Once the carabinieri had made sure of the identity of the planner, against whom there would probably be no usable evidence, they would have put names to almost the whole band. Until the victim was safe or some unexpected development occurred, no arrest could be made. When the victim was released, the culprits would either go to ground or leave the country. All they could do was to be ready.
The Marshal paid a visit to the photographer. He went in uniform and took with him a man from the Art Heritage Group, which was housed at the opposite end of the Boboli Gardens from his own station in the Pitti Palace. His feeling was that the specialist should do all the talking, leaving him free to look. The studio in Via Santo Spirito was fairly tatty but filled with some very expensive-looking equipment. The Marshal knew nothing about photography but it was clear, even to him, that this was way beyond the class of studio you usually found when you needed passport photos or first communion pictures. Artistic, he supposed, remembering the ‘ghastly exhibition’ story. Definitely not your weddings and christenings outfit.
Gianni Taccola was exactly as the Captain had described him, cool and arrogant. His black hair was fashionably short and sleek and he wore a collarless black shirt under a blue suit. When the two missing landscapes were introduced into the conversation his expression was derisive.
“You’ll find them in Sotheby’s next New York catalogue. Not stolen, quietly exported.’
‘That,’ said the Marshal’s colleague, ‘was a thought that had crossed our minds but we thought a respectable family wouldn’t be caught doing it themselves …’
‘Nor would I.’ Taccola whipped round, thinking to catch the Marshal staring at a set of enlargements showing Caterina Brunamonti, naked and holding a glistening snake. He didn’t. The Marshal never squared up to the things he wanted to examine. He let them flow around his peripheral vision while centering his gaze on something else, in this case, a close-up of a dusty stone effigy.
You prefer dressed stone to naked flesh?’ Taccola inquired, unable to control his arrogance, inviting the Marshal to turn to the pictures of Caterina.
‘No, no…,’ the Marshal said blandly, forced now to let his glance sweep over the whole set of enlargements, which covered most of one wall. They were in black and white and so dramatically shadowed that there was nothing pornographic or even erotic about them. They were just sinister.‘Very striking …’ In his peripheral vision now was a battered old chaise longue with a length of black silk draped over it.
Taccola shrugged. ‘To be honest, I prefer boys myself, but you know how it is. A client is a client. Perhaps I should adapt one of those signs they put up behind the counter in bars where they don’t want to give credit. “Please don’t ask for sex as refusal often offends.” Couldn’t offend the rich little lady, could I? She financed my exhibition. Besides, she turned out to be a virgin, which made it rather more piquant. Almost but not quite as good as a just pubescent boy. Now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you…’
As they went down the stone staircase, the Marshal said, ‘Squalid enough place…’
‘Isn’t it? You should see the sixteenth-century villa he lives in. Filled with art treasures legitimately bought with his illegitimate gains. Marble swimming pool surrounded by statues in the garden.’
‘How long did he go down for?’
‘Not nearly long enough, Marshal. Not nearly long enough. I sincerely hope you get him for this kidnapping but I don’t give much for your chances. He’s a clever bastard.’
The two parted company in the street, and the Marshal cut through into Piazza Santo Spirito from behind the church.
‘Blast!’ He had momentarily forgotten about the porter and the closed doors. He was about to press the porter’s bell when he noticed Contessa S.R.L. next to it and tried that instead. There was something of a wait, then footsteps. Signora Verdi was dragging one of the huge doors open. He helped her and she put a warning finger to her lips.
‘This is not allowed,’ she whispered. ‘All visitors report to the porter’s lodge, and he calls up to her ladyship to find out if they’re allowed in. I don’t know whether you are.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
She hurried him inside the workrooms. ‘No friends of Olivia’s are allowed in except those likely to cough up money. We’ve worked that one out. Is there any news?’ Every pair of eyes in the room watched for his response.
‘Nothing I can tell you. I really came to talk to you for a moment. I won’t keep you long.’ The truth was she’d already told him what he wanted to know in her first remark but he went through the motions anyway.
‘Do you have one of your labels handy?’
‘Of course…’ She took the box from a shelf. Over half of them had gone. They were going on with their work then, which pleased him. He picked up a label.
‘Do you remember telling me you’d discussed using the name Brunamonti rather than just Contessaf
‘Did I? I forget. We’ve all been so upset. It’s true anyway, because of pirating, but her ladyship—’
“Yes, you said that at the time. You meant the Signorina Caterina?’
