The Dark Heart of Florence: Number 6 in series (Michele Ferrara)

by Michele Giuttari

‘Thanks, Fanti. I was just about to ask you for one, but I see you’ve already thought of it.’

  Teresa ran a hand through her hair and looked at the girl for a few moments. Officer Belli was sitting to one side of the desk with a notebook open in front of her, ready to take notes.

  The girl sat leaning forward in the visitor’s chair, her hands clasped in her lap. She was short and thin, with a dark complexion, and did not look older than eighteen. When she had entered the office, Teresa had been struck by the pallor of her lips.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Teresa asked her.

  ‘Alba Cecchi.’

  ‘And how old are you?’

  ‘I’ll be twenty-two on the first of December.’

  ‘What’s the nature of your relationship with Fabio Biondi?’

  ‘I love computers, and he’s taught me a lot, all kinds of tricks.’

  Her accent was typically Florentine. Looking at her more closely, Teresa noticed a small gemstone in the middle of her tongue.

  ‘Had you known him for long?’

  ‘We’d been meeting up for a couple of years.’

  ‘Often?’

  ‘Quite often.’

  ‘Why have you come to Police Headquarters?’

  The girl shrugged and half closed her eyes, as if dazzled by headlights. ‘Because of what’s happened. But I don’t want my parents to know I’ve been here.’

  ‘They won’t find out, unless there’s a good reason for them to know. But if you’re so scared, why have you come?’

  The young woman looked at Teresa with questioning eyes and grimaced. ‘I’m scared after what’s happened. People knew that Fabio and I spent time together. I could be in danger too.’

  Her voice betrayed her fear.

  Teresa wondered how the young woman had guessed that the fire had been a criminal act, given that the fire brigade had still not established the cause.

  ‘Why do you think you’re in danger? Did something happen that worried you and Fabio?’

  ‘No,’ the girl replied, her gaze fixed on the middle distance. ‘Well, except that yesterday afternoon we had the feeling someone was following us.’

  ‘Please tell me more.’

  Alba Cecchi told them that they had gone to the Parco delle Cascine at about four to stretch their legs, and that as they were walking they had noticed a man who seemed to be following them.

  ‘And what happened to this man?’

  ‘We lost sight of him after a while.’

  ‘Why did you think he was following you?’

  ‘Fabio told me he was probably just a peeping Tom. There are lots of them who hang around the park.’

  ‘How long was your walk?’

  ‘If you’re asking how long we were out for, I’d say about an hour and half, no more than that.’

  ‘What time did you get home?’

  ‘About half past five, quarter to six at the latest.’

  Teresa and Officer Belli exchanged glances.

  ‘Why exactly did you ask for me?’ Teresa asked.

  ‘Fabio told me about you.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That he knew you. He showed me your present. He really liked it. He told me that you were a very nice policewoman.’

  There was a pause.

  Teresa looked her straight in the eyes for a moment. ‘Is there anything else?’ she asked.

  ‘He hinted that he was doing something urgent and difficult for you.’

  ‘Did he tell you anything more?’

  ‘No, I realised it was something he couldn’t talk about and I didn’t ask him any questions.’

  The telephone rang. It was Ferrara.

  ‘I’ll be there right away, chief,’ Teresa said. ‘Please wait here,’ she said to the girl. She exchanged a knowing glance with Alessandra Belli and stood up, sure that the girl was hiding something important.

  72

  She shivered.

  She was feeling really nauseous.

  The room seemed out of focus and her head was spinning like a top. She was sure she had been drugged. But she had no idea with what. An anaesthetic?

  There was a metallic taste in her mouth. She remembered a few things: the electric shock, the way he threw himself on her, his swollen penis, the pitch darkness…

  The bastard! she thought. Why me?

  She ran a hand over her body, which was still aching. The bastard had raped her. A man, another fucking man. Slowly, she sat up. She noticed there was a plastic bottle next to her, its seal unbroken. She opened it. It was water. She lifted it to her lips and drank it down in one go. There was also a packet of biscuits. She left it untouched. She didn’t want anything to eat. All she wanted to do was pray.

  Our Father who art in Heaven

  Hallowed be Thy name,

  Thy kingdom come,

  Thy will be done,

  On Earth, as it is in Heaven…

  She knew her prayers. She had attended mass in the prison chapel every Sunday.

  I don’t want to die! If I get out of here alive, I’ll be loyal to You forever, Lord!

  After a while, she stood up. Her head was still spinning, but she was thinking more clearly now. She kept her body under control. She felt dirty.

  Then she moved.

