The Affair (46 page)

Trevor and the guards watched as the police asked the woman to identify the precise spot where she had seen the girls fighting. Immediately she became flustered as she looked up and down the road trying to think of a convincing location. The day guard gave Trevor a running commentary on what was being said.

‘Were you in a car?’ the police officer asked, and she said yes, she was. ‘What time?’ Just after midnight.

‘Where were you travelling from?’ the officer asked, and she mentioned a village some miles down the road.

‘Where did you see the women?’ She glanced around, obviously realising it had to be somewhere out of sight of the night guard’s gatehouse. She gestured in the direction of the
trattoria
, which was just out of view round the bend. ‘Down there.’

The night guard interjected: ‘But I saw Helen walk up to the
pensione
, that way, just after midnight. I would have seen her if she walked past me again.’

The woman turned first one way and then the other, tutting and sighing heavily as if to communicate that they were causing her an immense amount of trouble. ‘It was very dark,’ she said at last. ‘I can’t tell you the exact spot.’

‘But if it was dark, how can you be sure it was those women? Did you see their faces closely enough to swear in court it was them?’

‘I saw their hair. One was blonde and the other brown-haired. They weren’t Italian. I could tell that. They looked English.’

The police officer was stern. ‘So you didn’t see their faces. You just saw two foreign-looking women as you passed in a car. You don’t even know
where
you saw them.’

She was defensive now. ‘Don’t blame me. I simply told you what I saw.’

‘You volunteered this testimony, making it sound convincing, but now you are changing your evidence. There will be repercussions, you can be sure of that.’

The officer turned to Trevor and the guards. ‘I think we’ve heard enough.’

Trevor wondered why the woman had contacted the police when she was so unsure of the details. He guessed she might be one of those self-important busybodies who believe all foreigners are immoral, especially if they work on film sets. Some people just liked to stick their noses into other people’s business. And there was a strange kind of kudos that comes from being a witness to murder; perhaps that was another motive.

He called Signor Esposito but was told that he was out at lunch, so he left a message with his secretary.

The day guard called him a taxi to take him to Anzio station and Trevor shook hands with both men, thanking them warmly for all their assistance. The night guard would get only four hours’ sleep before he had to go back on duty again but he seemed a good man, who was simply pleased that the truth had emerged.

On the train back to Rome, all Trevor could think of was the moment when he would see his wife again and hold her in his arms. He hoped it would be in a few hours’ time. Perhaps they could go somewhere special for dinner that night. His stomach was tight with nerves at the thought that something could still go wrong.

As soon as he arrived at Termini station, he called Signor Esposito from a telephone kiosk to be told that a judge would consider the new evidence at a special hearing at seven that evening. It seemed inevitable that he would order Diana’s release but the lawyer warned that it might be too late to complete all the paperwork that day. He’d contacted the prison authorities to warn them to be on standby.

‘Can I come to the hearing?’ Trevor asked, wondering if his husbandly loyalty could somehow influence proceedings.

‘No. Diana won’t even be there. It’s just me, a judge and the prosecutor. I’ll come by Pensione Splendid to tell you the result as soon as we’re done, so make sure you’re there from seven-thirty onwards. I won’t send word to your wife yet, just in case it goes wrong, but I think there is reason for optimism.’

It was only five o’clock in the afternoon. Trevor had two and a half hours to fill. He wasn’t usually a superstitious man but he decided he didn’t want to call Hilary and tell her about the new hearing in case he somehow jinxed the outcome. The judge might still decide the case had to go to trial. Instead he decided to get something to eat and he caught a bus over to the back streets behind Piazza Navona, where he and Diana had found a decent little restaurant when he was there at Easter.

He ate some veal and sat on a shady terrace nursing a coffee and watching the passers-by. Suddenly a Vespa drew up alongside him and he saw that the driver was the journalist, Scott Morgan.

‘Howdy, pardner, mind if I join you?’ Scott asked. ‘I’ve just been to see Mr Balboni.’

Trevor pulled out a chair for him and summoned a waiter. ‘What can I get you?’

They ordered beers and Scott told his news. ‘I don’t know if it will be of any comfort to find out that Ernesto is a gutless coward who’s been hiding away at home, scared of a drug dealer. Christ, he’s a nasty piece of work.’

‘Why is he scared of a drug dealer?’

‘Luigi, the one who supplied drugs to Helen, told Ernesto exactly what to say to the police. It seems he was furious with Diana for pointing the finger at him and decided to incriminate her. That’s why he persuaded Ernesto and the other witness to testify against her.’

‘Goodness. How on earth did you force him to tell you all this?’

Trevor was astonished. Just when he thought his opinion of Diana’s lover couldn’t sink any lower …

‘Money. I paid him. I bet he’s broke now that he’s not working at Cinecittà. They’ll never take him back when they hear what he’s done.’

‘I’ll make sure they don’t,’ Trevor promised. ‘I’ll tell Hilary personally.’

‘Who was the witness, though? That’s what I’d like to know.’

‘I met her this afternoon,’ Trevor said, and he explained about finding Helen’s note and identifying the place where she fell from the boat, as well as the woman’s unreliable testimony.

‘Was her name Ghianciamina?’ Scott asked eagerly.

Trevor shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. But I can call my friend, the guard at Torre Astura, and ask if he remembers.’

Scott’s office was just around the corner, so they agreed to pop up there and phone when they finished their beers.

