Darkness for the Bastards of Pizzofalcone (18 page)

When the elevator opened, they were greeted by a stern-looking woman dressed in black, her hair pulled back in a bun. She might have been anywhere between fifty and seventy. She looked them up and down, her face expressionless, and, without holding her hand out, introduced herself: “I'm Carmela Peluso, secretary to the Cavalier Borrelli. We were informed you would be paying us a visit. You are Officers Romano and Aragona?”

It fell to Romano to reply: “Yes,
buonasera
. We're in something of a hurry, could you take us to Signor Borrelli?”

At first the woman didn't move; she just stood there staring at them. Aragona felt uneasy; her gaze made him uncomfortable. Then, without a word, Carmela Peluso moved off. As they trailed after her, the two officers observed the rooms that lined the hallway. Borrelli's home, no less than the woman who had greeted them, was somehow unsettling: First of all, the place was dark. There was only just enough light to see where they were stepping and to keep them from tripping over the thick wall-to-wall carpeting that swallowed the sound of their feet and gave them the feeling that they were moving through a muffling fog. The apartment was immense: Large, shadowy rooms appeared on their left and right. Aragona wondered what the place was like during the daytime; but, judging from the fact that no light filtered in from outside, perhaps the shutters were locked tight even then.

At the end of the hallway, the woman stopped at the foot of a flight of wooden stairs, as if making sure that the two men had followed her without losing their way, then began climbing them. Upstairs there was a sort of oversized living room. As at Eva's, there was an entire wall of glass that, again, enjoyed the same view, though the vista here was even broader. The city lights looked like diamonds scattered over black velvet, but the soundproofing made it seem as though they were looking at a scene projected onto the screen of a movie theater.

“Wait here,” Peluso said tersely, and vanished into the darkness.

Romano and Aragona were left ill at ease; they were unable to pin down the feeling's origin at first, until Aragona, his voice low as if he were in church, said: “
Mamma mia
, it's like we're in one of those horror movies from the seventies.”

Romano had to admit that his partner had accurately described what he was feeling. The place reminded him of a faithful reconstruction of a luxury apartment from forty years ago. The furniture, decorations, and carpets were a symphony of white and black, crystal and metal, with leather sofas and armchairs very low to the floor and coffee tables to match, walls in a wood veneer with recesses and shelves dimly lit by spotlights that illuminated abstract sculptures. But the thing that was most surprising, and which reinforced the surreal quality of the atmosphere, was the fact that every piece of furniture was perfectly preserved: It was as if no one had ever used that living room.

“I don't often have visitors. And I certainly never expected the first visitors in such a long time to be the police.”

The deep, scratchy voice emerged from the darkness and made them both jump. Aragona even emitted a sort of shriek, which he tried to cover up by clearing his throat.

A wheelchair emerged from the shadows, silently, pushed by Peluso. In it sat an old man. His skin looked like tanned leather, and his sparse white hair hung lank and lifeless from the very top of his head. He was very skinny and must not have been tall, though it was Romano's impression that he'd been consumed by something from within. A cavernous coughing fit immediately confirmed that hypothesis.

The secretary solicitously handed the old man a handkerchief, which he pressed to his mouth. When the coughing stopped, the man began staring at them curiously. His eyes were out of place in the portrait of decay suggested by the rest of his face: They were lively and intelligent, with a hint of irony; they seemed like the eyes of a boy.

“And you're supposed to be in charge of the investigation? Aren't you a little low-level to be dealing with a case like this?”

Romano cleared his throat: “We got the call when the school alerted the police yesterday morning. We're not working alone, in any case; this investigation is being closely monitored by the higher-ups at police headquarters, and we report scrupulously to our commanding officers.”

From behind Romano, Aragona broke in resentfully: “And after all, it's not like they had to send Spiderman to come ask you a couple of questions.”

“Young man,” Peluso retorted harshly, “just who do you think you're talking to?”

