Involuntary Witness gg-1

by Gianrico Carofiglio

  33

  The bar in the law courts had little tables like the ones in the snack bars of the 1970s. I got my cup of coffee at the counter, then went and sat at one, alone and with the intention of spending half an hour without thinking of anything or talking to a soul.

  I lit a cigarette and sat there watching the people coming in and out of the bar. Peaceful.

  There I was when in came a suntanned, stylish, bejewelled woman with the air of one who spends a lot of her time between the gym and the beauty parlour. She was making for the counter when she spotted me and stopped. She was looking in my direction with the beginnings of a smile on her face, as if she expected some sign of recognition. I glanced to right and left, to see if it was really me she was looking at. Behind me was impossible, because I was right against the wall. However, I was the only one at the tables, so it really was me she was looking at.

  Noticing the way I acted, she came nearer. Her expression had changed a little. I imagine she thought I must be extremely short-sighted or extremely dim-witted.

  “Don’t you recognize me?” she said at last.

  I craned towards her, and a doltish smile spread over my face while I hunted for something to say. Then I did recognize her.

  From fifteen years before, or perhaps more. I had only just graduated. I couldn’t remember what she was doing at that time, but certainly something quite different. Maybe studying medicine, or maybe I was confusing her with someone else.

  We had gone out together for a couple of months, or perhaps less. She was older than me, by five years or so. So now she must be about forty-five. What was her name? I couldn’t for the life of me remember her name.

  “Magda. I’m Magda. How come you don’t recognize me?”

  Magda. We’d gone out together for two months fifteen years before.

  What did we do? What did we talk about?

  “Magda. Forgive me. I don’t wear specs because I’m too vain and then I make this sort of a fool of myself. I’m a little short-sighted. How are you?”

  “I’m well. And you?”

  There followed an absurd conversation. I remembered almost nothing about her, so I was cautious, trying to avoid any more gaffes. She told me she was in the law courts for work reasons. The way she said it implied that I knew what her job was. But I hadn’t the foggiest and while she went on talking – about separations, the single life, holidays, how we absolutely must meet again one evening with a series of persons whose names meant nothing to me – I felt sucked into a surreal maelstrom.

  I recovered only when we parted, with hugs and kisses.

  Ciao, Magda. When we meet again I’ll pluck up the courage to ask you what we talked about, nearly every evening for two whole months, fifteen years ago.

  The judge asked the public prosecutor and counsel for the civil party if they wished to produce any additional evidence. They both said no. Then he turned to me with the same question. I got to my feet and before speaking adjusted my robe, which, as usual, was slipping off my shoulders.

  “Yes, Your Honour. We have applications in accordance with Article 507 of the code of criminal procedure. A short while ago the court heard the examination of the defendant. He stated that he was registered as the owner of a mobile telephone. This fact, moreover, has already emerged from the documents in your possession, because among the papers on file is the report of the confiscation of the instrument in question and the relative card, corresponding to the number 0339-7134964, the property of the defendant. The defendant stated that he took this telephone with him on that trip to Naples, and that he probably made and received calls on that occasion. You certainly know as well as I do that the use of a mobile phone leaves a trace which is preserved on a magnetic support by the telephone company, in this case Telecom. It is possible to acquire mobile-phone records showing the numbers of incoming and outgoing calls, the time and duration of each call and, above all, the area in which the telephone user was at the time of the call.

  “Having said that, I think I need not make any further explanation of what importance may attach to the acquisition from Telecom Italia of the records relative to the use of the mobile telephone number 0339-7134964 on the day of 5 August 1999. It is true that we have no witness who can confirm the alibi of the defendant. The outcome of the mobile-phone records, however, might be far more telling than any witness. The location of the instrument in question at a precise time of day might provide evidence decisive to the outcome of the trial. In conclusion, therefore, in accordance with Article 507 of the code of criminal procedure, I request an order of attachment of the mobile-phone records relative to the subscriber number 0339-7134964 for the day of 5 August 1999. I have nothing more to add. Thank you.”

  The judge kept his eyes on me for several moments after I had finished speaking. He was about to turn to the associate judge when he must have remembered that they had had a quarrel a couple of hours earlier. At least, I was convinced that for some reason or other they had quarrelled. There’s no doubt that Zavoianni was turning towards the other judge and stopped half way. So suddenly that he had to strike an attitude, resting his chin on his hand with a thoughtful air. He had moved like a character in a farce and for some moments remained quite unnaturally motionless. Then he addressed the public prosecutor.

  “Does the prosecution have any observations to make about this application by the defence?”

  “Your Honour, I have many doubts not only about the absolute necessity, but even concerning the relevance to the present trial of this request on the part of the defence. These doubts may be summed up in a few words. Who is to say whether on 5 August 1999 this mobile phone was at Thiam’s disposal? It is true that it was found in his possession at the time of the search. But this is of little significance. The search took place some days later, and we know that in certain circles – such as that of drug pushers, with which the accused has told us he is familiar, if not actively involved – it is common practice to pass around mobile phones, as it is with weapons and other things. In the absence of proof that this instrument was available to Thiam at the date on which the unlawful restraint of the child took place, the evidence requested is without relevance.

