Reasonable Doubts (19 page)

During the first half, I didn’t pay much attention to the film - I’d already seen it twice anyway. I was thinking I’d like to start up a conversation with that girl, or woman, or whatever she was. I’d like to talk to her in the interval and then, when the film was over, invite her for a drink. As long as she hadn’t left during the first half, driven out by the weird atmosphere of that deserted cinema. And by the fear that the only other person there - who had turned round to look at her rather too many times - might be some kind of pervert.

But she was still there in the interval. She had taken off her poncho or shawl and seemed completely at ease, but of course I didn’t have the courage to start up a conversation.

During the second half, I thought of a good opening gambit: the presence of the young Arnold Schwarzenegger in the film. Look, there’s Schwarzenegger as a young man. Hard to believe he’s now the governor of California. All right, it’s pretty weak, but for a film buff - and damn it, a woman who goes on her own to see
The Long Goodbye
at that hour of the night must be a film buff - the gambit marked “first appearances of then unknown actors who later became famous” isn’t a bad one.

When the lights went on - the projectionist cutting off the end titles abruptly-I stood up, determined to approach her. I had never approached a woman like that in my life, but I was a grown-up now - so to speak - and it was worth a try. Anyway, what was the worst that could happen?

But this time she was gone. The cinema was empty again.

I hurried to the exit, thinking she’d stood up just before the lights went on. But there was no one in the street.

The wind was even stronger now than when I’d arrived, creating eddies of dust. As if in a dream or an apparition, five stray dogs crossed the road in single file and vanished behind a corner.

I turned up my coat collar, stuck my hands in my pockets and went home.

33

The next day I woke up aching all over, and the pains didn’t go even after my usual stretches. Needless to say, I wasn’t in a good mood as I walked to the courthouse. My mood got worse when I entered the crowded, overheated courtroom and saw that the assistant prosecutor for that hearing was Porcelli.

He was a man with the personality and charisma of a squid. Even physically, wrapped in his robe, with his tall body and small head, he gave the impression of a large, superfluous marine invertebrate. He didn’t give a damn about anything. Everything about him conveyed an almost inhuman sense of dull indifference.

At least he wouldn’t be a tough opponent, I thought, filing the matter away. The judges were coming in.

The bailiff called Natsu, who was waiting in the witness room. She came out and looked around for a few moments, slightly disorientated. The bailiff led her past the judges. Everyone was looking at her.

“Before we begin,” Mirenghi said, “I am obliged by law to inform you that as the wife of the defendant you have the right not to testify. However, if you decide not to exercise this right, you are required to tell the truth like any other witness. Do you wish to testify?”

“Yes, Your Honour.”

“Very well. Please read the oath.”

Natsu took the small laminated card which the bailiff handed her and read in a firm voice, “Conscious of the moral and legal responsibility I assume with my testimony, I swear to tell the whole truth and not to conceal anything of which I have knowledge.”

“You may proceed, Avvocato Guerrieri.”

“Thank you, Your Honour. Signora Paolicelli, obviously you already know what it is you are here to testify about. So I’ll dispense with the preliminaries and ask you if it was you who appointed Avvocato Macrì to defend your husband after he was arrested.”

“Yes.”

“Did you already know Avvocato Macrì when you decided to appoint him?”

“No.”

“Why did you appoint him, then?”

“It was suggested to me that I appoint him.”

“By whom?”

Natsu was silent for a few moments, as if to collect her thoughts. “It was the day after my husband’s arrest. I was leaving home when a young man came up to me. He told me he had been sent by some friends of my husband and gave me a piece of paper with Macrì’s name and mobile phone number on it. He told me I should appoint him as soon as possible and he would sort everything out for my husband.”

“What did you reply?”

“I don’t remember exactly what I said, I mean the exact words, but I tried to get him to explain.”

“Why do you say you
tried
?”

“Because he said he couldn’t stay, he had to go. He said
goodbye, went over to a car parked about thirty feet away, with another person in it, and drove away.”

“Did you take the licence number?”

“No, I didn’t even think of it. I was too astonished.”

“Did you ever meet him again after that?”

“No.”

“Would you be able to recognize him if you saw him again?”

“I think so, but I’m not sure.”

“Did you subsequently speak to your husband about this episode?”

“Of course.”

“And what did he say?”

“He was even more astonished than I was. He had no idea who this young man was, let alone who sent him.”

“I have a few more questions, Signora Paolicelli. Could you tell us the circumstances pertaining to the lifting of the sequestration order on your car?”

“Yes. Avvocato Macrì said he would file a motion to get the car back. He said that since the car was mine and I had nothing to do with the crime, there was no reason why they couldn’t let me have it. He did in fact file a motion, and a few days later he told me that the prosecutor had lifted the sequestration order.”

“And then what happened?”

“We were talking on the phone and I asked him what I had to do to get my car back. He told me not to worry. He was coming to Bari in a few days and he’d go and fetch the car personally.”