The man wearily waved a hand: “Don't bother, Carme'. I like it when someone has blood in his veins. Let's just hope they put the same energy into their work. I'm Edoardo Borrelli, as you've no doubt guessed.”

Romano went on: “We've been to see your daughter: We know that she informed you.”

The old man grimaced: “Yes, that fool's kept man came to tell me what had happened. The unbelievable thing is that it doesn't even seem to have been their fault. Dodo was on a field trip to a museum, isn't that right?”

“We weren't even certain that he'd been kidnapped until today's phone call. From the video footage in our possession it would appear that the child went willingly with a woman, but we can't identify her because she was wearing a hood. One of your grandson's classmates said that he thought she had blond hair. Does that suggest anything to you?”

“No. But I can assure you that my ten-year-old grandson has more brains than his mother, her kept man, and even that idiot of the boy's father all put together. My daughter has always had a formidable talent for choosing the wrong man.”

He started coughing again. The secretary fiddled with a vial and a glass and gave him something to drink.

Romano waited a moment, then asked: “Do you see your grandson often?”

“Dodo is the finest and most important thing in my life. And if I were on my feet instead of confined for the past however many years to this goddamned wheelchair, he'd be with me right now, I guarantee it. In my time, I knew all the people who mattered, and not only on this side of the law. It would have taken just one phone call, and you can rest assured that they would have brought him back to me. Along with the ears of the asshole who took him, on a silver tray.”

The speech had been a short one, but delivered with breathtaking violence. Aragona observed Peluso's impassive face; it was evident that she was accustomed to these bursts of rage.

Romano went on: “Had you noticed anything strange or different about your grandson recently?”

“He's a child who keeps to himself, he doesn't talk much. When we see each other he sits near me and reads, or he plays with those superhero action figures. Sometimes he'll ask me to tell him stories about when I was young. He likes to imagine me up on my own two feet, since that's something he's never seen.”

“And do you have any idea why someone might have taken him?”

“Why do you think? For my money, obviously. The same reason I'm surrounded by people who pretend to love me, pretend to be loyal to me, pretend to respect me. They know that he's my grandson, and they know that when they ask for the money, I'll produce it.”

“You're hardly the only one who has money,” Aragona said. “We understand that your son-in-law, Cerchia, isn't doing too badly. Isn't that right?”

Peluso hissed: “If you don't quit it with that tone of voice, I'll kick you out.”

Aragona showed no sign of backing down: “Ah, then it's a family habit. Everyone wants to kick me out, but nobody wants to answer my questions; maybe what becomes of this child doesn't really matter that much to you all.”

A sort of grinning leer appeared on Borrelli's face; it was more horrifying than the contemptuous sneer it had replaced.

“The young man's not wrong. He's got nerve, he knows what he wants, and he has no style to speak of. I like him. Back in the day, I'd have hired him. Yes, Dodo's father has money, that's true. But since I'm here, and it happened here, my guess is that I'm their target. I'm pretty prominent, my company has built plenty, and everyone knows that I have substantial resources. If they'd taken him up north, when Dodo went to stay with his father—which he does quite often because that idiot, luckily, really does love his boy—that would have been another matter entirely. But you'll see, these people are going to contact the mother, or else me directly.”

Romano remained silent for a while, then said: “You don't seem all that upset, Cavalier. And yet your grandson has just been kidnapped, and nobody knows where he is or who has him; that can't be pleasant.”

It hadn't been a question; merely an observation. Peluso reacted angrily: “How dare you doubt . . .”

Borrelli hushed her again: “Carme', I told you to keep out of this. You're an employee, and I pay you to do what I tell you to, not to weigh in on matters concerning my family.”

The woman withdrew into the shadows as if she'd just been slapped in the face. The old man spoke to Romano: “You see, officer, I'm dying. I've been sick for many years, and my wealth and my connections have afforded me treatment that few others would have been able to obtain. That's the only reason I've held out this long. But now there's nothing more that can be done.”

