Gianrico Carofiglio - Reasonable Doubts

He stopped – he’d been struggling a bit, and I thought he should have put on his reading glasses – and looked at me.

“He was the go-between,” I said.

“Yes. Do you want to know what happened?”

I wanted to know and he told me. Our friend Macri had been taken into custody on the testimony of two grasses. He had spent several months inside, until one of the grasses changed his story and retracted everything. The case fell apart. Macri was released on the grounds of insufficient evidence. A few months later he opted for the fast-track procedure and was acquitted.

“And how did he end up in Rome?”

“I don’t know. After his acquittal he had his name taken off the register of the Reggio Calabria bar association, and for some reason registered in Rome. Where, as I said, he doesn’t seem to put in many appearances in court.”

He left the last words hanging in the air and again emptied his glass. He refilled it and then refilled mine.

My brain was working overtime. Macri was the key to the whole thing, I was sure of it now. One way or another, the drugs found in Paolicelli’s car belonged to some of Macri’s clients – or rather, some of his accomplices. When Paolicelli had been arrested, they had sent for the lawyer to keep an eye on what happened, to check what was in the file, to make sure that the investigation didn’t lead back to the drugs’ real owners.

And then there was the matter of the lifting of the sequestration order. The fact that he had gone personally to get it out of the pound. There must have been something still in the car that the customs police had missed, something that had to be disposed of as quickly as possible.

That was if Paolicelli really had nothing to do with it. Because it could also be that Macri had been sent by the organization to safeguard a member – Paolicelli – who’d had the misfortune to end up in the clutches of the law.

I told my friend what I was thinking and he nodded. He had been thinking the same.

“And now what are you going to do with this information?”

Right. What was I going to do?

I said I would have to think about it. Perhaps, with this as a starting point, I could find out more, maybe by hiring a private detective. The fact was, I hadn’t the faintest idea what to do.

When the time came to say goodbye, Colaianni told me he’d really enjoyed seeing me again and talking to me. He said it in a vaguely frightened tone, as if he didn’t want me to go. I felt both saddened and embarrassed.

And I wanted to get away. Away from that unexpected fragility, that despair, that sense of defeat.

As I took the ramp to get onto the autostrada I was thinking about my friend Colaianni.

About the things he’d said to me – other than the information about Macri – and the glimpses of distress that he could barely conceal. I wondered what would have become of his life – of our lives – by the next time we met.

Then the half-deserted autostrada swallowed everything.

What did I want to do with this information? Colaianni had asked me.

I didn’t know, I’d replied. And it was true, I didn’t. I had no idea what I could do with it. I knew now that Macri was an associate of Mafiosi and drug traffickers. But, when you came down to it, this didn’t greatly improve our situation.

I didn’t know what to do and that was why I didn’t go to see Paolicelli and tell him what I’d found out. If he was innocent I didn’t want to arouse any unfounded expectations. And if he was guilty – my doubts had returned with a vengeance, as I’d talked to Colaianni-I didn’t want to play the sucker any longer than I had to.

For the same reason, and for others I didn’t want to admit even to myself, I didn’t call Natsu. Even though I had to restrain the impulse lots of times.

I thought of calling Tancredi, but then I told myself I’d already taken more than enough advantage of our friendship. And besides, I didn’t know what to say to him, apart from asking him for advice yet again.

Several days passed in this absurd way.

Then one evening, as I was leaving my office to go home, I heard my name being called. I looked up and saw Natsu in an off-road vehicle. She gave me a shy smile, and made a gesture with her hand, inviting me to join her. I looked round, like someone who has something to hide, crossed the road and got in the car.

Yes, I did have something to hide.

“Shall we drive to the sea?”

I said yes. We went along streets that were unusually free of traffic. She drove smoothly, sitting comfortably, deep in her seat, both hands on the wheel, her eyes on the road. For a moment it occurred to me that this was the car in which the drugs had been carried. Then I remembered that the police reports had mentioned a different make and model.

“You’re surprised.”

It was a statement, not a question. So I didn’t reply, just shrugged my shoulders. I let her talk.

“I had a job on for tonight. Then something went wrong and it was called off. But there was no time to warn the babysitter. So when she arrived I decided to go out anyway, and I thought maybe you’d like to go for a drive and a chat.”

That evening I wasn’t exactly talkative. For the first time she took her eyes off the road – we were outside the city now – to see if I was dead or just asleep.

“Shouldn’t I have?”

“You did the right thing. I’m pleased.”

She put on a bit of speed. The engine droned, and the car darted forward. She asked me if there was any news for her husband.

I felt a twinge of unease at the question. It was an abrupt reminder of the fact that I was a lawyer and she was the wife of a client of mine who was in prison.

Leaving out a few details – how I’d got hold of the information, and from-I told her what I’d discovered about their former lawyer.

She listened to me in silence until I’d finished. In the meantime we had stopped on a low cliff over towards Torre del Mare. The surface of the water was as black and calm as ink. In the distance the intermittent beam from a lighthouse could be seen.

When Natsu was sure I had nothing else to add, she said, “And now what will you do?”

“I have no idea. In itself the fact that the bastard was arrested – and then acquitted – doesn’t get us anywhere. I mean, I don’t know how to use this information in court.”

“But he put himself forward without either of us contacting him. That must surely mean something.”

“Theoretically, yes. In practice, the only thing that’s clear from the papers on this case is that you appointed him and your husband confirmed the appointment.”

“But they told me-”

“I know, I know. But what do we do? Do I call you to testify at the appeal hearing that a man stopped you in the street and advised you to appoint this lawyer you didn’t even know called Macri, and you followed his advice? Apart from the fact that even if it was true-I mean, even if the judges believed it was true – it wouldn’t get us anywhere, the prosecution could simply say that your husband’s accomplices told you which lawyer to appoint. And we’d be in the same position as before, maybe even a bit worse off.”

I avoided saying that this could be the prosecution’s version, or it could be the plain truth. I was sure she’d thought of that herself.

At that precise moment I had an idea. It was a crazy idea, but with Natsu still silent, I started thinking about it. Yes, I told myself, it might be worth a try, in fact it might be the only thing we could try. Then she interrupted the course of my thoughts. “You know what the worst thing is for me?”

“Not knowing the truth?”

She looked at me in surprise for a few seconds, until she remembered the game of wishes. She searched in her bag, took out a packet of cigarettes, lowered the window and lit one.