“And is that what happened?”

“Yes, he collected it and brought it over to my home.”

“One last question, Signora Paolicelli. Did you ever pay Avvocato Macrì?”

“No. He said I didn’t need to. He said that when it was all over I could give him a present.”

“So you never paid him, never even reimbursed him for his expenses?”

“No.”

“Did he ever say that there was someone else taking care of his fee?”

“No, not to me. I think he said it to my husband.”

“Thank you. I have no other questions.”

Mirenghi asked the assistant prosecutor if he had any questions. He shook his head wearily. Girardi told Natsu that she could go. They all watched her as she walked those few yards to the public benches, and for a few moments I felt an inappropriate sense of pride. Then I reminded myself that I had no reason to feel that, and certainly no right.

The guards brought Paolicelli into the courtroom and took up their positions around him, as was the practice. Mirenghi made him repeat his particulars and with absurd punctiliousness had him state that he was a resident of Bari but was currently in custody and that therefore his domicile was the prison. Then he advised him of his right to remain silent and asked him if he intended to exercise this right or if he was willing to undergo examination. The whole ritual.

“I wish to testify, Your Honour.”

“You may proceed with your examination, Avvocato Guerrieri.”

“Thank you, Your Honour. Signor Paolicelli, my first question is a very simple one. Are you guilty or innocent of the
crime with which you are charged and for which you were first arrested and then sentenced?”

“Innocent.”

“Would you explain to the court why, after a large quantity of narcotics was discovered in your car, you made the following statement:
I acknowledge that the quantity of forty kilos of cocaine was discovered in my car. Regarding this, I freely declare that the drugs belong to myself alone and that my wife Natsu Kawabata, whose full particulars have been noted in other documents, has no connection whatsoever with this illegal transportation, which is the sole responsibility of the undersigned. I placed the narcotics in the car without my wife’s knowledge. I have no intention of naming the persons from whom I acquired the aforementioned quantity of narcotics ...
and so on?”

Paolicelli took a deep breath and shifted on his chair before replying. “I was with my wife and daughter. The customs police said they would have to arrest both of us, because there was no way of knowing which of us the drugs belonged to. We were travelling in the same car, we were husband and wife, it was more than likely that we were in cahoots, that we were accomplices. And so they had to arrest both of us.”

“And then what happened?”

“I started to panic. I mean, I was already panicking, but the idea that they could arrest my wife, too, and we’d have to find someone to take care of our daughter, terrified me. I begged them to let my wife go, because she didn’t know anything about the drugs.”

“Whereas you did?”

“No. But I’d realized that I had no way out, that I was caught up in something beyond my control. So what I wanted first of all was to keep my wife and daughter out of it. I mean, it wasn’t my choice. Either they’d arrest both of us or they’d arrest only me.”

“Go on.”

“The customs police told me there was only one way to keep my wife out of it. I had to say that the drugs were mine, only mine, and that I’d been carrying them without her knowledge. That was the only way they’d have a pretext not to arrest her, a reason ...”

“They’d have a reason they could put on the arrest report as to why they were arresting you and not your wife. Because the car was registered to your wife, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, the car is hers.”

“So you made that statement, and they let her go and arrested you. At the beginning of this examination, you claimed to be innocent. Is it correct to say that you made that statement solely with the aim of keeping your wife out of this affair?”

“Yes. The drugs weren’t mine. I never knew they were in our car until the customs police found them.”

“Are you able to explain, or surmise, when the drugs could have been put in your car?”

It was a question which, in theory, the assistant prosecutor could have objected to. It isn’t usually possible to ask a witness to express a personal opinion or to make conjectures. But this was a special case, and anyway the giant squid was there in body only. He gave no sign of having noticed. So Paolicelli was able to answer unhindered. He told the whole story of the hotel car park and the keys he’d left with the porter, and how easy it would have been to fill the car with drugs during the night. He answered well, clearly and spontaneously. For what it was worth, he gave the impression of someone who was telling the truth.

Once we had got through the part relating to Montenegro, we went on to Macrì. We briefly recapped the things Natsu
had said and then concentrated on the question of what he and his counsel had talked about in the prison.

“What did Macrì say when you asked him who the people were who had approached your wife?”

“He told me not to worry, some friends had asked him to help me.”

“Whose friends?”

“I don’t know. He said friends, but didn’t go into any details.”

“But did you have any idea who he was referring to?”

“Absolutely none.”

“Do you, or did you, have any friends or acquaintances in common?”

“No.”

“Did you ever tell Avvocato Macrì that you were innocent?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I had the impression he knew that perfectly well.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“He often said to me, I know you’re innocent, it was a bit of bad luck but you’ll see, we’ll sort everything out. Not in so many words, but that was the sense of it.”

“What did Macrì say to you before your first interrogation by the examining magistrate?”