  “I might add a consideration of a purely procedural nature. Article 507 permits the taking of additional evidence when the need for it has emerged in the course of the proceedings. In this case the evidence could easily have been requested in the introductory phase, but the defence did not so act, whether from negligence or some other reason we do not know. In any case the request is late, and in this respect also it must be rejected.”

  “Does the civil party have any observations?” said the judge.

  “We concur with the considerations put forward by the public prosecutor.”

  “Your Honour,” I put in, “may I be permitted a brief objection to the observations made by the prosecution?”

  “As you well know, Avvocato, objections are not admitted at this stage.”

  “Your Honour…”

  “Avvocato, not a word more. I repeat, not a word more.”

  Thus saying, he rose to retire. One by one the members of the jury rose to follow him. The associate judge remained seated. I got the impression that he clenched his teeth for a moment. Then he too got up and was the last to leave the courtroom.

  The wait was a long one. Usually decisions of that kind, regarding applications for additional evidence, are taken directly in the hearing, or after only a few minutes of consultation in camera. But not that day. The hours went by without anything happening. I chatted a bit with the clerk of the court, who told me he didn’t understand the reason for the delay. I told him that I didn’t either, but it wasn’t true. They were out that long because the court was in fact divided between those who had already decided to convict Abdou and those who wanted to understand things better. If the first lot won, and my application for the attachment of the phone records was rejected, I might as well save myself the trouble of disputing the case. Abdou was alr
eady done for. Only if the others won was our hat still in the ring.

  From where he was in the cage, Abdou asked me what was going on and I lied to him, saying that the wait was perfectly normal.

  I had an urge to call up Margherita, but I didn’t.

  For no reason I could put my finger on, there came to mind an ancient Turkish proverb that goes more or less like this: “Before you fall in love, learn to walk on snow without leaving footprints.” Now why did that come to mind?

  I felt terribly alone and, hell and dammit, I was on the verge of tears. After months, just then of all times, just there of all places.

  No. Please, no!

  I made for the courtroom door, just in case I should make a spectacle of myself, and anyway to have another cigarette. I had already put it to my lips when the providential ringing of the bell tore through my thoughts.

  I returned to my place, put on my robe, and realized I still had the cigarette dangling from the corner of my mouth even when the court had filed back in and taken their seats and the judge was beginning to read the ruling.

  I lowered my eyes to my desk, half closing them, blurring the papers lying there. I listened.

  “The Court of Assizes of Bari, pronouncing on the application for the taking of additional evidence put forward by the defence of the accused Abdou Thiam, observes as follows.

  “The defence of the accused – in accordance with Article 507 of the code of criminal procedure – applies for the attachment of the mobile-telephone records relative to the telephone traffic of mobile number 0339-7134964 for the day of 5 August 1999, on the double presupposition that the necessity for the aforesaid attachment has emerged in the course of the proceedings (and in particular from the examination of the accused) and that in any case the above-mentioned attachment is absolutely necessary to the ascertainment of the truth.

  “The public prosecutor objects, maintaining the non-relevance (or at any rate the absence of absolute necessity) and the tardiness of this request.

  “In fact – as the public prosecutor observed – the application could well have been made at the time of the introductory exposition, because the elements to make it were at that stage already in the possession of the defence.

  “Technically, therefore, the application is to be considered tardy.”

  The judge paused, or so it seemed to me. I stayed stock still, eyes cast down, head bent. A moment or two later I realized I had been holding my breath.

  “From another point of view, however…”

  However! They’d granted it.

  “From another point of view, however, we have to point out, in accordance with the judicial principles of the Court of Appeal, that the presiding judge is obliged not to neglect the fact that the primary purpose of a criminal trial cannot be other than to search for the truth. Within this perspective we cannot accept methods or decisions which unreasonably obstruct such ascertainment of the course of events as is required to arrive at a just decision.

  “This said, we are bound to stress the fact that the evidence requested is to be considered as potentially decisive. From the attachment of the mobile-telephone records there could in fact emerge a real and proper alibi, in the case of the accused being located in a place incompatible with the hypothesis of his responsibility for the facts set down in the indictment.

  “For these motives the Court of Assizes of Bari orders the attachment of the mobile-telephone records relative to the telephone traffic of subscriber number 0339-7134964 for the day of 5 August 1999 from 06.00 to 24.00 hours.

  “It furthermore orders the presence of the officer responsible for Telecom (Bari Branch), or another employee of the company expressly empowered, to explain the precise meaning of the records before the court.

  “It charges the criminal police with the execution of this order within five days.

  “It postpones the taking of evidence and the closing argument until the hearing of 3 July.

  “The court is dismissed.”

  When I reopened my eyes and looked up, the court had already left.

  One week and it would all be over. One way or another.

