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.
31
I’ve often thought about that day in court, and what happened later. I’ve often wondered if things could have gone differently, and to what extent it was all down to me, my behaviour at the trial, the way I questioned Scianatico.
I’ve never found the right answer, and it may well be better that way.
There were several witnesses, and they all told more less the same story. Which doesn’t often happen. I spoke personally to some of these witnesses. In the case of the others, I read the statements they’d made at police headquarters, in the hours immediately after the events.
Martina was coming back from work – it was fivethirty or a little later – and had parked less than fifty yards from the front entrance of her mother’s apartment building.
He’d been waiting for her for at least an hour, according to the owner of a clothes shop on the other side of the street, who’d noticed him because “there was something strange about his behaviour, the way he moved”.
When she saw him she stopped for a moment. Maybe she thought she’d cross to the other side and get away. But then she continued walking towards him. She seemed determined, the shop owner said.
She had decided to confront him. She didn’t want to run away. Not any more.
They spoke briefly, getting more and excited. They both raised their voices, especially her. She shouted at him to go away and leave her alone once and for all. Immediately after, there was a kind of scuffle. Scianatico hit her several times, slapping her and punching her. She fell, maybe she lost consciousness, and he dragged her bodily into the entrance hall.
Tancredi’s phone call came while I was talking to an important client. A major entrepreneur being investigated by the tax authorities for a series of frauds, who was scared stiff at the thought that he might be arrested. One of those clients who paid on time and paid well, because they had a lot to lose.
I told him I had a major emergency on, and asked him to excuse me: we’d see each other tomorrow, or rather no, better make it the day after tomorrow, sorry again, I have to go, goodbye. When I left my office he was still there, standing in front of the desk. Looking like someone who doesn’t understand, I suppose. And wondering if it might be a good idea to change lawyers.
As I was hurrying to Martina’s, which was fifteen minutes from my office at normal walking pace, I phoned Claudia. I don’t remember exactly what I said as I ran, breathless. But I do remember that she hung up while I was still talking, just as soon as she understood what I was talking about.