‘Of course I did! “I am a Brunamonti,” she says to her mother in this very room, “and you are not.” Olivia’s heart was broken—not because of the labels, you understand. Well, all I can say is that, except for her mother, we all breathed a sigh of relief when she took against the business and we saw the last of her down here. Criticizing the designers, sneering at the machinists, nothing being done that she couldn’t do better. We had to put up with it for Olivia’s sake but you can imagine how people with thirty and more years’ experience felt about being sneered at by an ignorant chit of a girl—and Brunamonti or no Brunamonti, that’s what she is. Anyway, we were saved when she decided she’d be better than the professionals at modelling. At the Milan show, it was. There she stood, all dressed up and the music playing—bridal gown, Olivia’s piece de resistance, and the blasted girl wouldn’t set foot on the catwalk. Stood there paralyzed. What a scene. Anyway, that was the last we saw of her, thank God. She can’t help not having her brother’s talent but it would help if she only had his good manners, not to mention a bit of common sense and a bit of respect for other people.’ Her face was red with remembered anger. ‘It’s incredible how different they are.’
‘I know what you mean. I have two boys myself and they’re as different as chalk and cheese…’ He talked on until she cooled down and then left her with the one bit of good news he realized he could give her, that the little dog was safe.
‘You’ve made my day! Does Leonardo know?’
‘Probably not. I’ve been trying to phone him but…’
‘I know. Well, I’m going up there right now. It’ll give him new life. Little Tessie home and safe!’
The Marshal went next door and ordered a coffee in Giorgio’s bar.
Til make it for you myself. How’s it going?’
The Marshal shook his head. ‘What do they say in the piazza?’
‘Nothing you can believe. Like the papers. If there’s no news they make it up. Talk of the devil…’
The Marshal looked round to see plump, slow-moving Nesti coming in the door.
‘Give me a coffee.’ He had an unlit cigarette dangling from his thick lips, which meant he was trying to give up smoking again. To the Marshal he mumbled, ‘If you can’t find your kidnappers, why don’t you at least arrest that cow of a daughter, whatsername, and keep her out of my office.’
‘She’s been visiting your office?’
‘Visiting? She’s a fixture. She’s round there now chewing somebody’s ear off. I escaped when I saw her coming. I told you how it’d be. She’s more interested in getting her picture in the paper every day than getting her mother back and it’s the only way she’ll ever make the news, unless one of my colleagues bumps her off, which is getting more likely by the minute. For God’s sake, get this case solved, can’t you? I’ve got to get back—look at this, I’ve taken to h
iding behind dark glasses like you.’ He drank off the last of his coffee and rambled out into the busy piazza, unlit cigarette still dangling.
‘What’s up with him?’ Giorgio asked. ‘Not that I’ve ever seen him in a good mood—not sober, anyway.’
‘Oh, he seems to have taken a dislike to the Contessa Brunamonti’s daughter. What do I owe you?’
‘Oh, nothing. On the house. Taken a dislike is right…Don’t know her personally. Never comes in here. What’s her name again?’
‘Caterina.’
‘Ah. D’you know something? It’s too warm. It said on the news last night. Far above the seasonal—What the…’
The glass door of the bar slammed shut, making the whole place vibrate. One of the waiters went and opened it again and wedged it more firmly.
‘You see,’ said Giorgio, ‘far too hot. Must be a storm brewing. Blast of wind like that.’
But it wasn’t a blast of wind.
Ten
Because of the earthquake, felt in Florence but with its epicentre in the next county where it caused enormous damage, Caterina Brunamonti failed to make the first page next morning. Nevertheless, on the basis of the interview she had given, almost three pages were given over to the kidnapping itself and to a polemic surrounding kidnappings in general. From Sardinia, a Prosecutor General launched heavy accusations against the magistrate considered responsible for the escape of Puddu. Prisoners are given periods of freedom, sometimes hours, sometimes days, in return for good behaviour. Long-term prisoners who have served half their sentences for serious crimes can be released on parole. Good behaviour in prison is the speciality of professionals who know how to manipulate the system and of the most dangerous, child molesters and murderers, whose everyday behaviour is excessively meek and obedient. The latter are usually recaptured if they fail to return, sometimes having committed another murder; the former, like Puddu, vanish.
