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

by Michele Giuttari

  There were so many questions without answers.

  Why had others known of the existence of the Black Rose when they hadn’t? Why had they only discovered it thanks to Leonardo Berghoff’s letter?

  And why had Fabio Biondi been killed?

  ‘He obviously discovered something he wasn’t supposed to, Michele,’ Rizzo said.

  ‘Do you think he might have died because of the video?’ Teresa asked, feeling guilty.

  ‘It’s possible,’ Ferrara replied.

  ‘And what happened to it? Was it one of the things destroyed in the fire? Or is it in the possession of whoever killed him?’ It was almost as if she were asking herself the questions.

  But then the next question had to be – and all three of them were wondering this – how could the killer have known about Fabio’s work on the video?

  They considered this in silence.

  And Ferrara remembered what he had read in Sergi’s papers: The Archivist. Who worked from home.

  He formed a hypothesis: whoever had killed Sergi must have either already known about the role Fabio Biondi was playing or extracted the information from the inspector before killing him. It was pure supposition, but not unfounded.

  Ferrara ordered Rizzo and Teresa to search through Sergi’s papers, his telephone records, who he had been meeting, even more thoroughly than before. Everything had to be looked at. They mustn’t forget Fabio Biondi’s telephone records either.

  ‘That’s where we have to find the answers to our questions,’ he concluded.

  They agreed.

  78

  He had read the online news in the early hours. All the papers were talking about the death of Fabio Biondi. From what he had read, the investigators seemed to be linking it to the lift arsonist.

  He burst out laughing. That arsonist didn’t have a fucking thing to do with this.

  Poor bastards! Let them carry on with their investigations! Let them squander their money – they wouldn’t discover anything anyway!

  He dialled an international number to say that he would be another couple of days.

  ‘I need to sign an important contract. You know how these people like to play hard to get.’

  Then he changed the sim card and sent a text.

  We must meet immediately.

  Gori could hardly believe it. To think he had asked them to check their records only to be thorough!

  The DNA profile did match someone in the records: Leonardo Berghoff, who had died in Germany on 5 July 2004.

  How was it possible? The marshal could barely breathe as he read the fax from Rome. What should he do now? he wondered. Call Ferrara right away? Or speak to the Prosecutor first?

  As a loyal carabiniere, he chose the second option.

  Having first informed his colonel, he hurried to the Prosecutor’s Department.

  Luca Fiore was sitting behind his desk.

  Gori and Deputy Vinci, who had already been informed, took their seats in the visitors’ chairs.

  ‘Marshal,’ Vinci said, a slight smile hovering over his lips, ‘tell Prosecutor Fiore what you’ve discovered.’

  Gori summarised the tests carried out at the biology lab in Rome and the results.

  Luca Fiore looked stunned at first. Then he recovered his wits and said in a resolute voice, ‘Marshal, I would urge you to exercise the utmost discretion. We must act with caution and check this as thoroughly as possible. I want you to go to Germany in person and confirm what actually happened to this Berghoff.’

  ‘Of course, Prosecutor.’

  ‘If necessary, we’ll ask our German colleagues to exhume the corpse that was buried under that name.’

  ‘I’ll leave this afternoon, Prosecutor.’

  ‘Thanks, and keep me updated.’

  ‘Of course!’

  The marshal left the room. When the two prosecutors were alone, Luca Fiore said to his deputy, ‘Luigi, this Ferrara has been telling me tall tales. He’s sent us death certificates for a criminal who turns out to be alive and kicking. A criminal who’s slaughtered a poor young girl.’

  ‘A monster.’

  ‘Precisely. And then there was that letter about the secret lodge that he sent in with his request. We were right not to agree to it. What would have happened if we’d authorised him to search Cosimo Presti’s home and office? We’d have been in real trouble.’

  ‘This whole thing could be a pack of lies.’

  ‘That’s what I think.’

  ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘Nothing for now, Luigi. Let’s wait and see what the marshal finds out.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘When we’ve got the results, we’ll decide whether to search Ferrara’s office. It’s possible we’d find something interesting, perhaps proof that he’s been lying all along. What do you think?’

  ‘I’ll personally go with the Carabinieri to search it. And I’ll leave his office like a brothel after a brawl.’

  ‘I’ll come too. All the Head of the State Police has managed to do so far is ask him to write a letter of apology for the press conference, but I’m going to destroy his career. He’s really crossed the line this time, and I’m going to make him pay for it.’

  A broad smile appeared on Vinci’s face.

