film to really launch her.
‘We increased the surveillance and tailed him twenty-four hours a day,’ Maureen went on. ‘We finally managed to discover that Avenir was due to take delivery of a big drug consignment in Manziana forest, to the north of Rome. We set up an operation, in collaboration with the police in Viterbo, and caught them all in the act. All except Gallani. When he saw us coming, he managed to slip through the cordon and escape. I followed him into the forest as far as a small clearing where a BMW was parked. He ran to the car, opened the door and leaned inside to get something. When he straightened up again, he had a gun in his hand. He aimed it at me and fired.’
‘How many shots?’
‘One.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘I fired back.’
‘And killed him.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘Yes.’
‘And what happened then?’
‘I heard a noise coming from the undergrowth on my right. I went back into the forest and took a good look around, but couldn’t see or hear anyone. I assumed the noise had been caused by some animal scared by the shots.’
‘What did you do next?’
‘I went back to the car.’
‘And what did you find there?’
‘The body of Avenir Gallani in the same position he’d fallen in.’
Maureen would never forget that moment. It was the first time she had killed a man. She had stood there, motionless, looking at that body lying on the ground, the mouth wide open, a gaping hole over the heart, blood gushing to form a pool on the damp grass. All around were lights flashing, cries, orders being shouted, car tyres on the gravel. All she could do was stand there, her hand hanging by her side, still gripping her gun, faced with the immense responsibility of having cut short a human life.
‘And the gun?’ Franco Roberto asked, jolting her from her memories.
‘The gun wasn’t there any more.’
‘Wasn’t there any more or had never been there?’
Maureen leaped to her feet. ‘What kind of question is that?’
Franco shook his head, and Maureen realized she had just failed a test.
‘It’s not my question,’ he explained patiently. ‘It’s the kind of question the Public Prosecutor will ask you. And that wasn’t quite the reaction I’d hoped for.’
Maureen fell back into the armchair. ‘I’m sorry, Franco. My nerves are on edge.’
‘I understand. But this really isn’t the best time to lose control.’
‘Franco, the man had a gun and used it on me! I’m not crazy and I’m not a liar. And I’m certainly not stupid. Why would I continue to insist on this version if it wasn’t true?’
Franco’s silence made her uneasy.
‘You do believe me, don’t you?’
‘What I believe doesn’t matter, Maureen. I’m paid to think and make other people think. And what I have to consider now is how to make the judges think that that gun was there.’
Maureen signed all the proxies and powers of attorney Franco needed, a formality that made the atmosphere in the office all the more unbreatheable. At last, it was all done, and she got up from her chair, went to the window and looked out. Below her was the traffic of a Roman evening, slow, chaotic and noisy. After a moment, she saw Connor coming up the avenue, his curly head bobbing up and down as he walked.
He stopped just below her and looked up to check that he had the right building.
For the first time since she had come into that office, Maureen smiled.
Franco came to her side and looked in the same direction. ‘I get the impression that man is here for you.’
‘Yes, I think he is.’
‘I can’t give a name to the way you said that, but I think you might like to know that I don’t need you here any more.’
Maureen turned and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank you, Franco. Thank you for everything.’
‘Go. Nobody deserves the torture of waiting for you.’
She left the office and walked downstairs with a sense of liberation. The facts and the memories she had just had to confront had made her miss Connor. When she was with him, she felt different – she felt safe. Maureen smiled. How strange it was to feel protected by a man who faced life completely unarmed!
She opened the door and went out on the street. What happened next she would remember all her life, almost as a series of still images.
The door closing.
Connor waiting for her under a tree on the other side of the avenue.
Connor smiling at her and crossing the street to join her.
The light in Connor’s eyes as he looked at her, the way she had always wanted a man to look at her.
Connor just a few steps from her.
A Voyager with blacked-out windows pulling up next to them with a squeal of tyres.
Four men jumping out and running up to them.
Four men putting black hoods over their heads and dragging them off.
CHAPTER 12
Darkness.