The sentences given for kidnapping are extremely heavy, heavier than those for most murders, but this is mere show if prisoners are then released on parole after serving half their time and allowed to escape. Each time a kidnap victim is freed, cheers go up. Naturally we are all relieved to see the victim alive and well and in the general chorus of joy no one wants to be the first to put in a more sombre and critical note. But every successful kidnapping—the victim released at the kidnappers’ leisure, the ransom paid—is a defeat, not a victory. Like so many laws, that on the freezing of assets is a drastic and rigid one in theory, punishing even those who fail to pay taxes on money known to have been paid as ransom, money whose existence has usually been well concealed until then. In reality, we then hear of ransoms paid, under the protection of clause seven, paragraph four, as ‘Controlled payment of ransom for investigative purposes.’ And yet, not only do the ‘investigative purposes’ fail to result in any arrests on the release of the victim, we even see two government ministers on television consoling us with the thought that the law freezing assets is really quite flexible. A flexible law is a law which is not applied. The popular saying about the law being something you apply to your enemies and interpret for your friends comes to mind. I am as relieved as the next person when one of these victims is released but there is no question in my mind that, at least in Sardinia, the frozen assets law has only decreased the number of smalltime amateur kidnappings. Not only this, but a number of victims have failed to return home and the time of imprisonment has inevitably been lengthened. Professional kidnappers are by no means discouraged. Families are told that if their assets are frozen they must make other arrangements. And when they fail to make such arrangements, malign rumours has it that, if they know the right people, the State does it for them. This is not victory. This is, at best, defeat; at worst, collaboration, and, as a judge, I consider myself rendered impotent and even ridiculous when I think of the successful kidnappers taking their ease in the Bahamas at the taxpayers’ expense. Given such an example, kidnappings of wealthy people with influence in government circles are bound to increase. However, for the moment, all we can hope is that as long as this law is in existence it is enforced, and vigorously so. Otherwise, it must be changed, as must the law that allows dangerous professional criminals freedom, so giving Puddu the chance to kidnap the Contessa Brunamonti. I, and I think most Italians, have had enough. I would like to see the frozen assets law suspended. I would like to see the forces of law and order taking a serious stand against kidnapping by assiduous patrolling of the territory, the capture of those bandits known to be on the run, and the setting up of specialist forces in high-risk areas. Only then would I address myself to the rewriting of the law on kidnapping, first of all making it a crime of violence against the person, not just an aggravated form of robbery.
On the same page, in heavier print, was an article which defended the existing law on frozen assets but which criticized heavily the one allowing a known kidnapper, serving a thirty-year sentence, to be allowed out on parole.
In principle, the law should remain because it ensures that ransom is paid under police control, marked and traceable. Ransom paid in secret could compromise an investigation. Let’s be careful then, not to throw out the baby with the bathwater at this point. The law requires modification, yes, but, more importantly, we should be thinking about preventing those kidnappers who have been successfully captured and imprisoned from walking free.
The rest of the page was taken up with statistics and rundowns of recent kidnappings. Overleaf was a double-page spread with photographs of Leonardo and Caterina Bruna-monti. The picture of Leonardo was the one previously published in this same paper. The one of Caterina was new, glamorous, with a touch of show-business tragedy in the form of dark glasses to suggest eyes ruined by shed tears. An interview accompanied the pictures. The Marshal read it in his office and the frown on his forehead was not of concentration but apprehension. The interviewee was referred to as ‘a spokesperson for the Brunamonti family.’ The Marshal’s worst fears were realized.
Your feeling, then, is that this kidnapping was based on false information?
It must have been. The amount of the ransom request is way beyond our means. Their information must have been false.
And where do you feel such false information could have come from?
Obviously, no one can say for sure. We may never know.
But you have a suspicion?
Not of a particular person but, unfortunately, the Contessa’s running her business from within the Palazzo Brunamonti meant that a great many more people frequented the building than would have been the case otherwise, and, of course, anyone working there permanently would have an unusual amount of contact and, inevitably, of information.
What is your opinion of the law freezing your family’s assets?
I think it’s an intelligent law, protecting us and helping in the apprehension of the kidnappers.
You’re not afraid of its causing prolonged imprisonment of the victim and even the risk of the victim’s death?
I don’t see why that should necessarily be the case. We are cooperating with the State, and the State must cooperate with us in return.
And what form do you feel this cooperation should take?
I know of a number of cases in which the ransom was paid by the State using marked notes as a way to further the investigation.
So you hope the State will come to your aid?
It’s the only thing I can hope since we don’t have the means to pay ourselves. I’m well aware that we don’t have the sort of political contacts to guarantee first-class victim status. We can only collaborate and hope that even a second-class kidnap victim has a chance of survival.
Before the Marshal got to the end of the page the phone connecting him to Headquarters rang.
‘Guarnaccia.’
‘Have you read it?’
‘Yes…yes, I’m reading it now.’
‘Don’t talk to any journalists.’
‘No. Will you call a press conference?’ His eyes, sti
ll scanning the paper, caught sight of a headline about first- and second-class kidnap victims.
‘Not if I can help it but the Prosecutor will be the one to decide. I’m certainly not answering any questions about those ransom payments. Apart from anything else I don’t know the answers. What I’m concentrating on is saving this victim.’
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