  ‘And we won’t even tell the Commissioner,’ Luca Fiore concluded.

  ‘Absolutely not. It has to come like a bolt from the blue.’

  79

  Ferrara opened the folder.

  Inside was the data Fanti had gathered after receiving the fax from the traffic police.

  COLLATION OF OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS AND REPORT

  Angelica Fossi, née Bruno, born Vicchio del Mugello (Florence), 13 April 1968, currently residing in Dicomano.

  Identity Card: AK7693641

  Passport: AA 1985523

  Driving Licence: FI 3754210

  Weapons licence: None

  REPORT:

  The subject comes from a family of wealthy landowners. Both her parents are dead. Her father killed his wife, who was seriously ill, and then committed suicide. She was an only child. After finishing middle school, she attended a senior high school specialising in the arts, completing her secondary studies in 1986. She is unmarried. She works as a social worker on behalf of inmates of the prison at Sollicciano, acting as liaison with their families. She has a particular interest in painting.

  She lives alone in a farmhouse in the countryside between Dicomano and Godenza in the Mugello area.

  Report compiled in accordance with your instructions.

  Signed: Sergeant Nestore Fanti

  Florence, Monday, 6 September 2004

  Appendix A comprises a copy of the subject’s passport application form.

  Appendix B comprises various standard reports provided by Special Ops at the request of the prison.

  Ferrara lingered over the passport photo stapled to the form. He was sure he had never seen that face before: the open, honest face of a young woman no different from many others. But, looking at it more closely, he thought he detected a certain similarity to the identikit.

  In the notes from Special Ops, he read that her conduct record was clean, she had no criminal record, had never been reported to the police, and had never been involved in direct political action.

  He called his secretary and complimented him on his excellent work.

  ‘It’s not finished, chief,’ Fanti said, blushing.

  ‘What’s missing?’

  ‘I still need to go there and make some discreet inquiries. I might find out more from her neighbours.’

  ‘No, there’s no need to go anywhere. You’ve done an excellent job and now it’s finished. Get Rizzo to come and see me.’

  ‘I saw him go out about ten minutes ago, chief. Shall I call his mobile?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Fanti withdrew, looking puzzled. Had he made a mistake? But what?

  It would torment him for the rest of the day.

  They were in San Gimignano a
gain, in a rented car this time.

  They were not far from Sir George’s villa, taking a lot of photographs: the final details for the last piece of the jigsaw. Later, he would decide what to do with that bitch he was holding prisoner. Maybe he’d set her free. She hadn’t seen his face, nor did she have any idea where he had been holding her. It would be a favour to his old friend and accomplice.

  A gift, in fact.

  It was just after eight in the morning when they saw a car drive out through the gates. It turned in the direction of the town and after a while drove past the car park where they were waiting. They set off after it. Apart from the driver, the only occupant of the other car was Sir George, who got out in front of the Porta di San Giovanni before the car drove on and turned left. They now got out and started following him on foot, keeping at a safe distance. No more than fifty yards, though, so as not to lose sight of him.

  They saw him buy a number of daily newspapers, sit at a table at his usual bar in the Piazza della Cisterna, leaf through some of the papers and eat a brioche. Alone the whole time. At that hour, the square was practically deserted. Finally, he paid and stood up, went back the way he had come, and met up with his driver just outside the gate. He got into the car and went back to the villa.

  His guest had left.

  They set off back to Florence.

  ‘Tonight’s the night,’ he said to Angelica. ‘Nine o’clock, the usual place. Don’t be late.’

  80

  It was almost midday when Officer Carlo Rossi rang the doorbell of Angelica Fossi’s house in the middle of the countryside. Venturi had sent him to deliver the summons. She was to come to Headquarters to be questioned about ‘matters of interest to the police’: a standard phrase that could mean anything or nothing.

  The decision had been made by Ferrara in discussion with Rizzo. During the interview they would ask her about the night she had been caught by the speed camera, then about her work and her acquaintances. And, depending on what they found out, they would decide whether or not to search her home.

  If they did, they would make use of Article 41 of the laws on public safety. A rule that gave the police the right to search homes, other buildings and vehicles in search of weapons, ammunition or explosives if they had information suggesting that such things might be kept there illegally. It was an old trick, but still useful when it was necessary to act quickly. There was just one condition to be met for it to be legitimate: the existence of an actual item of proof, rather than a simple assumption with no supporting evidence.

