Death in Tuscany

by Michele Giuttari

  'I thought he still had it in for you personally for all those things in the past. . .'

  'Which aren't over yet,' Ferrara said.

  '. . . and it turned out to be something else entirely. Well, he won't have anything to crow about now. He'll have to tell us who the other people at the party in the factory were, and help us to find them ..."

  'Some won't be difficult. We have the complete list of the members of the Lodge of the Innocents . . . What nerve to think up a name like that! It's almost blasphemous. What kind of mentality do these degenerates have?'

  'Do you want to bet they'll all swear they love children?'

  Ferrara and his wife exchanged looks of disgust mixed with sorrow.

  'The poor children will be harder to identify,' he said.

  'That's what I was thinking,' Anna Giulietti replied.

  'We have the video, but if they're all immigrants like Anila, God knows where they are now.'

  'Precisely' Anna said, sadly. Anyway, thanks to what you found out we can widen the investigation three hundred and sixty degrees, involving all national and international police forces. It may take months, even years, but I promise you this, Ferrara: someone's going to pay. In the meantime, though . . .'

  'Yes, I know. I'm certainly not neglecting the other case. I have much more to lose than you, I think . . . But first I have to nail Laprua definitively. And I still don't understand the link between the parties in the factory and the drugs racket. The only connection seems to be Viktor, who was Anila's brother and master and also the person who was waiting for the drugs that were seized on the autostrada.'

  'Do you think you'll be able to track him down? As you say, he could be the crux of the whole thing.'

  'We have an identikit of him, and just today Superintendent Ciuffi of Narcotics told me there's talk on the streets about a ruthless gang leader called Viktor Makregi, who's been operating for quite a while in Tuscany - which is quite unusual in itself because the Albanians never usually stay in one place for very long. But no one seems to know much about him. Either they're scared, which is quite likely given the kind of person he is, or he's good at melting into the background.'

  'I see,' Anna Giulietti said.

  Anyway, as far as Laprua is concerned, don't worry' Petra said calmly. 'Michele will get him, because he's the one who has Massimo.'

  She had broken her tacit rule not to interfere in her husband's work, especially in the presence of a third party - a prosecutor, to boot! But it had been stronger than her, and she hadn't been able to restrain herself.

  'Either him or Viktor,' Ferrara corrected her.

  The two women exchanged questioning glances.

  Ferrara's eyes narrowed like a cat's and after a very brief pause, he continued, 'I've been thinking about it a lot. We know now for certain who killed Anila. It was an accident, but all the adults at the party were responsible. Especially the two men who subsequently died. Ugo Palladiani, who owned the factory and probably organised the evening, and Ludovico d'Incisa, the head of the Lodge, de facto the person who got rid of the body by dumping it at the side of the road, and who later injected the fatal dose.

  'By coincidence, the two main culprits both die, too ... I thought first of all that d'Incisa killed Palladiani for fear that he might talk, then killed himself . . . It's possible. Or at least it would be, for a normal person. But for the head of a powerful Masonic group, with connections to the judiciary and God knows what else ..."

  Anna Giulietti nodded pensively. She was following the thread of Ferrara's argument and starting to anticipate it. 'Whereas Viktor . . .'

  'Precisely. What's one of the most frequent motives for murder? Revenge. The Albanian loved his sister ... in a perverted way, I agree, but he loved her. And anyway, he got a good profit out of her. Clients don't pay peanuts to have sex with minors. That night something unforeseen happened. The members of the Lodge of the Innocents killed Anila. How did Viktor react when he went to pick her up and probably found no one there? The factory had been abandoned in a hurry, remember?'

  The two women nodded, fascinated despite themselves by this reconstruction, which seemed to put every piece of the horrifying jigsaw in its place.

  'Viktor is a violent man. He knows Palladiani, but probably not the others. Palladiani is scared, and plans to get out of the country. But Viktor tracks him down to his wife's villa, and kills him with a drug overdose, the way they killed Anila. But first he tortures him. Why?'

