Death in Tuscany (41 page)

Sergi found the light switch and turned it on.

The halogen lighting was very strong, almost harsh. Once their eyes had become accustomed to it, Rizzo and his men stood there, stunned.

It was a very large, elegantly furnished room, with modern sofas and armchairs - enough for about thirty people - low glass tables, wall to wall carpeting, modern paintings on the walls, and big loudspeakers cleverly placed in the corners. What must have been the reception desk had been pushed closer to the wall and was now used as a bar, to judge by the bottles of alcohol on it.

This room, too, was untidy, but it was a more recent untidiness: used glasses, ashtrays full of cigarette ends, cushions on the floor. It gave the impression of a place that had been abandoned in haste, which no one had bothered to come back and clear up.

But what really drew the police officers' attention was the huge plasma screen on the wall behind the desk, the focal point towards which the eyes of the guests must have converged from whichever part of the room they were in.

Once the first moments of astonishment were over, Rizzo walked behind the desk and found the remote control. He picked it up with his handkerchief, in order not to wipe off any fingerprints, and pressed the ON button.

The TV screen came to life. Simultaneously the lights dimmed and from the loudspeakers came the gentle, melancholy notes of a Chopin nocturne. A series of photographs began appearing on the screen.

At a pinch, the first ones could still have been defined as 'artistic'. They were of excellent quality and showed prepubescent children - boys and girls - of various races, completely naked but in innocent poses. It was a collection which would have gladdened any paedophile's heart. It was followed by a video. Here, the quality was less good and the poses less innocent: other children playing among themselves, exploring each other's private parts.

The rest was a crescendo of atrocities, all to the accompaniment of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, in a repulsive contrast with the images.

More photographs and videos followed. The videos were merely of home movie quality, and showed children being manipulated by adult hands and made to perform all kinds of sexual acts. Sometimes they seemed to consent, but at other times they were subjected to sadistic violence to force them to comply with their tormenters' wishes. The adults' faces had been obscured, while the camera lingered with undisguised pleasure on the suffering faces of the children.

Disgusted, even though he was used to seeing all kinds of things in his job, Rizzo switched off the TV. The lights came up and the music stopped.

Ascalchi, Sergi and the three constables were still standing in the doorway, transfixed.

Rizzo did not say anything. He simply shook his head, then called Headquarters to send for a forensics team.

'Careful how you move around,' he said to his men. 'This doesn't look like Signor Palladiani's private boudoir, more like the headquarters for a whole ring of perverts. So the more fingerprints and other things we can find the better. Okay, let's get to work.'

They started to search the factory inch by inch, inspecting the armchairs and sofas, examining the papers in the offices, turning over the piles of jeans and ‘I-shirts. It was in the middle of one of these piles that Ascalchi found a pair of knickers with the label 'Steaua Rosie' and a pair of shoes with the label 'Orhei'.

The forensics team soon arrived, and spent more than two hours collecting samples. As they were working, one of the team, equipped with a luminol lamp, called Rizzo over.

'Superintendent, come and have a look at this.'

He aimed the beam of purplish-blue light at one of the sofas. The hurriedly washed bloodstains on the upholstery were clearly highlighted. There were other stains on the carpet near the same sofa.

It was nearly seven in the evening.

Superintendent Rizzo dialled Ferrara's number.

'Let's pack our bags, we're going home,' Ferrara, filled with renewed energy, announced to his wife as soon as he had finished on the phone. 'Ugo Palladiani could be the person responsible for Stella's death . . .' He told her everything, concluding, 'Whatever happens, the investigation into his death will have to become part of the Stella inquiry, which means I'd be involved officially. I'm going back to work.'

'That's good, Michele!' Petra said, feeling her mood lifting, but almost immediately the shadow of a doubt seemed to temper her enthusiasm. 'What's the matter?'

She smiled. 'Nothing, Michele, nothing . . . But don't you think it's strange that the killer was then himself killed?'

'Why? If he wasn't alone, and from what Rizzo tells me he definitely wasn't, we're probably dealing with those infamous paedophile parties involving several people. One of the others might well have been afraid he'd talk.'

'It's possible, I suppose . . .'