Peluso murmured an objection that Borrelli didn't even bother to try to stifle: “Carmela has been with me since she was a girl and she hasn't resigned herself . . . I know that Dodo is going to be treated with kid gloves because they know that I won't pay until I'm certain that he's safe and sound. That's why I'm not worried.”

“But you also ought to know,” Aragona retorted, “that whenever there's a kidnapping the magistrate orders all your assets frozen. And the district attorney's office has already taken steps to that effect.”

Borrelli showed off his horrible leer again: “I might be able to find a little something lying around that isn't officially accounted for, officer. Don't disappoint me, you struck me as a smart boy.”

Romano understood that he wasn't getting anything more out of him.

“All right, I think that's all. Please let us know immediately if you hear any news or if you think of any detail that could prove useful.”

“At your orders.”

Romano was about to say goodbye, when the old man added: “Officer, there's one thing I want you to know: The scum that have dared lay hands on my grandson have worse coming. They won't have time to enjoy the money. I've already taken steps to that effect, as your partner puts it.”

 

They retraced their steps down the stairs and back along the hallway; before bidding them farewell, Peluso spoke to Romano: “Forgive him, officer. The disease is eating him alive and the doctors tell me the pain is atrocious. Still, he fights it. He might seem cynical, but he's not. He's a man who has suffered greatly.”

“I understand, Signora. But we have to do our job. Did the child come to see you often?”

“There was a time when he was here practically every day; the Cavalier had a special little room set up and the apartment had become a sort of amusement park for him. The staff and I spent hours and hours. A woman had been hired just to look after him. Then his visits became less frequent, but two days never go by without him coming to see his grandfather. They have a special relationship, the two of them.”

“I can imagine,” Aragona said, “this is the kind of place that's perfect for a child; I'll bet he had the time of his life. Of course, the minute someone called his name, he toddled off cheerfully with his kidnappers.”

Peluso didn't dignify him with so much as a glance.

“Find him as fast as you can. Because if the Cavalier finds them first, so much the worse for them. Good evening.”

T
he door suddenly swings open and slams against the sheet metal wall. Dodo, who's fallen asleep wrapped in the dirty blanket, jerks awake. He was dreaming of being on a boat with Papà, who was asking him: Where do you want me to take you this morning, my little king?

A person is thrown violently into the room. The child, his eyes still stung by the light, can't make out the person's features. What he can see clearly is Stromboli: the enormous silhouette looming against the bare bulb, the voice echoing like thunder: “You go, and look out, or I kill you! I come get you in one minute!”

In the pitch darkness that follows the slamming of the door, Dodo sees the figure on the floor shuddering; he can hear her softly sobbing. He decides not to move, to wait under the blanket. Then he thinks he might recognize the voice murmuring frightened words through her tears.

“Lena? Is that you?”

The figure rises from the floor and crawls toward the little boy: “Dodo, Dodo, then you're all right! You're all right! I thought that . . . that . . .”

Dodo emerges from the blanket and moves toward her, crawling, like she did, across the floor.

“Keep your voice down. He can hear everything, and if he hears anyone talking he gets mad and starts yelling. What did he do to you? Do you know why he brought us here?”

Lena's sobbing, it takes her a while to calm down. In the meantime she searches in the darkness for Dodo's features; she runs her fingers over his face. Dodo, too, seeks out her face, and he finds her tears; he dries them with a caress.

“He's just a bad man, sweetheart. A very bad man. I . . . I loved him, very much. We ran into each other on the street, he was nice to me . . . I don't why he's like this now. We have to be careful, Dodo, very careful.”

“But Lena, why did he bring us here? What does he want from us?”

Lena sniffs loudly. She whispers, “Listen, Dodo: If we're good, if we do everything he tells us to, nothing will happen to us. He's only been here in Italy for a little while, and he wants to go back home: If he gets what he's asking for, you'll see, he'll let us go.”