  She looked at one of the walls and noticed that two lamps were on. The room was quite big. Some of her clothes had been flung untidily onto an old bench. She went over and saw a toilet in the gloom. She could hear nothing – no sound of cars or horns. No din of people in the street or children playing. She must be underground.

  She held back a sob as she dressed and then went back to the mattress. She curled up, feeling like a little girl terrified of monsters. After a while, exhausted, she fell asleep.

  She did not hear him come in.

  He was wearing a black silk dressing gown decorated with large hand-sewn designs. Over his face was a balaclava.

  He shook her, and she slowly opened her eyes.

  It was not a figment of her imagination or a dream. Her heart started pounding madly.

  She wanted to beg him not to hurt her again, but the only thing that escaped her lips was a little sigh. She heard him say a few words, but could not make sense of them.

  ‘I’m not well,’ she managed to splutter. ‘I need to vomit.’ She was trying to memorise as many details as possible. Details that might be useful to her later. She wanted to see this man behind bars.

  He seemed to pierce her with his icy gaze. ‘It’ll pass. If you need to throw up, bitch, just throw up.’

  ‘Why did you do it?’

  He did not reply. He seemed distant, ice-cold. He had moved closer to her.

  ‘Please don’t hurt me again, I beg you!’

  ‘Go put on a short dress and high heels. I’ll show you what real pleasure is, you perverted slut!’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about? I’m feeling dizzy, leave me alone!’

  He gave a loud laugh, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her roughly to him. She summoned the strength to dig her fingers into his balaclava.

  ‘Stupid bitch!’

  In a rage, he hurled her to the floor and started kicking her. Again and again. One kick after another, without let-up. He seemed crazed.

  Guendalina realised she would soon pass out, and then he would rape her again.

  She prayed. ‘Our Father who art in Heaven…’

  Her vision was clouding over and the monster was becoming more and more blurry until he became just a speck of light.

  She plummeted into darkness.

  ‘Stupid bitch!’ he muttered, switching on other lights with a remote.

  Now he would possess her, and this time he would satisfy his most brutal fantasies.

  He pressed another button and the music of Guns N’ Roses blasted out at full volume. The sound-proofing, which he had installed himself, made the place secure.

  The strong, rebellious voice of Axl Rose filled the room.

  ‘A world that’s much
too dark,’ he sang along.

  Yes, much too dark. He remembered the concert he had attended many years earlier in the United States, remembered Axl Rose in a blue bandana, with his dark eyes and long blond hair. Just as he had worn his at that time.

  The air was vibrating with electricity. He let the dressing gown slip to the floor.

  She was incredibly beautiful, such a turn-on with her body covered in bruises. So defenceless as she slept!

  He threw himself on her.

  73

  Should she continue being tactful? Or should she be more forceful in her questioning? On her way back to her office, Teresa decided on the first option.

  The girl was still sitting with her elbows on the desk, her head between her hands. Officer Belli had not moved either.

  ‘Let’s start again from the beginning,’ Teresa said, resuming her seat behind the desk. ‘Tell me everything, and I mean everything.’ She had dropped her formal tone in the hope that it would make the young woman more at ease. ‘I promise your parents won’t know anything about this.’ She took a piece of paper from the printer and unscrewed the cap from her pen. ‘I need to know more about Fabio, because that’s the only way I can understand what’s happened. Tell me about him.’

  She was following a suggestion from Ferrara, who always said that they should not be content with the most predictable information about a victim. A good investigation required a detailed knowledge of his or her personality.

  The girl moved her hands to her legs and shrugged, staring at Teresa all the while. Then she turned to look at Alessandra Belli. She waited a few seconds before speaking. From her expression and her new posture, Teresa sensed that she had decided to talk.

  ‘Can I trust you?’ she asked in a thin voice.

  ‘One hundred per cent, I give you my word. And I have complete trust in Officer Belli. You can talk freely.’

  ‘I’m going to tell you a secret,’ the girl said.

  ‘Go on,’

  For a moment, she turned away and looked at another point in the room, then came back to them. ‘Look in his bedroom. There’s a safe where Fabio kept important documents.’

  ‘What kind of documents?’

  ‘I don’t know, because he didn’t tell me. He only said that, if anything serious ever happened to him, I should tell you about the safe.’

  ‘Is that really all you know?’

  ‘Yes, I swear.’

  Teresa could tell from her eyes that she wasn’t lying. ‘When did he tell you this?’

  ‘A few days ago.’

  As if he really did think something was going to happen to him, Teresa thought.

  ‘Did he tell you whether it has a combination?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or its exact location?’

  ‘No.’

