Gianrico Carofiglio - Reasonable Doubts

“Avvocato Guerrieri, are you with us?” he asked, raising his voice slightly. A polite reminder that this was his courtroom and not a temple for Zen meditation.

“Yes, Your Honour, I’m sorry. I was just gathering my thoughts and-”

“All right, all right. Are you ready to begin examining the witness you asked to be summoned?”

“Yes, Your Honour.”

“Strictly speaking, the court should examine him first, given that this testimony is being admitted according to Article 603, Paragraph 3 of the code of criminal procedure, but I think we can spare ourselves this formality and let you begin, since you have a specific idea of what to ask the witness. If the parties agree, of course.”

The parties agreed. Or rather, I agreed and the assistant prosecutor was somewhere else. And had been for at least ten years.

Mirenghi told the bailiff to call the witness Corrado Macri.

He came in with his raincoat over his arm, nodded politely to the judges, sat down and calmly read the oath. He seemed enormously confident and composed.

“You are a lawyer, so I don’t need to explain anything to you,” Mirenghi said. “Counsel for the defence has requested that you be examined about certain specific elements of this case and will now address his questions to you. Naturally, if with regard to some of the questions you consider you have to invoke lawyer-client confidentiality, considering the part you played in the previous phases of this case, please do so and we will rule on the matter. Is that all right?”

“Yes, Your Honour, thank you.”

Mirenghi turned to me and told me I could proceed. Macri was staring straight ahead.

I looked him in the face for a few moments. This was it, I told myself.

“Avvocato Macri, were you Signor Paolicelli’s defence counsel at his original trial?” A completely unnecessary question, given that this had already been established. But I had to start somewhere.

He answered it straight, without trying to be sarcastic. “Yes.”

“When did you first meet Signor Paolicelli?”

“When I visited him in prison for the first time.”

“Do you remember when that was?”

“I don’t remember the exact date, but he’d been arrested two days earlier and was due to be interviewed by the examining magistrate. That should make it easy enough to work out the date. Assuming it’s of any importance.”

There was just a hint of aggression in his voice. I ignored his attempt to be provocative. Macri was still looking straight ahead of him.

“Was it Signor Paolicelli who appointed you?”

“No, it was Signor Paolicelli’s wife.”

“Do you know Signor Paolicelli’s wife?”

“I met her after I was appointed, on my second visit to Bari, when there was a hearing to appeal the arrest. All this is in the documents.”

“Do you know why Signora Paolicelli appointed you?”

“I think you have to ask Signora Paolicelli.”

“Right now I’m asking you. Do you know why-”

“I can only surmise that some acquaintance of hers gave her my name. You’re a lawyer, you know how these things work.”

“Let me see if I’ve understood this correctly. You are appointed by someone you don’t know, in a city two hundred and fifty miles from where you’re based… By the way, you practise in Rome, right?”

“Yes.”

“Have you always practised in Rome?”

I was looking right at him, and noticed that his jaw clenched when I asked that question. He must have assumed I was going on to ask him about his misadventures with the police. It’s not as simple as that, my friend. The grilling has a long way to go yet, you son of a bitch, I thought, and the words son of a bitch echoed in my head.

“No.”

“All right. Let’s recap: you are appointed by a woman you don’t know, who lives in Bari, a long way from where you work. It’s an urgent case: her husband has just been arrested on a very serious charge. You rush to Bari, make contact with the husband, agree to defend him, and on your second visit you also meet his wife. And yet you never think to ask why she appointed you, and don’t even broach the subject with either the client’s wife or the client. Is that correct?”

He paused for about twenty seconds, pretended to think it over. “It may be that we talked about it. I don’t recall, but it’s possible. They may have told me that someone who knew me gave them my name.”

“Had you previously had any other clients in Bari?”

“Probably, I don’t remember now.”

“Does that mean you have a lot of clients?”

“A fair number, yes.”

“You have a prosperous practice.”

“I can’t complain.”

“How many people work in your office?”

“I have a secretary. Apart from that I’ve always preferred to work alone.”

I bet your secretary is the minder you’ve got with you, right?

“What’s the address of your office?”

Mirenghi intervened. Quite rightly.

“Avvocato Guerrieri, what does the address of the witness’s office have to do with the case we are hearing?”

I thought I caught a very slight movement on Macri’s face, like the beginnings of a wicked smile.

“Your Honour, I realize this question may seem rather strange. But it’s a detail that will help me to clarify other things that are more immediately pertinent to the case.”

Mirenghi rolled his eyes imperceptibly. Girardi seemed to be following proceedings closely. Russo – and this was the odd thing – hadn’t fallen asleep yet.

“Go on, Avvocato. But please remember we have other cases scheduled for today’s session, and we would like to see our families eventually.”

“Thank you, Your Honour.”

I turned back to Macri. The vague smile had vanished. Perhaps I’d only imagined it anyway. “Will you tell us the address of your office

… and while we’re about it, the telephone number and fax number.”

This time he turned to me before answering. There was genuine hatred in his eyes. Just try, I said inside my head. Just try, you son of a bitch.

He told me the address of his office, hesitated a moment – I was probably the only person to notice – then said that he didn’t have a landline, because he preferred to use his mobile for everything.

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You don’t have a landline, so obviously you don’t have a fax either?”

“As I’ve said” – he was articulating his words clearly now, and the effort he was making to control his irritation was more noticeable – “I prefer to use my mobile for everything. We have computers, we’re connected to the internet, so instead of faxes, we use the computer and a printer.”

He turned to Mirenghi.

“Your Honour, I don’t know where Avvocato Guerrieri is planning to go with all this, and I’m not even particularly interested. I must say, though, that I am struck by his unduly aggressive and intimidating tone. I don’t think that’s the way to speak to a colleague…”

“All right, Avvocato Macri. I think we could spend many hours trying to interpret Avvocato Guerrieri’s tone without reaching any agreement. The questions he’s asked so far have all been admissible and, in the opinion of the court, have not been prejudicial to the dignity of the witness, that is, you. If you think otherwise, you can complain to the bar council. Avvocato Guerrieri may proceed, as long as he takes into account the warning I gave him before and the fact that we would like to get to the point as soon as possible.”

Mirenghi was getting irritated by Macri. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing. When he was irritated, he tended to take it out on anyone within striking distance, no matter who had originally caused the irritation. I knew I’d better get a move on.