He looked at her closely. 'But you're not convinced, is that it?'

'Well
...
we know he was planning to go to Nice, and in the light of what you've just told me it probably wasn't a holiday, he was running away. Wouldn't it have been simpler to just let him go?'

Once again, Ferrara had to admire his wife's perceptive-ness. She would have made an excellent detective if she had ever set her mind to it!

'You may be right - I admit I hadn't thought of that. Or perhaps I didn't want to think of it. I want to get back to work right now. You've raised a perfectly reasonable objection, and if we looked closely at the evidence we have so far, which isn't much, we'd probably think of a thousand others.' He smiled. 'But we're the only ones who know he was planning to leave, aren't we? So?'

'Lass' uns zurückkehren!
Let's go!' Petra exclaimed, going to the wardrobe to get their bags.

25

Setting foot back in the office that Tuesday morning at seven was like being reborn.

Not that his anxiety over Massimo's disappearance had lessened. On the contrary, it was increasing with every hour that passed. But sitting at his desk, surrounded by the objects he had become used to over the years, with his feet on that floor which had been trodden by other, greater heads of the Florence
Squadra Mobile
- he had almost been moved to tears when he had first crossed that threshold - pleased even by the slight smell of stale smoke with which the furniture and walls were impregnated, Ferrara felt his strength returning. He would need it, and all his organisational abilities and clear-headedness, to make sense of this complex tangle of drugs, paedophiles and Mafiosi. What had been uncovered in the abandoned factory, he well knew, was only the tip of the iceberg.

He had even had a relatively quiet night, going over the various theories and working out strategies which he could not wait to put into practice.

Only one thing was missing: Fanti. As usual, the sergeant had arrived before his chief, but he wasn't in his office at that moment.

He summoned Rizzo, who soon appeared.

'Have you sent the report to the Prosecutor's Department?' he asked after they had exchanged greetings. His deputy seemed relieved by his return, which somehow put things back on track.

'Yes, chief. And I've also asked for a warrant to search Palladiani's apartment, office and car.'

Add his yacht. He has one in the harbour in Viareggio.' He leafed through his own notebook, and tore off the half-page with the relevant details. 'Here.'

'Okay, chief.'

And another thing, Francesco,' he added, thinking of that planned escape to Nice, which Petra had brought up. 'It might be a good idea to have a look at his bank account and his phone records.'

'Sure
...
It would certainly be a strange coincidence if the man who was killed in Pietrasanta also turns out to be Stella's killer . . .'

And in our business, there no such thing as coincidence, is there?'

'That's right, chief . . .'

In the meantime Fanti had returned, but had not dared to interrupt their talking.

'Fanti!' Ferrara called. 'Come in here!'

But the sergeant did not appear immediately. In fact, he did not appear even after several minutes.

'Fanti, did you hear me?' Ferrara yelled, surprised and a little annoyed.

He heard the chair being shifted in the next room, followed by slow, shuffling footsteps.

When Fanti at last came in, he was pale and his eyes were watery.

'What's the matter? Are you all right?'

The sergeant nodded and lowered his eyes.

'What is it? You look worn to a frazzle. You haven't even brought me in the mail. What's the matter, isn't anything happening in this city?'

Fanti gave him a hangdog look. 'Right away, chief. I'll bring it in right away' He went out again.

Not even 'Good morning' or 'Welcome back'! What was going on?

He threw a questioning look at Rizzo, who did not know how to respond.

The only item of mail that Fanti brought in was a one-page document.

Ferrara felt the ground give way. All his renewed energy abandoned him suddenly. It was a scene he had already lived through and he had no desire to live through it again, in what looked like being its worst ever version.

The hand he held out to take the document was shaking slightly.

He realised immediately that it was not what he had feared, but the relief was short-lived.

The document bore at the top the letterhead of the Head of the State Police and Director General of Public Safety.

It was an official order.

His hands were still shaking as he read it.

The Head of the State Police ordered he be relieved of his duties for one month, without pay except for a living allowance equal to half his salary.

The reason:
Behaviour towards representatives of the Carabinieri in no way befitting the standards expected from the Head of the Squadra Mobile, and likely to damage the reputation of the State Police.