“Signore Costantino, it is a well-established fact that you turned on the gas and that it was your intention to commit suicide. We need not cover that ground again. But I’d like to ask you something else: When you turned on the gas, was it your intention to kill anyone else?”
“No, of course not.”
“At the moment when you turned on the gas, did it occur to you, did you imagine that your action might result in the death of other people besides yourself?”
“No, no, I just wanted to go to sleep and end it all. I told you I was out of my mind. I was on medication.”
“Do you mean that you were taking pharmaceuticals?”
“Yes, antidepressants.”
“You said that it was only afterward that you realized the consequences your actions might have had. Is that right?”
“Yes, many days later, when I was beginning to recover. In prison.”
“Thank you. I have no further questions.”
“Very good. If there are no further questions, I would say that we can proceed to summation,” said the judge.
The prosecutor stood up and once again ran through his innovative interpretation of the definition of mass murder. The crime required the intention of killing, without any specific indication of who might be the victim of that intention. Costantino, when he opened the gas, intended to kill himself and implicitly accepted the risk of killing other people. This was sufficient basis for trying and convicting him. For mass murder.
Then it was my turn.
“Please indulge me, Your Honor, if I go on a little longer than is usually allowed in a preliminary hearing for the ritual, and often pointless, request for an acquittal. Because this is certainly one of those cases with potential for acquittal, even at this early juncture, without wading through the lengthy process of a full criminal trial. To tell the truth, the idea of hauling a defendant before a criminal court for a gas leak, albeit an intentional one, is paradoxical, if not verging on the outright grotesque.”
The judge picked up a pen and wrote something. I made a mental note, thinking that it might be a good sign, though judges are unpredictable creatures. I continued.
“There is no question that this trial should be resolved on the point of law, the interpretation of criminal law, given that the facts are unquestioned. Indeed, an unhappy young man struggling with depression attempts suicide. The Carabinieri heroically intervene, rescue the young man, and avert a potential tragedy. The question that this trial must answer is the following: Did the behavior of this young man involve all the elements of the crime of mass murder? A crime, let us remember, that is punishable by imprisonment for a term of no fewer than fifteen years.”
I spoke for about ten minutes in all. I did my best to convey a fairly straightforward concept: The crime of mass murder can be said to have taken place-even if no one dies-only in a case in which the defendant acted with the intent of killing an unspecified number of people, because it is a crime against public safety. To put it simply, if someone tries to kill himself, he’s not trying to commit mass murder. And so if no one dies, quite simply, no crime has been committed.
I found that I was having a hard time explaining something so self-evident. Perhaps it was too self-evident to be argued effectively. When I was done, I was dissatisfied with my efforts, and I was convinced that the judge was about to order my client to stand trial.
Instead, the judge rapidly wrote something down, stood up, and read aloud: There were no grounds for subjecting Nicola Costantino to a criminal trial because the acts of which he was accused did not constitute a crime. The defendant should therefore be released immediately, unless he was in custody for any other cause.
That was the sudden and abrupt end of the hearing, and the judge had already vanished into chambers when I walked over to the young man to inform him that he had been acquitted and that, in a few hours-the time required to process his release from prison-he would be a free man.
“Congratulations. I was sure that they’d order him to stand trial, to avoid the responsibility of making the decision themselves and save themselves the trouble of having to write the opinion,” said Consuelo as we left the courtroom.
“Yeah, I didn’t have high hopes for an acquittal either.”
“And now?”
“What do you mean, and now?”
“Will his parents be happier that Nicola has been acquitted, or more concerned about what might happen now that he’s coming home?”
That was exactly what I was wondering just then. And of course, I had no answer to the question.
13.
I had said good-bye to Consuelo and was just stepping into a wine bar to get a bite to eat when Fornelli called. He said that he had spoken with Manuela’s mother, and that she in turn had called the two girlfriends and the ex-boyfriend. Through other friends of her daughter, she had also contacted Anita Salvemini, the young woman who had given Manuela a ride to the Ostuni train station. She’d explained to all of them that we were making an effort to find out what had happened to her daughter, and she asked them if they’d agree to talk to me. They’d all said yes, except for Abbrescia.
“Why not Abbrescia?”
I heard a brief hesitation at the other end of the line.
“She told Manuela’s mother that she was in Rome. She said for the next few weeks she’s very busy with classes and exams and she’s not sure when she’ll be back in Bari.”
There was another hesitation, and then Fornelli went on.
“To tell you the truth, Signora Ferraro thought the girl seemed uncomfortable. That she wasn’t particularly happy about the phone call, and even less interested in the idea of talking to you. Talking to a lawyer, in other words.”
“Can you get her phone number?”
“Sure. Anyway, all the others said they would be willing to come talk to you in your office. Even today, if you have time.”
I told him to hold on for a second, took a quick look at the appointment book I carried in my briefcase, and saw that I had only a couple of meetings scheduled in the early part of the afternoon.
“Okay. There are three of them, so let’s ask them to come in one after the other, an hour apart. Let’s say at six, seven, and eight o’clock. That way I’ll have all the time I need to talk with each of them. Could you call them and schedule the meetings?”
“Of course, I’ll take care of it. Unless you hear back from me within an hour or so, assume it’s all confirmed.”
The first one to show up, a few minutes past six, was Anita Salvemini.
She was a short, stocky young woman, dressed in cargo pants and a brown leather jacket. She had a face that was chubby but determined; when we shook hands, she had the grip of a man. All told, she struck me as trustworthy.
“Let me start by thanking you for agreeing to come in. I believe that Signora Ferraro already explained why I wanted to talk with you.”
“Yes, she told me that you’re doing some kind of investigation into Manuela’s disappearance.”
Before I could catch myself, a sensation of intensely pure and completely idiotic vanity swept through me. If I was doing “some kind of investigation,” then you might say I was some kind of investigator.
Or perhaps-I thought, as I regained control-it might be more accurate to say I was some kind of asshole.
“Let’s just say that we’re going over the documents from the investigation that the Carabinieri did to see whether, perhaps, they might have missed some minor detail that might suggest a new theory about what happened to Manuela.”
“You’re a lawyer, though, right?”
“Yes, I’m a lawyer.”
“I didn’t think that lawyers did… well, that lawyers did that kind of thing. Like a private investigator, right?”
“Yes and no. It depends on the circumstances. What are you studying, Anita?”
“I’m about to graduate with a degree in communications.”