  'To find out the names of the others,' Petra said immediately.

  After which we find another corpse,' Anna Giulietti said, looking increasingly worried. And he also died of an overdose . . .'

  'It's just a theory, mind you,' Ferrara said.

  'But a bloody convincing one,' Anna said. 'Much more so than any of the others. Only, if it's true . . .' She broke off, perhaps fearing what she had been about to say.

  Ferrara finished the sentence for her. 'If it's true, then all the others are in danger, too - including Gallo.'

  'We'll have to warn him, provided it's not too late.' She rummaged in her bag for her mobile.

  'No!' he stopped her. 'You can't. First of all, it's just a theory, it might not even be true. And if it is, you'll only alert him and may never find him again ... or any of the others!'

  'Are you joking, Michele?' she replied, angrily. 'What are you trying to do, force me to make a moral choice? A man's life on the one hand, letting justice take its course on the other? Well, it may surprise you to hear this coming from me, but I don't give a damn about justice!'

  Ferrara smiled. It was the first time he had ever heard her express herself in that way about something to which she had devoted her life. Obviously the woman not only had balls, she had a heart, too.

  'Call him then, but only to make sure he's still alive and to say hello. Find some excuse. In the meantime I'll tell my men to send a patrol to keep an eye on his apartment. From now on we'll protect him as if he were the President of the Republic himself, and he won't even know, don't worry. But you know what I think?'

  'What?'

  'I'm willing to bet that when we put the handcuffs on him, he'll breathe a sigh of relief.'

  Once they had made their respective phone calls, they carried on discussing Ferrara's theory.

  It was getting dark. Petra asked Anna if she'd like to stay for dinner. After a slight hesitation, she accepted.

  'There's one weak point in the theory' Ferrara said as his wife walked away.

  'Which is?'

  'Simonetta and Massimo. If Viktor killed Palladiani, why didn't he kill them, too? Why should he take them with him?'

  Anna Giulietti lowered her voice in order not to be overheard by Petra. 'I'm sorry, Michele, I know what you're thinking ... He could have done it later

  'Yes,' he replied simply, and Anna was surprised by the cool, clear-headed way he made that statement, as if the mere thought of it were not unbearable in itself. 'But once again why? And why not straightaway? Why not there?'

  'Perhaps to create a false lead. It certainly deceived the Carabinieri. This is assuming your theory is correct.'

  'I've thought of that, Anna, and I don't buy it. Do you really think someone like him, blinded by rage, and leading an underground existence anyway, would bother to work out a clever plan to throw people off the scent? No, we're not dealing with some sophisticated mastermind in a film, the man's a brute, a wild animal, someone who raped his own sister, someone who exploits women and traffics in drugs ... an Eastern Mafioso.'

  'So what, then?' Anna asked, not knowing the answer.

  'I don't know. That's what worries me ... I don't know.'

  36

  From early in the morning on Monday 20 August, the offices of the Florence Squadra Mobile were a hive of activity. Keeping in constant telephone contact with Anna Giulietti, Ferrara and his men prepared arrest warrants, to be signed by the deputy prosecutor, for all the men identified on the video. The charge: accessory to murder and possessio
n and use of narcotic substances.

  For all the names on the membership list of the Lodge of the Innocents, whether or not they had been identified on the video, search warrants were also prepared, together with information indicating that the men would also be charged with the offence of criminal conspiracy.

  Anna Giulietti signed the warrants, and the operation was under way.

  And so the search began. It was made more difficult by the summer exodus which had scattered the men all over Italy and abroad. More than sixty police officers - superintendents, inspectors and constables - were suddenly handed the task of carrying out the deputy prosecutor's orders in the shortest time possible.

  The sound of screeching tyres as police cars drove out of

  the Headquarters car park could be heard almost constantly from the courtyard.

  Ferrara gave his men their instructions with cold efficiency, but his mind was elsewhere: he was thinking of Massimo Verga, which meant he was also thinking of Salvatore Laprua and Viktor Makregi.