  Teresa realised there was no point insisting. After a few more questions, she told the girl that her statement had been very useful.

  She got up, put a hand on her shoulder and said goodbye.

  Alba Cecchi shook her hand, but merely nodded to Officer Belli.

  Teresa stood by the door, watching her as she walked slowly down the corridor. She saw her turn to wave goodbye again before going down the stairs.

  Even though it was Sunday, Angelica decided to go to Sollicciano Prison that morning. She wanted to look up Guendalina’s personal file in the prison records.

  She was well respected by everyone, including the warden, Mazzorelli. There wouldn’t be any problems.

  ‘Hello, what are you doing here?’ Mazzorelli asked her from behind his enormous half-moon desk, a tireless worker even on a Sunday. ‘Aren’t you still on holiday?’

  ‘I’ve still got a week left. But…’

  ‘What is it, Angelica? Take a seat.’

  She sat down. Aware that he already knew a lot about her friendship with Guendalina, she told him Guendalina had left suddenly, without any prior warning.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any idea where she is?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here. I’d like to check her personal file. Maybe I’ll be able to find something useful.’

  Mazzorelli thought it over for a few moments. Then he picked up the phone and told the person in charge of records to bring him Guendalina Volpi’s file.

  ‘Would you like a coffee while you’re waiting?’ he said after he had hung up.

  ‘Thanks, I’d love one.’

  Less than an hour later, Angelica knocked on the door of the rectory. She wanted to see Don Santo, the prison chaplain.

  In the file, there had been copies of letters that Guendalina had written him to find out what the Sunday lessons would be. And a few leaflets given out at Mass. Some parts had been underlined in pencil:

  Sorrow comes from the devil, who wishes to discourage souls on their spiritual journeys; joy, on the other hand, is a gift of the Holy Spirit and urges us to keep moving forward in spite of our human weaknesses and miseries. The certainty of divine aid increases the need to pray insistently and unceasingly.

  The door was answered by the priest’s housekeeper, a small, quite well-built old lady dressed entirely in black, with a clothes brush in her hand. Walking with a limp, she led Angelica to the study.

  ‘Don Santo will be here in a moment,’ she said in a thin voice and left the room.

  While she was waiting Angelica walked up and down and looked around. On a shelf she saw some very old books, and was about to take one down when she heard the door open. She turned.

  ‘Ah, Angelica, what happy wind brings you here?’

  Don Santo had white hair and was tall and lanky, with a dark complexion. He was wearing a silk smoking jacket and black cotton trousers. Angelica went to him and they shook hands.

  ‘Don Santo, I need your help,’ Angelica said.

  He smiled and nodded. ‘Just tell me what you want, and I’ll see what I can do. But first, can I offer you anything?’

  ‘No thanks, I’m fine.’

  ‘Then I’m ready. What’s it all about?’

  Coming straight to the point, Angelica told him about Guendalina’s disappearance.

  ‘Guendalina’s a very sweet person,’ Don Santo said, clearly shaken by the news.

  ‘Father, I know Guendalina had a good relationship with you. Do you have any idea where she might have gone? Did she tell you anything in confidence?’

  Don Santo interrupted her. ‘My child, I have no desire to know anything about the inmates, or their pasts. My only aim is to be a brother to them. And don’t forget that I am bound by the secret of the confessional. I can only tell you my impression, which is that’d been very happy recently, and not just because she was due to be released. I never asked her why, but I did notice a new light in her eyes.’

  ‘So you can’t suggest where I should go and look for her?’

  Don Santo shook his head and looked at her with kindly eyes. ‘No,’ he said, gently but firmly.

  Angelica got up from her chair. She had no desire to waste any more time. Don Santo walked her to the door and gave her a farewell hug. ‘Be brave, my child, and don’t despair. The ways of the Lord are infinite.’

  Disconsolate and full of doubts, she headed home, mulling over the priest’s last words.

  She could only hope that those ways led Guendalina back to her.

  74

  Rizzo spoke to Ferrara and Teresa as soon as he got back from the Institute of Forensic Medicine.

  The charred body was that of a male, about five feet three in height. There had been a ring on his right hand and his jaw had been broken.

  ‘The details match exactly,’ Teresa said. ‘It has to be Fabio.’

  ‘Why was his jaw broken?’ Ferrara asked.

  ‘According to the pathologist,’ Rizzo said, ‘it could have happened when part of the roof collapsed on him, but they’ll have to do more tests.’

  ‘Who was the pathologist on call?’

  ‘Franceschini.’

  ‘What about the cause of death?�
��

  ‘Probably smoke inhalation.’