“Come on, Catherine,” Bassi said. “You aren’t even a member of the Caraceni family. You’re just one of the whores. They would sell you out in a second to save themselves. Now is your chance to make sure these people get what they deserve.”
CHAPTER 36
LONDON
Exactly 9:01am. A polite ring of the doorbell. Claudio was in bed and stared at the white ceiling; he wasn’t expecting someone. Just last night he took his parents to the airport so they could go home to Madrid. Now was the time to wallow in his misery with complete privacy. A man needed time to mourn the loss of his relationship.
Another ring of the doorbell. A stranger would walk away in response to an unanswered door; a familiar face was downstairs. Claudio threw on some clothes and stumbled down the carpeted stairs without any enthusiasm.
Two cautious smiles greeted him. “Good morning,” Lea said, and Henri nodded hello. “How are you?”
Claudio shrugged. “I’m okay, why?”
“Can we come inside?” Henri asked.
As they stepped into the townhouse, Claudio became aware of how he looked. His day-old clothes were stained with something. He vaguely remembered spilling a drink. He realised he hadn’t brushed his teeth; seeing his friends made him realise how pathetic he was.
Lea and Henri both seemed nervous as they all sat in the cold living room. “Can I get you something?” Claudio asked.
“You could take a shower,” Henri quipped.
“Henri,” his wife chastised. “Give the guy a break. He’s been through enough.”
“Did you come here for something specific?” Claudio watched his friends share a glance. “Has something happened?”
“We just wanted to say that we’re here for you. You haven’t been returning calls for days now.”
“I broke my phone.”
“That explains it,” Lea said. “Veena rang me this morning, wanting to know if we had heard from you.”
“Did she try to call? Is something wrong?’
“No, Veena is fine. She thought it odd that she hadn’t heard from you in four days.”
Had it been that long? “I will go and visit her,” Claudio mumbled. “I’m trying to give her space. She’s my ex-wife, after all. I want to visit Casamiro, but it’s not that simple.”
“I could pop out and grab you a new iPhone,” Henri offered. “Your same number should still work. Do you have the little card thing to put inside the phone?”
“Henri, he might not want calls,” Lea said under her breath.
“What’s going on here?” Claudio said with a frown.
“We heard about what happened,” Lea said, her hands clasped on her lap. “We are the first to understand that the media can be inaccurate. Even so, it’s my job to limit the damage to Virtuosi. But please remember that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you and Canna, too.”
“You heard that Canna and I broke up though the media? What the fuck is going on here?”
“You split?” Henri asked. “Shit. I hope you didn’t do that for Virtuosi.”
“When did you last speak to Canna?” Lea asked.
“She left here on… Tuesday. I haven’t spoken to her since she left. Please, tell me how you know that we broke up.”
“Oh God,” Lea groaned. “You don’t know, do you? About what happened to Canna, in Milan? And the money? It was the money that alerted me to the situation. I don’t read the Italian papers.”
The shocked look on Claudio’s face didn’t portray the level of pain he felt. Canna’s drugged phone message - the accountant would help him. He grabbed his iPad from the dining table and went in search of the latest on Contessa di Caraceni.
“There was a deposit of €20 million into the Virtuosi account a few days ago,” Lea explained. “It came from Canna, to pay for a world tour. There was a message from the accountant’s office that there was an additional €50 million put into your account. They said we could also access that for the shows, with your permission, of course. Canna didn’t give any details on the terms of payment. I haven’t been able to contact Canna. We didn’t want to call you, given the problems she is suffering, but after I received alerts about Virtuosi’s name in the papers, I had to see you. It’s a mess, Claudio.”
