Once the formalities had been dealt with, the judge gave the public prosecutor the floor. He was a scruffylooking young magistrate, deputizing for the prosecutor who’d carried out the investigations, and he made no attempt to conceal his boredom. I didn’t feel very well disposed towards him.
He said that the defendant’s guilt emerged clearly from the documents produced at the trial, that a complete reconstruction of the acts committed and the responsibility for them was already contained in the order of application for a custodial sentence, and that the appropriate penalty in such an undoubtedly serious case was three years’ imprisonment and a fine of 2500 euros. End of speech.
When Nadia heard that request, she half closed her eyes for a second and shook her head, as if dismissing an annoying thought. The judge gave me the floor.
“Your Honour. We could easily base our defence on merit, examining the results of the investigation point by point and demonstrating that they in no way prove that the defendant has benefited from, or even aided and abetted, another person’s prostitution.”
That wasn’t true. If you examined the results of the investigation point by point it was very clear that Nadia had indeed “organized, coordinated and managed an unspecified but undoubtedly large number of women dedicated to prostitution”. Exactly.
But we lawyers have a conditioned reflex. Whatever the circumstances, our client is innocent, and that’s it. We can’t help ourselves.
“But the task of a defence counsel,” I went on, “is also that of identifying and pointing out to the judge every aspect of the case, which, from the point of view of the investigation, allows him to save time and reach a decision quickly.”
And I explained how he could reach a decision quickly and save time. I explained that the intercepts were inadmissible, because there had been no grounds at all for the orders authorizing them. In the case of orders authorizing intercepts, the fact that there are no grounds is an irremediable error. If these intercepts were unusable, I said – and they were unusable – it was not even possible to look at them, and there was nothing against my client except a mountain of conjecture, and so on, and so forth. As I spoke, the judge leafed through the file.
When I finished, he retired to his chamber and stayed there almost an hour. Then he came out and read out his acquittal, which included the formula: The case is without foundation.
Bravo, Guerrieri, I said to myself as the judge was reading. Then I made a friendly gesture of farewell to him – we lawyers always make friendly gestures of farewell to judges who acquit our clients – and walked out of the courtroom with Nadia.
Her cheeks were flushed, like someone who’s been in a very stuffy environment, or someone who’s overexcited. She took out a packet of Marlboro Gold, lit one with a Zippo lighter, and took a couple of greedy puffs.
“Thank you,” she said.
I nodded, modestly. But I was very pleased.
She told me she would come to my office in the afternoon. To pay. Then she looked me in the eyes for a few seconds, and asked if she could tell me something. Of course, I replied.
“You’re a very good lawyer, as far as I can tell. But there’s something more. In my line of work, I’ve learned a lot about men, and I think I can recognize the decent ones. On the very rare occasions when I meet them. I had two other lawyers before you. Both of them asked me – how should I put this? – for a supplement to their fee, right there in the office, with the door locked. I suppose they thought it was normal, after all I’m just a whore, so…”
She took a deep drag on her cigarette. I didn’t know what to say.
“So nothing. You, on the other hand, apart from getting me acquitted, have treated me with respect. And that’s something I won’t forget. When I come to the office I’ll bring you a book. Apart from the money, obviously.”
Then she shook my hand and left.
I decided to go and have a coffee, or whatever. I felt light-headed, like after an exam at university. Or, indeed, after winning a case.
As I was walking along the corridor leading to the bar, I saw Dellisanti ahead of me, in the middle of a group of trainees, young lawyers and secretaries. We hadn’t spoken since his phone call to my office.
My first impulse was to turn on my heels, leave the courthouse, and have my coffee in some bar outside. To avoid an encounter. I even slowed down, and had almost come to a halt when I heard these words quite distinctly, in my head: “Are you losing it completely? Are you afraid of that windbag and his band of flunkeys? You’ll have your coffee wherever you like and that lot can go fuck themselves.” The exact words. It sometimes happens.
So I started walking quickly again, passed Dellisanti and his entourage, pretending not to see them, and walked into the bar.
They joined me at the counter as I was ordering a fresh orange juice.
“Hello, Guerrieri.” As friendly as a python.
I turned, as if I’d only just become aware of their presence.
“Oh, hello, Dellisanti.”
“Well, now, what have you got to say?”
“How do you mean?”
“Did you check out what I told you? About the girl, I mean.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was a bother having to say anything at all, and the man knew how to make whoever he was speaking to feel uncomfortable. No doubt about that.
In reality I’d have liked to tell him that he ought to be thinking about defending his client. Accused of serious crimes. And I would think about defending my client. The victim of the same serious crimes.
I’d have liked to tell him not to make any more phone calls like the one a few days ago, that I’d make sure he lost any desire he had to do so.
In other words, the reply of a man.
Instead of which, I babbled something about how things aren’t what they seem, and anyway they were different from the way they’d been told to him, and to cut a long story short, I didn’t know how to wriggle out of it only a few days after taking the case. Without a valid excuse, I couldn’t do anything. Maybe in a few weeks, or a few months, depending on how the trial went, we could talk again.
In other words, the reply of a coward.
“All right, Guerrieri. I’ve already said what I had to say. Do as you see fit, let everyone take responsibility for his own actions and face the consequences.”
He turned and walked out. With all the others, in formation. Perfectly trained.
After a few seconds I shook my head, with the kind of movement dogs make when they’re wet and want to shake the water off them, and then went to the cash desk to pay.
“Avvocato Delissanti’s already paid,” the cashier said.
I was about to reply that I’d pay for my own orange juice, or something like that. Then I thought it best to avoid ridicule.
It’s always best, as far as you possibly can.
So I nodded, made a gesture to say goodbye and left.
My good mood after the outcome of that morning’s trial had vanished.
16
Martina and Sister Claudia came to the office the day before the hearing.
I didn’t get straight to the point. I beat about the bush for a while, as I almost always do. First of all, I told Martina it wasn’t necessary for her to be in court the following day. The hearing would consist merely of preliminary issues, the introduction of documents and requests for the admission of evidence. As long as I was there, it was fine.
There was no need for her to miss a day’s work, I said.
There was no need for her to get scared before she had to, I thought.
She wouldn’t need to be in court until we had to examine her, which would presumably be in a few weeks’ time.
She asked me how things would be at that hearing. This was it. We were getting to the point.
I told her how things would be, with all the caution of which I was capable.