“Of course, I could get my client to state that he releases his former counsel from the obligation to observe lawyer-client confidentiality.”
“Yes. That should clinch it. But if I were you I’d read up on this thoroughly and buy a bulletproof vest before I started down this track.”
By the time the call was over, I felt better than I had a few minutes earlier, and my idea seemed a lot less ridiculous.
24
In the afternoon I cycled over to the prison. I had to make a real effort, because the idea of seeing Paolicelli, less than a day after what had happened, didn’t do much to increase my self-esteem.
But I had to go, because my plan of action was a risky one. And he was the person who’d be taking most of the risks. So I had to explain everything to him, make sure he understood, ask him if he wanted us to try that strategy.
As he entered the interview room, a few scattered images from the previous night suddenly sprang into my head, but fortunately it was only for a moment. When we started talking the images vanished.
I explained to him what the idea was. I told him it was worth a try, but he shouldn’t be under any illusions: it was unlikely that the judges would admit Macri’s testimony, and even if they did, it was very unlikely that it would make much difference to the outcome. But in the situation we were in, it was the only alternative to plea-bargaining – although the option of plea-bargaining should be kept open until the day of the hearing.
He made a simple gesture with his hand, as if swatting away a midge or moving a small object. No plea-bargaining, it meant.
I liked that gesture. I liked the dignity of it. I felt an odd kind of solidarity with him.
Maybe it was my way of processing my sense of guilt. I’m going to end up liking the guy, I thought. And that really would be too much.
So I went on explaining to him how we could proceed, how we could try to play the few cards we had in our hands.
“This would be the sequence: first I ask to examine you, then your wife. The judges will allow that, there shouldn’t be any problems. You state that you know nothing about the drugs. It’s true that you admitted responsibility when you were arrested, but only because you wanted to keep your wife out of it. You suggest a hypothesis on how the cocaine came to be in your car. Then I ask you about your lawyer and you tell us how that relationship started. Your wife tells us the same story, from her point of view.”
I looked him in the eyes. He sustained my gaze, with an interrogative undertone in his. What did my look mean? I told him what it meant.
“Obviously this is a dangerous game we’d be playing. We’re on a knife-edge. The only way it has any chance of working is if you’ve told me the whole truth. If you haven’t, then both you and I are running very serious risks. In court and especially outside court, remembering the kind of people we’re probably dealing with.”
“I’ve told you the truth. The drugs weren’t mine. I did some stupid things in the past, but those drugs weren’t mine.”
What stupid things? The question flashed for a moment in my head and then disappeared, as quickly as it had come, to give way to the same feeling I’d had a little earlier. A liking for him that I didn’t want to feel, but which was seeping in like smoke through the cracks in my conscience.
OK. Better to go on.
“I’ll have to question you about what you and this lawyer talked about. In particular, and this is the most important thing, I’ll have to ask you if you ever asked him to account for his being there.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow.”
“I’ll ask you this: when you met Avvocato Macri, either the first time or any of the subsequent times, did you ask him who had suggested him to your wife? Do you understand why I have to ask that?”
“Yes, yes. I do now.”
“In fact, while we’re at it, answer the question now. That way we can start to memorize it.”
He concentrated, touching his chin. The room was silent and I could hear the noise of his fingers rubbing his stubble the wrong way.
“I think it was the second time we met. The first time was just after my arrest, I hadn’t seen my wife yet and so she hadn’t told me how she’d been advised to appoint him. And anyway I was still in shock, I wasn’t thinking clearly. After the custody order was confirmed, I had my first visit from my wife and she told me about the man who’d stopped her in the street. So when Macri came to visit me again, a few days later, I asked him if he knew who had suggested his name to my wife.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said there was no need to worry about that. He said there were people who wanted to take care of me and they would see to everything. He meant his fee. And it was true, we didn’t pay anything. A few times I tried to ask him when I had to pay, and how much, and he always told me not to worry.”
“Obviously he never told you, or gave you any hint, who these people were?”
“Obviously not.”
“All right. Then you’ll have to tell me about the other conversations you had with him, especially the one where you quarrelled. I need you to remember as many details as you can. They’ll help to make what you say more credible. Keep a notebook in your cell and write down everything you remember. Even if it’s something insignificant. All right?”
The interview was over. We called the guards, who took him back to the bowels of the prison. As I walked back through gates and locks and reinforced doors towards the outside world, I was in a contradictory state of mind.
On the one hand, I still felt like a bastard. But we’re all good at finding excuses, ways of justifying our actions.
So I told myself, all right, I’d made a mistake, but in the overall balance sheet we were more or less equal. Maybe I was even in credit. I might save this man’s life. What other lawyer would have done what I was doing for him?
Getting on my bicycle, I wondered if Natsu would pick me up from my office again, or if she would call me.
Of if I would have the guts to call her.
25
There followed a succession of strange days. Even the texture of them was strange. Packed, and at the same time suspended, as if time had stood still.
Every now and again I would think about Margherita. Sometimes I wondered what she was doing. If she was seeing anyone, if she would ever come back. My thoughts stopped at that point. I never wondered what would happen if she came back. Whenever I thought she was going out with someone I would feel a twinge of jealousy, but it didn’t last long. Sometimes, in the evening, I would get the desire to call her, but I never did.
We had talked over the phone during the first months she was away. They had not been long calls and gradually, spontaneously, they had stopped after the Christmas holidays. She had stayed there, over those holidays, and I had thought that must mean something. Congratulations, Guerrieri, good thinking.
I hadn’t wanted to think about it any more than that.
Little by little, I had taken all my things out of her apartment. Every time I went there I felt as if I was being watched, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. So I took what I needed and got out of there as quickly as I could.
In the evening, after work, I’d go to the gym, or else do a bit of training at home. Then I’d have dinner and start reading or listening to music.
I didn’t watch television any more. Not that I’d ever watched it much, but now I just didn’t put it on at all. I could have sold the TV set and I’d never have noticed the difference.
I would read for a straight two hours, and make notes on what I was reading. I’d started to do it after the night I’d gone to Natsu’s apartment and after reading the book on the manumission of words, with the idea that maybe, further down the line, I could try to write. Maybe.