  As far as Angelica Fossi was concerned, there were certainly elements that linked her to the woman they were looking for: the statement made by the mechanic, D’Amato, her similarity to the identikit, her high-speed journey at night, and, most importantly, the statement made by the Danish waitress, as well as the location of her home.

  Rossi rang Venturi and told him that the woman was not at home. He was told to wait there. He was about to get back in his car when he saw a white Ford Escort arriving. The car stopped outside the farmhouse and a woman got out.

  It was her. He recognised her from her passport photograph.

  He went straight to her. ‘Signora Angelica Fossi?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  He showed her his police ID. ‘Squadra Mobile.’

  ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘I’ve come to deliver a summons.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. The inspector would like to see you in his office.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  ‘Right now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘If you like, you can come with me.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll use my own car.’

  She climbed in and set off, and Rossi followed in his car.

  The first thing he did was call Venturi. ‘She’s coming, but not in the Mercedes. She’s driving a different car.’ He gave him the licence number and the model.

  Angelica Fossi was in the waiting room, shivering in spite of the heat. In her hands was the plastic cup of coffee that Rossi had given her.

  Had they found Guendalina – was she hurt, or dead? No, please, not that!

  That morning, as if troubled by a premonition, she had woken at dawn after a night of bad dreams. Now she sat there, lifting the cup to her mouth every now and again – she had put three sachets of sugar in it, but it still tasted bitter.

  Meanwhile, Venturi was in Ferrara’s office, awaiting instructions. He wanted to know if he would be in charge of the interview. He had found out from the motor licence authority’s database that the Ford Escort had been rented from Europcar the previous day.

  Why?

  What had happened to the A-Class Mercedes?

  Officer Rossi had not seen it in front of the house, nor in the surrounding grounds.

  It was almost quarter past one when Angelica was led in to Ferrara’s office. He would interview her with Venturi present.

  ‘Please take a seat, signora,’ Ferrara said, gesturing to the one empty chair in front of his desk. Venturi was already sitting on the other one.

  As she sat down, he looked at her closely and noticed fear in her eyes.

  ‘Am I allowed to know why you’ve summoned me?’ Angelica asked, staring at them as if trying to figure out something from their expressions. Even her tone of voice suggested how anxious she was.

  ‘It’s a formality, signora,’ Ferrara replied.

  ‘But what’s it all about? Tell me!’ She glanced at her watch.

  ‘Are you in a hurry, by any chance?’

  ‘I’d only just got home when I had to come here. It’s not a short distance, you know. An hour to get here and, if everything goes well, an hour back again. I’ve got a lot to do.’

  ‘In that case I’ll get straight to the point.’

  ‘It’s not…’

  ‘Not what?’

  ‘No, nothing, go on.’

  ‘Do you own an A-Class Mercedes?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Where is it now?’

  ‘At home. Why?’

  ‘Do you often go out at night?’

  ‘Why? Is it against the law?’

  ‘Just answer the question, please. I ask the questions, you answer.’

  ‘Yes, sometimes.’

  ‘And what route do you normally take on your way home?’

  ‘Sometimes I go through Pontassieve, sometimes along the Via Bolognese, through Fiesole and Borgo San Lorenzo. But why?’

  ‘Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,’ he said, an element of steel in his voice now. ‘You’re here to answer my questions, not to question me.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Did you by any chance take the Borgo San Lorenzo route on the night of 28-29 August?’

  Silence.

  She was obviously uncomfortable. Her posture suddenly changed, and she started shifting her legs and folding her hands. But it was her face that most struck the two policemen. It had turned as white as a sheet.

  ‘May I have a glass of water?’ she asked. It was a way of gathering her thoughts and avoiding mistakes in whatever came next.

  Venturi left the room.

  Meanwhile, in Teresa’s office, Teresa and Officer Alessandra Belli were still sifting through the confiscated material, Sergi’s papers, and the telephone records.

  From their colleagues in Rome, they had received a copy of those telephone records relating to Sergi, as authorised by the Prosecutor’s Department in Civitavecchia.

  And they had already found something interesting: several calls to Fabio Biondi’s mobile phone.

  So the two men knew each other.

  Was Fabio the Archivist? Right now, it certainly looked like it.

  ‘We’ll have to tell the Chief Superintendent,’ Teresa said.

  Picking up the phone, she dialled Fanti’s internal number and asked him to let her know when the chief had finished his inter
view.

  ‘In the meantime,’ she said, after hanging up, ‘let’s go and get a coffee and a brioche. I’ve got a feeling we’ll be skipping lunch again today.’