Death in Tuscany (58 page)

Ferrara reacted instinctively. 'No. Get him to bring the prisoners to the quarries. Tell him number
225.'

It was the most difficult of the quarries to reach, with only one access road, and so the easiest to keep under surveillance.

'It's not as simple as that.'

'Tell him this time you don't want to take any risks. He has to come and get the drugs himself. Once he has them it's up to him. Don't leave him any choice. Either that or the deal's off. You're good at convincing people, aren't you?'

'It's a big risk. He may think we're setting a trap for him and that we're going to take the drugs back off him as he's leaving. That's our territory after all. What happens if he won't come?'

'Let's deal with that later. But he'll be there, Zi Turi. He doesn't care about those two people, but he's not going to give up on thirty kilos of heroin that easily. He'll take precautions, but he'll come, I'd be prepared to bet on it.'

Later, he would often ask himself why he'd been prepared to gamble like a poker player with the life of the best friend he'd ever had. He was never able to answer his question. It taught him that poker was good training for the police force. And vice versa.

'You may be right. . . And what happens then?'

'We'll be there, waiting for him.'

'If he comes! He could just as easily send someone else, don't you think?'

'That's not the most important thing. The important thing is to get Massimo and Simonetta back

'But at this point it's better if you get him.'

The words, spoken in a low voice, struck him. Are you afraid?'

The old man smiled ironically. Afraid? Me? Salvatore Laprua has never been afraid of anyone! I've lived with fear since I was born, now I don't even know what it is any more . . . No, it's not that. . . it's just that we don't like these foreign criminals. They don't have any rules, they don't respect women, they don't keep their word, they kill people for no reason . . . they're turning Italy upside down.'

It might have seemed strange, coming from him, but it wasn't. The fact that he referred to rules that were fast disappearing from the underworld marked Zi Turi out as a boss of the old generation. A generation that had considered Italy, or at least a part of it, as their own property, and therefore opposed change.

Ferrara smiled at the irony of the bizarre alliance between police and Mafia which he had set up. The forces of order and the underworld united against the foreign invader!

'What now?' Laprua asked. 'Now we wait for his text message.'

The old man nodded and looked at his watch. 'Rina!' he called.

The woman soon appeared.

'Chief Superintendent Ferrara is honouring us with his presence at our table. Get out a bottle of Firriato, please!'

Ferrara hadn't counted on this, but he realised that he couldn't say no.

Before his wife walked out of the room, Laprua added, 'Rinuzza, another thing
...
if anyone asks for me, I'm not feeling well. I don't want to see anyone. The chief superintendent and I still have a lot of things to talk about. He's a Sicilian, did you know that?'

The lunch was all based around authentic Sicilian products, like the wine which Laprua kept praising.

'They make it in our area, in Firriato, near Trapani, a place rich in wines. They make as much wine as Piedmont and Tuscany put together . . . What a taste, eh?'

Ferrara would have preferred not to touch alcohol, but he knew it would be rude of him not to humour his host. As he drank, he realised it would have been unforgivably rude twice over.

'Do you know why it's called that?' 'The wine?'

'The village, too. It's a very old name. To increase the population, the prince who founded the village gave the peasants pieces of land for growing vines, and these pieces of land, which were under his protection, were known
asfirriati.'

'Nice to know'

When it was time for Ferrara to go, the two men said goodbye with a firm handshake and the understanding that as soon as Laprua received the text message, he would let him know with three rings on his private mobile, Ferrara having left him the number.

'To you, my home is always open!'

These were the words with which Zi Turi bade him goodbye.

38

The following morning, while they were taking stock at Headquarters of the first phase of Operation Stella, assessing the outcome of the house searches, and waiting to interview the men under investigation for criminal conspiracy, an important interview was getting under way in the Prosecutor's Department.

It was exactly nine o'clock when Emilio Zancarotti, escorted by two prison guards, entered the room used for interviewing witnesses who might turn State's evidence. Waiting for him, along with Superintendent Ciuffi, were Deputy Prosecutors Erminia Cosenza and Anna Giulietti.