  He had Viktor's identikit in front of him, and from time to time he went back to studying it, powerless with anger, in a vain attempt to find in it some secret it stubbornly refused to divulge. It seemed impossible that this face with its vulgar features, its clear eyes, blond crew-cut hair, flat nose and prominent cheekbones, could have the power of life and death over his closest friend. But wasn't it that power, absolute and yet easy - because nothing is easier than to snap the thin thread that connects us to life - which made murderers contemptible, all of them, without exception?

  By late morning, everyone had been phoned and all the orders had been given. Ferrara sent for Ciuffi, hoping for news, but there was none.

  'What kind of informers do you have, Luigi?' he protested.

  'It's not that, chief. It's just that this guy is tough, and he's smart. If it really is Viktor Makregi we're dealing with, Interpol lost all trace of him in 1999. They believe he's still in Moldova, which is where he was last seen, just think about that. . . Anyway, they have him classified as a leading light of the Albanian underworld, highly dangerous and extremely violent. We know for certain that he slaughtered a whole rival gang once in Tirana. He's not some two-bit pusher, chief.'

  'Track him down, Luigi. He's the key to finding Massimo Verga, I know it, I can feel it. . . Flush him out, and I promise . . .'

  'No need to promise anything, chief. Just finding him will be enough to make me happy for the next ten years!' Ferrara knew he meant it.

  The breakthrough came early in the afternoon, with a phone call from Mazzorelli, the warden of Sollicciano prison, whom he had met during the investigation into the series of homosexual murders the previous year.

  'I may have good news for you, Chief Superintendent,' Mazzorelli said.

  'Is it Emilio Zancarotti? Has he decided to cooperate?'

  'That's what he says. And he also says he has some important things to tell you.'

  'Can you have him brought here? I have to stay here, we've got a major operation in progress, and I need to monitor it constantly. But I need to hear what Zancarotti has to say urgently'

  Mazzorelli thought it over. 'It won't be easy, just like that. . . but for you I think it can be done.'

  'Thanks - you don't know what a favour you're doing me!' 'Well, I owe you one, Chief Superintendent.'

  ‘I’m ready to talk because you promised to put me into the witness protection programme and because I don't want to go back inside. You have to tell the warden those two are going to kill me . . .'

  'Calm down, Zancarotti.'

  He was sitting in handcuffs opposite Ferrara, Rizzo and Ciuffi. Two of the prison guards who had come with him were standing guard outside the door of Ferrara's office. Fanti had asked them if they wanted coffee, but they had refused. So had Zancarotti, but he had asked for a glass of water.

  'Do you want me to have your handcuffs removed?' Ferrara asked, watching him take the glass with both hands.

  'What difference would that make? I want you to do what I said.'

  'Hold your horses. If what you have to tell me is important, and there's something to back it up, I'll get you into the programme, you have my word on that. Especially if what you tell me puts your life in danger.'

  The man grimaced. 'You don't know Zi Turi. He's a tough old guy. He'll have you killed just like that, if he wants to. If he knows I've talked, he'll have me killed in prison. Look what happened to that journalist. I'll tell you everything, but you've got to protect me, get me away from here, out of the country

  'Start talking, and we'll see. So, you know Salvatore Laprua, also known as Zi Turi, quite well, even though the other day you told us you didn't. Start from there. Where did you meet him for the first time?'

  'In Viareggio, seven years ago. I was desperate, I owed money left, right and centre. I thought I'd find work more easily in a holiday resort, any kind of work, a barman, whatever . . . Someone told me there was this guy, the harbour people called him the Sicilian, who was looking for people for his trawlers. I don't know anything about fishing, I'm even a bit scared of the sea, but you know how it is, beggars can't be choosers . . . He took me on, but he didn't always make me go out to sea with the others. They were all Sicilians like him, not exactly talkative . . . oh, I'm sorry

  'It doesn't matter. Yes, I'm Sicilian, too, and it's true, I don't talk much. I prefer to listen. Go on.'