Claudio squinted at the screen in his hands as he read the headline
FRESH CARACENI DYNASTY SCANDAL: CONTESSA ARRESTED FOR BRUTAL FAMILY MURDER
Canna’s fear had come true. She had pleaded Claudio to disbelieve it. The world didn’t make any sense at all. The photos were harsh – Canna in handcuffs, blood coming from her nose, dragged from a building in Milan. She wore a simple shirt, and all her cuts, scars and tattoos were on display, and a shot of her without sunglasses made it clear she was strung out. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. They had gone in for the Countess and dragged out the addict. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he muttered.
“We assumed this is an error,” Lea said. “It says that this Giorgio guy got hacked to pieces. Canna wouldn’t do that to someone.”
“Did you meet Giorgio Savelli?” Henri asked.
“I met him once.” Claudio’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. “He was the nephew of Canna’s first husband. They worked together.”
“I didn’t understand how rich Canna was,” Lea added.
“The Caraceni family are extremely rich. They’re rich on a scale that is hard to comprehend,” Claudio replied.
“Some papers called them an Italian crime family,” Henri cringed.
“Nothing corrupts like money and power,” Claudio said. “But the papers are sensationalising this. Canna and Giorgio weren’t friends, but they weren’t enemies.”
“They aren’t saying they were enemies,” Henri said, “they are saying they were lovers.”
Claudio looked up from the heartbreaking photos of Canna’s arrest. “What?”
“Perhaps you’re looking at the wrong paper,” Henri said. “This morning’s papers have the latest scandal.”
“You’re not helping, Henri,” Lea added.
Claudio went back in search of the latest edition, and the front page screamed back at him.
A GRAND AFFAIR:
THE SORDID SEXUAL ENCOUNTERS OF CONTESSA DI CARACENI AND THE NEPHEW SHE MURDERED
It couldn’t get any more tawdry that that. There were photos of Canna and Giorgio together arm-in-arm, eyes locked on each other. Naples, the article said. Claudio’s mind searched for an answer – Canna had called him from her trip to Naples; it all seemed so innocent. The truth was hard to tell now.
Lea stood up and took the iPad from Claudio’s hands. “You shouldn’t read these things.”
“I need to know the truth!”
“You won’t find it in these smutty pages.”
“Canna looks so distraught,” Henri said, and Claudio sat down in an armchair. The Frenchman looked ready to cry. “What they have done to her… calling her a murderer, a drug addict, a whore. It’s so mean.”
“Canna’s an addict, we know that’s true,” Claudio said. “But you’re right, to parade her like that, it’s just cruel. That won’t help her get better.”
“They talked about how she was the only person present when Count Giuseppe died, and about her friend dying when we were in Rome. It’s as if they think she killed them, too,” Henri said. “That’s so wrong!”
“They insinuated that she killed Yuri in Moscow!” Lea added. “She was with us all night. Canna wouldn’t do that to anyone. She wouldn’t want to hurt a person, or to expose you, Claudio, or any of us to that kind of mess.”
I did it, echoed in Claudio’s head. Canna’s tearful confession. The expression on her face as Giancarlo pulled her away. She had never seemed so afraid. If Canna could lie about Yuri, she could lie about anything. There was no smoke without fire. Maybe the papers weren’t that wrong after all.
“One paper printed a photo of you and Canna together,” Henri said. “That was when the story first came to us. Lea gets a notification whenever a media outlet u
ses Virtuosi’s name.”
“Which photo?” Claudio leaned over to pick up the iPad again.
Lea reached out and took the iPad before he could take it off the coffee table. “One of the black and white photos from the Royal Albert Hall performance. There was one of you and Canna.”
“It’s a beautiful photo,” Henri added.
“I want to see.” Claudio put his hand out, and Lea gave back the iPad.
A quick search revealed the photo, along with a story of how the Countess was having an affair with a married opera star. The worst part was the facts were right, just twisted to sound seedy. He couldn’t take his eyes from the photo. They looked at each other with all the love in the world. Canna stood against his back, her hands on his shoulders as he spoke in her ear. It was a simple request he needed to ask at the time, but the photos told a different story. In the black and white shot, the crowd in the background was a blur. He stood there in his onstage tuxedo, Canna in her backless white gown. “Looks like our wedding day,” he uttered.
