Gianrico Carofiglio - A Walk in the Dark

Delissanti leaped to his feet, in so far as his bulk allowed him.

“I object very strongly in advance to the admission of cassettes relating to the sexual practices of the defendant and the plaintiff. I still have strong reservations about the relevance of the questions put by the counsel for the plaintiff, but, be that as it may, the fact that certain practices occurred has now been admitted. So there is no need for pornographic material to be admitted in evidence.”

Exactly what I wanted to hear him say. It had been admitted that certain practices had occurred. Precisely. They had swallowed the bait, both of them.

“Your Honour, the objection is unnecessary. I had no intention of asking for this or any other cassette to be admitted in evidence. As counsel for the defence has rightly said, the fact that certain practices occurred has been admitted. My request is quite different. In the introductory phase of the trial, counsel for the defence requested – and you, Your Honour, granted the request – that an expert witness be allowed to give evidence of a psychiatric nature about the plaintiff, with the purpose of ascertaining her reliability in relation to an overall picture of her mental state. Applying the same principle, what has emerged from the cross-examination makes it necessary to perform a similar evaluation on the person of the defendant. The psychiatrist you appoint to examine the defendant will be able to tell us if the compulsive need for sexual practices of a sado-masochistic nature, and particularly those which involve restraint, are habitually connected to impulses and actions of a persecutory nature, involving the invasion of another person’s private life. In other words, if both phenomena are – or can be – expressions of a compulsive need for control. Of course, I wish to make it clear that I am not suggesting any evaluation or hypothesis at the moment as to the possible psychopathological nature of these propensities.”

Scianatico’s face was grey. His tan had drained away, as if the blood had stopped flowing beneath the skin. Marinella Something-or-other was paralysed.

Delisssanti took a few seconds to recover and object to my request. With pretty much the same arguments I had used to object to his. You certainly couldn’t say we were inconsistent.

Caldarola seemed undecided about what to do. Outside the courtroom, in the private conversations that had almost certainly taken place, they’d told him a different story. The trial was based on nothing more than the accusations of an unbalanced madwoman against a respected professional man from a very good family. All that needed to be done was to put an end to the whole regrettable business and avoid further scandal.

Now things didn’t seem so clear-cut any more and he didn’t know what to do.

For about a minute, there was a strange, tense silence and then Caldarola gave his ruling.

“The judge, having heard the request of counsel for the plaintiff; having noted that the investigation accepted in the introductory phase has not yet been concluded; having noted that the request by counsel for the plaintiff bears a conceptual relation to the category as under Article 597 of the Code of Criminal Procedure; having noted that a decision on the admission of such evidence can be made only at the end of the investigation; for these reasons reserves his decision on the request for psychiatric evaluation until the outcome of the hearing and stipulates that the proceedings continue.”

It was a technically correct decision. A decision about all the new requests for the admission of evidence would be made at the end of the hearing. I knew that perfectly well, but I’d made my request at that moment in order to make it absolutely clear where I wanted to go. To make it clear to the judge exactly why I was asking these questions about sexual practices and that kind of thing.

To make it clear to everyone that we had no intention of sitting there and getting slaughtered.

Delissanti didn’t like this interim ruling. It left a door dangerously open to an objectionable investigation, and to a scandal that might, if possible, be even worse than the trial itself. So he tried again.

“I beg your pardon, Your Honour, but we would like you to reject this request as of now. This further defamatory sword of Damocles cannot be left hanging over the defendant’s head-”

Caldarola did not let him finish. “Avvocato, I would be grateful if you did not dispute my rulings. In this instance I will decide at the end of the hearing, that is, after having heard your witnesses, including your expert witness. A psychiatrist, as it happens. I think we have finished for today, if you yourself have no further questions for the defendant.”

Delissanti remained silent for a few moments, as if looking for something to say and not finding anything. An unusual situation for him. In the end he gave up and said no, he had no further questions for the defendant. Scianatico’s face was unrecognizable as he rose from the witness stand and went back to his place next to his lawyer.

Caldarola fixed the next hearing for two weeks from then. At that time, he would “hear the witnesses for the defence, as well as any further requests for the admission of additional evidence in accordance with Article 507 of the Code of Criminal Procedure”.

As I took off my robe, I turned to Martina and Claudia, and it was then that I became aware of how many people there were in the courtroom. On the public benches, there were at least three or four journalists.

Scianatico, Delissanti and the cortege of trainees and flunkeys left quickly and silently. Just for a few seconds, Scianatico turned towards Martina. He had a strange – very strange – look on his face, a look I couldn’t decipher, even though, with those mad, staring eyes, it reminded me of a broken doll.

The journalists asked me for a statement, and I said I had no comment. I was forced to repeat that three or four times, and in the end they resigned themselves. After what they’d seen and heard today, they already had plenty to write about.

I folded the two sheets of paper containing the copies of my old notes and put them in my briefcase with the video cassette. I didn’t want to run the risk of forgetting it. I’d recorded it one night years earlier, when I couldn’t sleep, and I liked to watch it from time to time. It contained an old film by Pietro Germi, with a brilliant performance by Massimo Girotti. A great film, hard to find these days.

In the Name of the Law. After that afternoon I didn’t have to go to the bedroom many more times. It was as if he’d lost interest. I don’t know if it was because I always resisted him now, or because I’d grown and wasn’t a little girl any more. Or more likely both. Whatever the reason, at a certain point he gave up. And then I noticed the way he looked at my sister. I was filled with anxiety. I didn’t know what to do, who to talk to. I was sure that soon, very soon, he’d call her into the bedroom. I stopped going into the yard unless Anna came down with me. If she said she wanted to stay at home reading a comic book or watching TV, I stayed with her. I stayed really close to her. With my nerves on edge, waiting to hear that voice, thick with cigarettes and beer, calling. Not knowing what I would do when it came. I didn’t have to wait long. It happened one morning, the first day of the Easter holidays. The Thursday before Good Friday. Our mother was out, at work. “Anna.” “What do you want, Daddy?” “Come here a minute, I have something to tell you.” Anna stood up from the chair in the kitchen, where we both were. She put the two dolls she’d been playing with down on the table and walked towards the small, narrow, dark corridor, at the end of which was the bedroom. “Wait a minute,” I said.