  'The times he didn't send me out to sea, he took me with him to different places. He said he had enemies, and I was his bodyguard. After a while, he let me have a gun. He started to trust me. Then after about a year . . . yes, it was in 1995, he promised he'd set me up in a bar in Florence if I helped him with some important business he had. Then he made me go out in the boat, sometimes on long trips. We'd go a long way out, where the three trawlers would meet up with a freighter. They'd unload a lot of crates. They looked like fresh fish, but inside they were full of bags of drugs.'

  Ciuffi threw Ferrara a triumphant look: he'd been right. This part of the story sounded substantially true. It still had to be confirmed, of course, but it seemed highly unlikely that he would be making it up.

  'And where did these drugs end up?'

  'Zi Turi didn't even see them. They carried them up to Carrara, where he runs some marble quarries. I never saw them with my own eyes, but I heard about them. That's where the guys who gave us the drugs on the autostrada came from - the quarries.'

  'You can tell me about that later. What I want to know now is why he should have helped you to open a bar in Florence.'

  'Because I was useful to him. I didn't have a criminal record. I was on the inside now, and Florence is a good place to make contacts with the underworld, especially from Eastern Europe. I'm a Florentine, no criminal record, it was normal for me to have my own little business . . . and with their help I soon built up the right clientele. I helped the money to circulate, sent it on to buy more drugs. It was a nice scene. With my contacts, I sent out five hundred million, even a billion once, which then came back to Zi Turi multiplied — what? Ten times? A hundred times? - as heroin. Put that on the market, and you multiply it again

  Ciuffi mentally totted up the figures and, as he thought about the number of years this racket had gone on undisturbed, his eyes widened in astonishment. Zi Turi must have been richer than a lot of Third World countries!

  'I see. Now tell us about the foreigners you came in contact with.'

  Emilio Zancarotti started to list names of people in various Eastern European countries, supplying details of bank accounts and the ways the money was carried across borders. It was valuable stuff, and Luigi Ciuffi noted it all down religiously. But Zancarotti did not mention Viktor, or the two Albanians he had ended up in prison with.

  Finally, before losing his patience, Ferrara decided to go on the offensive. 'Does the name Viktor mean anything to you?'

  Emilio Zancarotti raised his hands awkwardly to his forehead, and wiped off the film of sweat which had formed despite the air co
nditioning. 'Of course it does,' he replied in a disgusted tone. 'It's his fault we ended up inside.'

  'Where does he live?'

  'Who, Viktor?' he said, close to laughter. 'How should I know? In my opinion not even those two bast— that Alex and Nard — know where he lives.'

  'Where did you see him?

  'I've never seen him. I don't even know what he looks like. All I know is that those two are scared shitless - pardon my language - of even mentioning his name. They're terrified of him. Me too, if you must know. He has a bad reputation even among the Albanians.'

  'Why do you say it was his fault you ended up inside?'

  'Because he was the one who organised the whole thing. We were supposed to give the drugs to him. He had something on Zi Turi, can you imagine?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Those ten kilos of heroin were a payment.' Ferrara's heart missed a beat. 'Mind explaining that?' 'Sure, I know everything! I'm the one who got caught in the middle. I knew those two before. Alex and Nard. They

  used to come to the bar, they were part of the scene. They knew I was one of Zi Turi's men, I'd told them that myself, to impress them. One day they tell me their boss, Viktor, has an important message for my boss, and I have to give it to him. Viktor is holding a hostage, a woman who's very important to Zi Turi, her name is Simonetta, and he's willing to let her go in exchange for ten kilos. For Zi Turi, that's peanuts. He doesn't think twice about it. He tells me to do everything they ask. So they organise an exchange.'

  'But when you had the drugs, they didn't give you anyone in exchange,' Ciuffi objected.

  'That wasn't how it was supposed to work. Viktor didn't trust the Mafia. The understanding was that I was supposed to go with the two Albanians to get the drugs, then they would take me to the place where the woman would be handed over.'