“I thought that when I first saw it, too,” Lea replied. “I looked at the story, but surely it can’t be real.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Claudio said.
“Do you know where Canna was when the murder happened? Surely you’re her alibi.”
“If I am the alibi, then her scumbag lawyer would have called me.”
“You broke your phone,” Lea reminded him.
“What if she is in custody and needs your help?” Henri asked.
Claudio shook his head. “No, it says here that Canna was released from custody and is in hospital.”
Lea sunk her face in her hands, and Henri put an arm around her. “Things like this don’t happen to people like us.”
“No, that happens to people like Canna,” Claudio said. “She’s must be back at her rehab clinic. It’s an ultra-exclusive place so she can hide from her problems.”
“And address her problems,” Henri added.
“She must be so humiliated,” Lea said, ready to cry. “We all have things we like to keep private. All this won’t help Canna get better. She is sick.”
Claudio wished he had the same level of sympathy for Canna. “Canna is no saint, Lea. Canna is deeply flawed.”
“Is it true that Canna was covered in cuts and bruises when she was arrested?” Henri asked. “They reckon it was all self-inflicted.”
“Then yes, it’s true,” Claudio said. “You know full well that Canna is always sporting an injury; a cut hand, a sore arm, a black eye, and she does it to herself.”
“Why?” Lea whispered.
“It’s too complicated to explain.”
“And yet you love her anyway.”
Claudio had another pain in his chest. He did love Canna, even now, when faced with exposure, humiliation and jail. But Canna pushed him away.
“If you broke up over this, does that mean she is guilty of these crimes?” Henri asked. “All these people are dead… are they telling the truth?”
Claudio wasn’t sure what to say. Marino was dead because Giuseppe ordered him shot for having an affair with Canna. Giuseppe was dead because Canna overdosed him on morphine. Yuri was dead because Canna bashed him to death. Giorgio got hacked to pieces, and Canna had to be involved somehow.
“Your silence is frightening,” Lea said.
“Canna mixes with dangerous people,” Claudio explained. “Things have become confused. Canna wouldn’t hack someone to death.” I think.
“I’m surprised the media haven’t come knocking on your door,” Henri said.
“They have phoned the studio a few times,” Lea said. “I told Sasha at the desk to divert the calls to my phone.”
“I appreciate that, Lea.” Claudio sighed. “I hope they don’t bother Veena.”
“Are you going to Italy to see Canna?”
“No.” That shot out without any thought.
“You two have really split? The love affair of the century is over already? After all the trouble you’ve caused?” Henri probed.
“Our CD and DVD combo is released next week! We are up to our eyeballs in promotions here, France and Spain. I’m not running away. I’m a member of Virtuosi first; nothing that crazy bitch has done is going to take that away from me!”
Lea and Henri shared a look. They didn’t believe Claudio for a moment when he said he felt all right. “Claudio…”
“No, screw it. Why would any of us want to be involved in shit like this? Forget Canna.”
CHAPTER 37
AOSTA
Canna’s eyes peered out from under her blanket. The pillow was cold under her messy hair. Everything felt uncomfortable. Without her glasses, the outstretched hand in front of her face seemed blurry, but Canna recognised the items – pills. The nurse held out the little white cup holding two tablets, and another little cup of water.
Canna shifted her gaze from the cups to the woman. “Please, no more.”
“I’m not leaving until you take them. I’ll wait all day.”
Canna weaved her hands out from under the blanket and took the cups. She sat up just enough to knock back the two pills, one white and one blue, and gulped the water. She scrunched the cups in her fists and threw them back at the nurse. They landed on her bedcover as she slumped down again. “Now fuck off.”
“You have an appointment with Dr. Riberi in ten minutes, Canna.”