‘Ernesto and Helen weren’t really an item, were they?’ Trevor asked. ‘What did he say about her?’

‘He tried to brag that she was chasing him but I reckon it didn’t go beyond flirtation. What upset me is that Helen asked him for money for her plane fare the evening she died and he refused point blank to help. If only she had come to me.’
She couldn’t, though, because he had never given her his address or telephone number.
He felt awful about that.

‘Do you think Diana is going to be in any danger from Luigi once she’s out of prison?’ Trevor asked. ‘Perhaps I should whisk her straight out of the country.’

Scott pondered that. ‘It makes me sick to let him get away with it. I wish there was something I could do to incriminate him. The police know he’s dealing drugs and don’t seem to want to charge him. It was a Saturday night and he must have been loaded with stuff when they took him in for questioning but they chose not to find it. If only there was something else we could get him on – like the way they finally got Al Capone for tax evasion. I bet Luigi doesn’t pay his taxes!’

‘Why does it have to be so complicated? Why not tell the police what you know about him?’
In any decent justice system, that would be taken seriously
, Trevor thought.
They’d have to. Even the ancient Romans had laws against falsely accusing someone.

‘It would help if I could find a link between Luigi and the witness. Wouldn’t it be handy if it turned out to be his aunt or something?’

‘Do you really think he’d be so stupid?’

‘I dunno. But it would be good news.’

Back at the office, they telephoned the day guard at Torre Astura, who supplied Trevor not only with the name of the woman – Cecilia Tessero – but also with an address. She worked as the housekeeper at a villa two miles up the coast towards Anzio, he said. A house called Villa Armonioso.

‘That’s owned by Luigi’s boss!’ Scott exclaimed. ‘He’s not going to be very happy if his housekeeper is charged with perjury. Holy shit, I wouldn’t like to be in Luigi’s shoes.’

‘Will you call the police or will I?’

‘Let me,’ Scott said. ‘I know a little more about who I’m dealing with. You and Diana need to walk away and forget you ever heard any of this. Get your wife out of jail and go and enjoy your lives!’

Oh God, I hope so
, Trevor thought. He glanced at his watch. Time to rush back to the
pensione
and wait for news from the lawyer. He was so nervous he kept forgetting to breathe.

After Trevor left, Scott considered calling the police about Luigi’s links to the Ghianciaminas, but he could predict the reaction. Any charges against the housekeeper would be dropped as soon as they found out who she worked for. Ernesto would never admit to the police that Luigi had manufactured evidence against Diana. And whoever had given Luigi an alibi would stick to their story. No, there was no point. He would have to wait until his drugs story was published and present the truth about Luigi there. He still needed some incontrovertible evidence against the Ghianciamina family, something so big that the police couldn’t ignore it. He decided to take another trip down to the Villa Armonioso, but this time by night. It had been late evening when Helen was taken there. Maybe that’s when most of their business took place.

Before leaving Rome, Scott headed back to his
pensione
and picked up the binoculars and his camera. He bought some sandwiches and a bottle of water from a bar, and took his leather jacket in case it got chilly later. He wasn’t sure how long this would take.

It was almost nine by the time he reached Anzio and headed south past the port and down along the coast road. Dusk was on the verge of turning to night and illuminated signs were switched on outside bars and
trattorie
: Coca-Cola, Peroni, Buona Cucina. At first he overshot the turn-off but soon realised his mistake and headed back. He hid his bike in the same old shed then made his way by foot across the dunes, aware that it was going to be harder to justify his presence if he were caught this time. He couldn’t use birdwatching as an excuse now that it was dark.

A car pulled up at around nine-thirty and, using the binoculars, Scott managed to note down the number plate as it swept through the gates, but he couldn’t see who got out because they drove round to the other side of the house. He ate two of his sandwiches and drank some water, then settled in to wait as the night drew in. Two more cars came at eleven but it was too dark to make out their number plates. One left again half an hour later. Another arrived. He lay back against a sand dune to wait, and must have dozed off for a while because he awakened around two a.m. to the sound of a motorboat.

The moon had come out and it cast a surreal white glow over the ocean, almost like the unnatural light cast by the
paparazzis
’ flashbulbs in Via Veneto. Through the binoculars, Scott saw a boat pulling out from a mooring behind the villa and heading out to sea. He swept the binoculars round to the horizon and there, lit up in the moonlight, was a huge ship looming out of the blackness like a mountain in the mist. It gave him a start. It was exactly as Bradley Wyndham had predicted: a shipment of drugs was being smuggled out to sea and there wasn’t a coastguard in sight.

Scott adjusted the binoculars, trying to make out the name of the vessel, but all he could see was that there were two words, of which the first might begin with
RE
and the second might end in
A
. He took a series of photographs as pallets were hauled up the side of the ship on ropes. If they were packed with drugs, they would be worth thousands and thousands of dollars. One thing he was sure of: this cargo would not have been registered for export, and no duties would have been paid. He’d bet his bottom dollar on it.

The motor launch turned and headed back to shore. Scott took a few more photos until he’d finished the roll, praying that enough would come out to show the villa, the launch and the ship accepting illicit cargo. He didn’t have any illusions that he could change the world in a day, but he was more and more determined to nail these people who had caused the death of Helen and goodness knows how many other vulnerable people. The police wouldn’t do anything, but
he
would. He was ready to write his article now.