‘Look for the light switch,’ he said to Davide, ‘then lower the shutter, go in the back, block the door and phone Carrua, tell him he can come and get another one.’
The slap-although the word wasn’t entirely accurate, more like an understatement-had turned one of Signor A’s eyes red with blood, but he hadn’t emitted a moan or said a word.
Duca now said something very specific. ‘Your friend the photographer and the other man have already told me a lot,’ he said. ‘Now it’s your turn to tell me all you know. There must be little shops like this in other cities in Italy, and you must also be in contact with people abroad. I need names, addresses, and details. Davide, find some paper and come here and write,’ he said to Davide, then turned back to the silent Signor A, who was not only silent but had the stony look on his face of someone who would never talk. ‘You’re over fifty, I give you my word as a doctor that you won’t be able to stand more than three blows to the liver, at the third everything will burst inside you. This is number one.’
At the same time, he covered the man’s mouth with his hand, but Signor A did not even have the strength to moan, his eyes looked as if they were coming out of their sockets, they lost that stony I’ll never talk look, and Duca asked him the first question.
‘Please answer at once.’
Breathing heavily, his nose now as white as his lips, he answered. Then he answered the second question, and the third, and the fourth, he answered all the questions.
‘Names and addresses.’
He gave names and addresses, but was starting to moan and to bend double.
‘Tell me everything, or I’ll hit you again.’ He might not survive even a second blow, whatever the doctors did to save his liver, but Duca would hit him all the same, and Signor A understood that and gave him the last name, the last address, the one he had promised over and over again never to reveal.
‘Yes, I think you’ve told me everything.’ He looked at him and thanked him. ‘Thank you, you’ve been very good.’
Davide had covered almost three large sheets of paper. Then they pulled up the shutter, switched off the light, and waited in the gloom, while the little boss moaned. They would get the big guys soon enough.
Then Mascaranti arrived with two officers and took away Signor A and the three written sheets, and Duca and Davide were free.
5
‘It’s over,’ Duca said to Davide.
They walked back to the Giulietta. It was all over, all had been explained, it was so nastily simple. ‘Let’s go back to the Cavour, at least to pay the bill.’
From the furnace of the streets they entered the spring-like mountain air of the Cavour. They asked for the bill and two bottles of beer. In the room, he took off his jacket, but didn’t invite Davide to take off his, because he always kept it on. He sat down on the bed and phoned the Fatebenefratelli Hospital. The switchboard operator put him through to the ward, the ward sister told him to wait, then he heard his colleague’s voice.
‘Lamberti here.’
Hearty greetings from his colleague: he was a veteran, with a protective tone.
‘Nearly two hours ago they brought in a girl with her face cut up.’
Yes, his colleague said, replying to his questions, they had just finished dressing her wounds, no, she wasn’t in a state of shock, no, her general condition was fine, and she was in good spirits, she was an incredible girl, he said, she had tried to smile, and then he told him all the technical details of the scars, which was what he really wanted to know.
‘I’ll be over to see her in an hour, will you still be there?’
Yes, his colleague would still be there and would be happy to see him. Good. ‘I’ve finished with you too, Davide,’ he said, putting down the receiver. ‘You don’t need me any more.’ He wouldn’t drink again, even though he would never be a teetotaller. Davide said nothing.
‘Listen, I need two favours,’ he said at the front door of the hotel. ‘Firstly, can you be my driver for another couple of errands?’
Davide nodded.
‘Secondly, if your father’s in Milan, I need to see him as soon as possible.’
Davide nodded.
‘Now take me to the Via Plinio.’ He also nodded. ‘That’s right, to Livia’s apartment.’
Davide drove slowly. ‘How is Livia?’
‘They told me she’s fine.’ It wasn’t much of an answer, but there wasn’t much to say.
In the Via Plinio he got out. ‘Wait for me,’ he told Davide. He went in through the front door and came out nearly half an hour later. ‘Let’s go to the Fatebenefratelli.’ Then it really would be over. When Davide stopped the car outside the hospital, he put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t come in to see Livia, you’ve already seen her enough.’
Duca went into the hospital. A male nurse recognised him and greeted him impulsively, saying he was really pleased to see him. He got to the ward and met the colleague he had spoken to on the phone, who was about to leave and wasn’t wearing his white coat. The veteran embraced him, he was discreet and sensible, he didn’t ask any questions, just replied to Duca’s, which were technical, purely technical, and then he took him to Livia’s room.
‘Bye for now, anything you need, I’m here,’ his colleague said.
‘Thanks,’ he said. He closed the door behind him and looked at the screen, beyond the screen was the bed with Livia in it. Before going around the screen he said, ‘It’s me, Livia.’
He went around the screen and stopped for a moment at the foot of the bed, looking at her. Then he moved a chair close to her and sat down. ‘First of all, I wanted to say one thing: I’ve just been to see your father. I told him you’ve been given a very confidential task by the police and will be away for a while. He was surprised, of course, but I managed to convince him, though I’ll get Mascaranti to talk to him, too, I’m sure he can convince him better than I could. You mustn’t worry about your family.’
To stop her moving her eyelids, because of the cuts at the corners, they had bandaged her eyes, which was why Livia Ussaro-it wasn’t in any way a pseudonym, it was the name of a real, aching, wounded but undefeated human being-lifted her hand, which lay on top of the sheet, and searched for his hand, which she found immediately and squeezed a little, once, twice: it was her way of saying thank you, given that she could not speak. It was clear that, for her, there was nothing personal, let alone affectionate, in that touch of hands, it was just a means of communication, a way of telling him that she was listening and understood what he was saying.
‘They’ve all been arrested, all the ones from here in Milan,’ he said. To any other woman, he might have said something else, hoped that she would get better soon, told her that these days plastic surgery can do wonders, that in a few weeks … and so on and so forth, but not to Livia Ussaro: she was either thinking and hoping these things for herself and didn’t need anyone to tell her, or else she wasn’t thinking or hoping them and if anyone had told her she would have been annoyed. ‘We have the names of lots of other bosses, from all over Europe. Now Interpol will get to work. They were organised and taught by the Mafia to do a top-class job for a top-class clientele. Every woman was selected among the thousands of likely ones in a big city. Even prostitution has been declining for years, above all, so Signor A told me, because of the low quality of the merchandise. Under the guidance of the Mafia, a few big wheels on the business decided to set up a deluxe prostitution ring. The same women, once exploited in this way, could then be moved into the lower categories … Am I tiring you?’ It was a pointless scruple that had occurred to him abruptly-after all, a few hours earlier Livia had been at the mercy of a sadist-but the pressure of Livia’s hand on his told him that he had made a blunder. He had to continue: the best cure for Livia was for him to talk.
‘The search for this select merchandise was the most delicate part of the operation. They weren’t dealing with corrupted young girls any more, who were easy to persuade and to keep in line with a few slaps. They had to find new girls, or almost new, like Alberta, girls from decent families who agreed to it at first and then regretted it after they’d learned too much about the organisation and sometimes rebelled. If they hadn’t been harsh with them, the business wouldn’t have lasted more than a few weeks, that was why every group had a man like the one you met today.’