“I’m not getting out of bed. Piss off.”
Canna knew she wasn’t offending her nurse. Paola was a patient woman; she looked after drug addicts all day long in a rehab clinic. She had seen it all.
Move from bed? No way. When Canna sat up, her head pounded. Her stomach churned. Her body cried out in agony. The total of any day was to climb from bed, shower and change, and go back to bed. Seven days in, and life had broken down to the most basic requirements.
A brisk knock and the door opened. Canna’s eyes peered out to see Dr. Riberi come in with a cautious smile. “Canna. Good afternoon.”
“Don’t want to talk.”
Dr. Riberi sat down across from the bed and sighed. “Canna, you have been at Beneserre for a week. You can’t lie in bed forever.”
“Why? You’ve been drugging me for a week. I feel awful. I’ll get up if I can stop taking pills all day.”
“The side effects of the medication will wear off.”
“You promised that if I started on anti-depressants that I would start to feel better!”
“They take ten days to build up in your body. You will feel better soon. The side effects are also a temporary thing. If you get up, you can start to adjust better.”
“I got arrested for a murder and got dragged through the court of public opinion. I didn’t have sex with my nephew, and I didn’t kill him. Why should I get out of bed? In case Detective Bassi wants to arrest me again?”
“They wouldn’t have released you if they had any reason to keep you there. But you can’t hide from the media or your life forever.”
“I can’t stay at Beneserre either. You keep drugging me.”
“You made the conscious decision to start on your bipolar medication, Canna. You have to keep going. But you need to get out of bed. You need to eat. That will help you feel more normal.”
“I feel drugged, nauseous and numb. It’s hell.”
“You were in hell when you were admitted here straight out of jail, too.”
“I have only one reason to get up, and you haven’t given it to me.”
“I can’t give it to you, Canna.” Dr. Riberi sighed. Canna asked every day if Claudio Ramos, her emergency contact, had responded to messages left about her condition in rehab. Claudio Ramos never replied.
“Claudio doesn’t care about me, does he?”
“I haven’t received a call from him.”
“When did you last ring him?”
“I called him yesterday afternoon. That is the fifth time I have left a message to say you are in rehab and starting new treatments. He
hasn’t responded.”
“He hates me.”
“We can’t be sure of that. Didn’t you say he was doing a promotional trip for his music? Perhaps he is busy.”
“Too busy to care.” Canna pulled herself up and leaned against the headboard. She fumbled on the nightstand for her glasses. Her stomach growled, ready to redeliver the tablets. “Doc, do you believe me when I say I’m innocent? I didn’t kill Giorgio Savelli. All this shit in the papers – most of it is crap.”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe.”
“It does to me.”
Dr. Riberi sat up straight in the armchair again. “If I had to defend you, I would say you’re prone to violent outbursts. However, you’re being accused of a violent and pre-mediated crime.”
So, you’re saying I’m the kind of woman to only commit a crime of passion?”
“Precisely. You’re not an evil human being. You’re nasty out of necessity, not habit.”
Canna half-smiled. “Would you be happy to say that in court?”
“Yes I would, and not just because you’re one of my patients. I’ve done plenty of psychological profiles in my time, and you don’t fit the profile of a person who would hack someone to death.”
“Comforting.”
“I hope so.”
“If I confessed a crime to you, Doc, would you have to turn me in to the police?”
Dr. Riberi folded his arms. “It depends on the circumstances. The patients who come to the rehab part of Beneserre hospital are not your average garden variety drug addicts. The heavyweights of the scale come here. Many are dealers. It would in my best interests to call the police with what I learn about my patients because it would save the lives of their clients. However, I don’t do that because if they’re here to seek help, the chain of destruction they cause collapses anyway. But if I knew you were planning on hurting someone, and I was convinced it would happen, then yes, I would have to call the police.”
“What about past crimes?”
“If it’s serious, I am obliged to contact the police. Why?”
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