The vaguely mildewed smell of the cloth enclosing her head. The swerving of the vehicle as it accelerated through the streets of Rome. The noise of the wheels in a paved area. Tape had been tied round her wrists, and any attempt to scream had been frustrated by the gag that held the rough material of the hood over her mouth. Any struggle at all on her part had been put paid to by a voice in a slight foreign accent that had whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t move or your boyfriend dies.’
As confirmation of the threat, Maureen had felt the sharp point of a knife against her throat. She assumed that someone else had said and done the same thing to Connor, and the fear of his fear had filled her with despair, a despair darker than the darkness in which she was imprisoned.
She was motionless and silent throughout the journey. Encouraged by her lack of reaction, the man beside her eased the pressure of the knife after a while. At first, Maureen tried to remain aware of anything that could identify the route they were taking, but the drive had lasted so long, it was pointless trying to memorize any of it.
One thing she had been able to surmise was that, as they were stopping less frequently, they were moving away from the centre of the city. Then, when even these few stops were replaced by a long uninterrupted stretch, she assumed that they had left Rome completely.
At last, the Voyager made an abrupt turn and then came to a complete halt. Maureen heard the doors open, and sturdy arms pulled her up out of her sitting position. The same strong, pitiless arms almost lifted her from the ground as she took a few blind steps. The gag was removed, and then the hood. She breathed in the cool evening air. The first thing that struck her eyes, after all that darkness, were the colours: the red of the earth, the green of the vegetation. Then she saw three cars, arranged in a circle, their headlamps on, surrounding a large area of open ground, with two wide entrances through the bushes on opposite sides. Above, the trees leaned into the middle to form a kind of vault. Right at the top, through an opening, a few faded stars could be glimpsed.
On the opposite side of the circle, Connor was kneeling, his face and shirt soiled with earth. Maureen assumed that the man standing behind him had shoved him to the ground.
Between her and Connor, in the middle of the clearing, stood a man with his back to her.
He was tall and solid, but not fat. His hair was cut very short, and from under the collar of his leather jacket a tattoo rose from his neck towards his right ear like ivy on a wall. He lit a cigarette and Maureen saw the smoke floating in the light of the headlamps.
He stood like that, motionless, for a whi
le, then, as if he had only just remembered that she was there, he turned towards her. He had sharp features and an unkempt beard.
His cold, deep-set eyes were perfectly in keeping with the cruel cut of his mouth. From his left ear hung a strange earring, a stylized cross with a tiny diamond in the middle that glittered in the light as he moved his head, which he kept doing, as if nodding in reply to words that only he could hear. When at last he spoke, he had the same accent as the man who had held a knife to her throat in the Voyager.
‘Well, here we are, Chief Inspector Martini. I hope my friends didn’t mistreat you too much during the trip.’
‘Who are you?’
‘All in good time, Chief Inspector. Or can I call you Maureen?’
‘I repeat, who are you and what do you want?’
The man ignored her question. ‘Do you know where we are?’
‘No.’
‘Strange. I thought you might have recognized the place.’
The man gestured towards one of the entrances to the clearing.
‘A few hundred yards in that direction, a few weeks ago, you killed a man.’
Silence fell for a moment. The man bent his head and moved the earth with his foot as if a body was buried there.
‘Yes. We’re in Manziana forest. Strange, the way we keep coming back to certain places, isn’t it?’ He looked up again. ‘My name is Arben Gallani. The man you murdered, Avenir Gallani, was my brother.’
‘I didn’t murder anyone. You have no idea what happened.’
Arben threw the cigarette butt beyond the cone of light created by the cars’ headlamps. ‘Oh yes, I do. I was there.’
He put his hand under his jacket, took out a gun from the back of his belt and held it flat on his palm so that Maureen could get a good look at it.
‘Do you recognize this?’
‘I’ve never seen it before in my life.’
‘Oh, but you have, even if only for a moment. It was the one Avenir was holding when you shot him.’
The Killer in My Eyes. By G. Faletti Page 8