  34

  During that week there were some strangely normal days. I worked as normal, attended my normal hearings, received clients, pocketed a few fees – which was all to the good – and so on and so forth.

  I didn’t concern myself with Abdou’s trial. I had to wait for the mobile-phone records to arrive anyway, because on the result of that inquiry depended the line I would take in my final speech. Until then it was pointless to re-read documents or prepare for the closing argument.

  On Thursday afternoon Margherita called me on my mobile. I had heard nothing from her since the message on Sunday evening. I hadn’t called her, or tried her on the intercom. I don’t know why. Something had held me back.

  Would I care to go out for a drink after supper? Yes, I would. Should I buzz her from down below or knock at her door? Ah, she was going out earlier and could we meet up somewhere, fairly late on. How would Via Venezia suit me? In front of the Fort at about half-past ten? Fine by me. See you later, then.

  Her tone of voice was a little puzzling, and worried me slightly.

  From that moment on, the afternoon dragged by. My thoughts wandered and I kept looking at my watch.

  I left the office at about eight, went home, had a shower and change of clothes, and started off long before the appointed hour. I whiled away the time in one way or another, and headed towards the Fort at about ten.

  I walked up the slope of Via Venezia, crowded as it always was at that hour in summertime.

  Mostly with groups of youngsters. They exuded a mixture of deodorant, sun cream and mint-flavoured chewing gum. A few bronzed fifty-year-olds with twenty-year-old girls in clouds of perfume. Very few of my age. I wondered why, just to give my mind something to toy with.

  I reached the Fort at least ten minutes early, but I felt better simply because time had passed. I leaned my back against a wall and lit a cigarette, waiting.

  She arrived at about twenty to eleven.

  “So sorry. It’s been a rough day. In a rough week. And that’s only to mention this week.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Let’s walk, is that all right?”

  We headed north, still on Via Venezia. The further we got from the area of the Fort, the more the crowd thinned out. Smaller groups, couples, a few solitary walkers, a uniformed policeman or two on duty.

  We walked together without speaking until we drew level with the Basilica of St Nicholas. A fellow with a Corsican mastiff passed right by us and the huge dog stopped dead to sniff at Margherita’s legs. She stopped too, stretched out a hand and stroked the dog’s head. The owner was amazed that the ferocious creature allowed itself to be touched like that, and by a stranger too. It was the first time such a thing had happened, he said. Did the lady have a dog? No, she didn’t. She’d had one, but it had died years ago.

  The dog and its owner went on their way and we sat on the low wall facing the right-hand side of the basilica.

  “How’s it been going for you these last few days? How about the trial?” she asked.

  “Well, I hope. Monday next we may see the end of it. And how about you?” Tentative.

  She paused, then spoke as if I hadn’t asked any question at all.

  “In the places where they teach you to knock off drink they also explain how to resist the temptation to backslide. In the first year after treatment an awful lot of people relapse, and even after that it’s very frequent. It was something they told us over and over again. There will be difficult moments – they told us – when you will feel depressed, you will have a terrible nostalgia for the past or fear of the future. At those times you will feel the urge to drink. An urge you feel you can’t resist, that will sweep over you like a wave. But it’s not irresistible. It seems so to you because at that moment you are weaker. But it really is just like a wave. A wave of the sea only submerges you for a
second or two, even if when you are under water it seems like eternity. You come out easily enough if you don’t panic. So remember – they said – that at such moments you have only to stay calm. Don’t give way to panic, remember that your head will soon come out from under because the wave has passed. When you are struck by the overwhelming impulse to drink, do something to make the seconds or the minutes pass, or however long the crisis lasts. Do exercises, run two miles, eat a piece of fruit, call up a friend. Anything that makes the time pass without thinking.”

  I remained silent, fearful of what was coming next.

  “It has happened to me several times, as it has to everyone. Aikido has helped me. When the wave came, I put on my kimono and went through the technical moves, trying to concentrate only on what I was doing. It worked. When I finished training I’d forgotten the urge to drink.

  “With time those moments have become rarer and rarer. For at least two years I hadn’t had one.”

  I lit the cigarette I’d been holding between my fingers for several minutes. Margherita went on in the same tone of voice, gazing at some indeterminate spot before her.

  “There’s someone in my life, there has been for nearly three years. He doesn’t live in Bari, and maybe that’s why it has worked for so long. We see each other at weekends, either he comes to me or I go to him. Last weekend he came here. I had already mentioned you. Casually, as one might normally, and at first he didn’t mind. Or if he did he didn’t say so.”

  She turned slightly towards me, took my cigarette and smoked quite a lot of it before giving it back.

  “However, I don’t know how, but the discussion cropped up again last Saturday. That is, not so much a discussion as a jealous scene. Now, I should tell you that he is not a jealous person. He’s quite the opposite. So I was taken aback and reacted badly. Very badly. We had been together, in a word we’d made love…”

  I felt a stab in the guts. Instant fog in the brain for I don’t know how long before I could grasp what she was saying again.