From the start, Zancarotti demonstrated the clear intention of cooperating with the law in order to be included, together with his family, in a witness protection programme which would guarantee his physical safety.

He started by explaining the drug trafficking and money laundering operation in which he was involved, supplying details both of those members of the Albanian criminal organisation whom he knew, and of how the money had been invested. Then he talked about the abduction of Simonetta Palladiani and was just telling them what he knew about the murder of Claudia Pizzi, which had been ordered by Salvatore Laprua, when Ciuffi felt his mobile vibrate in the inside pocket of his jacket. He left the room to answer it. It was Serpico.

'A message from the chief. Can you tell Deputy Prosecutor Giulietti that the contact we were waiting for has been made.' 'What does it say?' 'Four.' What?'

'Four!' Serpico repeated, and continued, 'Just that. The chief knows what it means and he's gone to see the person

'Got that, Sergi,' Ciuffi said. 'I'll tell her.'

'Good morning, Zi Turi,' Ferrara said, shaking his hand firmly. 'I came as soon as I heard the three rings.'

'I got the message,' Laprua replied, dressed in his best clothes and ready to go out.

'What does it say?'

'Four.'

Ferrara nodded, pleased that Laprua was keeping to his word: the number corresponded to the text message his men had intercepted. The public phone had been placed under surveillance along with the others.

'Shall we go?' he said.

'There's no rush
...
we still have time and the bar's right near here.'

'But I'd prefer it if we left now,' Ferrara insisted.

As you wish,' Laprua replied, with a slight smile on his lips. 'Rina, I won't be long,' he said to his wife.

The woman, who had not spoken a word the day before, didn't say anything this time either.

*

The two plain-clothes officers on guard, one of them pretending to read a newspaper on a bench in the square not far from the apartment, the other lounging in the doorway of a building across the street, smoking a cigarette, were surprised to see Chief Superintendent Ferrara come out with the old Mafia boss.

When they were near the officer in the square, Ferrara apologised to Laprua, asked him to wait, and walked over to the bench.

The officer stood up.

Turning his back on Laprua, Ferrara quickly gave him his instructions and then told him to follow him. He led him over to Laprua.

'This is one of my men,' he said. 'I trust him. It'll be up to him to protect you when I'm not there.'

The old man made no comment. He realised he was under a kind of house arrest, and could only hope it was just a temporary measure until the Chief Superintendent's friend was recovered. Then, if Ferrara kept his word, it would all be over.

If Ferrara kept his word.

For Ferrara, all that mattered right now was that the old man knew he could not leave home freely.

They continued walking towards the canal.

Laprua walked slowly, stopping from time to time.

His breathing was somewhat laboured, a sign that he was not in very good health.

They walked along the quayside. The place was packed. Locals, holidaymakers and fishermen mingled in a carefree, brightly coloured crowd, and Ferrara wondered if they would be equally carefree knowing that a powerful Mafia boss walked among them, a man who dealt in drugs and death. Was it a good or a bad thing that they didn't know?

They entered a cafe called the New York and Laprua looked at his watch. There were still ten minutes to go. 'Let's have a coffee,' he suggested, and chose a table. 'It's on me.'

'No. It'll be a pleasure for me to buy you a coffee. You offered me a cigar yesterday . . . and this is where I live, it's up to me.'

When he ordered, he told the young waiter that he'd taken the liberty of giving the telephone number of this cafe to a friend, and was waiting for him to call, could he please let him know when the call came.

'No problem,' the waiter replied. He did not seem to know Laprua, nor did anyone else in the place.

The call came exactly on time.

Laprua stood up, and when Ferrara did the same he reacted slightly irritably but made no objection. Ferrara followed him at a short distance. The bar was packed and noisy and he couldn't hear much of the conversation, but if necessary he'd be able to hear the recording later.

'Viktor?' Laprua said as soon as he picked up the receiver. Then, a few moments later, 'I have it.'