Kidnapped and a Daring Escape (41 page)

    
Gabriela pats her shoulders. "We have to find out why they think that,
and then you may be able to refute it."

    
"It’s not quite that simple," interjects Gallizio. "At this point in time,
they will not yet reveal what evidence they have." He pauses, frowning,
and asks: "Somebody told me yesterday that you and Villier are going to
get married …. Ah, it was you, Gabriela. So they will not give much
value to any of your statements. In fact, they may claim that your
attachment to Villier is simply the manifestation of the Stockholm
syndrome."

    
"The Stockholm syndrome?" Gabriela questions.

    
"The attachment, even love, a hostage may develop toward her
keeper."

    
"But André was never my keeper. He was the one who rescued me."

    
Gallizio shrugs his shoulders. "They may request that you undergo a
psychiatric assessment."

    
Suddenly it clicks why a psychologist was present at the debriefing
and the nature of her questions. Anger wells up inside her. They aren’t
going to put that over me, she swears silently. I will fight them with all
the means available to me, even if it means dropping out of university.
She wipes her tears.

    
"Can you advise me what I should do?"

    
"The first thing is to get a good lawyer."

    
"Would you be willing to be our lawyer or can you recommend
somebody?"

    
He looks at her for several seconds, obviously pondering that and then
answers: "Yes, I think I would be willing to take on this case. It offers a
real challenge. But I warn you, I’m not cheap."

    
"I can give you five thousand US dollars right away."

    
He laughs. "No hurry, my beautiful girl, all in good time. And now
smile. This is not the end of the world. But you better tell me your side
of the story."

    
"You have to tell him everything," Gabriela urges her, "including
what André overheard in that bar."

    
It takes the better part of an hour. Gabriela drives her to the
pensione
afterward.

* * *

At the
Questura
booking office, André is formally charged, processed
and fingerprinted. They want to know his current address. He has no
choice but to tell them. He has to surrender all his belongings, and is told
to remove his belt. The arresting officer asks to see his shoes. They have
no shoelaces. After that, he is locked into one of four holding cages. Half
a dozen men of various ages sit or doze on the wooden bench along the
wall. The place smells of mildew, piss and unwashed bodies.

    
André sits next to a teenager and studies his surroundings. In his mind,
he already sees the title of a potential newspaper article: forty-eight hours
on remand in a Roman jail. He hopes that it won’t be much longer than
that. He also wants to make his one phone call promptly. He needs to
alert Bianca to remove his computer from his suitcase and hide it to
prevent the
commissario
from getting hold of it. There are copies of his
letters to French and Spanish political figures about his intended trip to
Colombia, asking for help in facilitating contact with FARC. He hopes
that Baldetti stuck to his promise not to disclose why he went to
Colombia, although strictly speaking that promise was for the DAS. The
commissario
could easily construe these letters as evidence that the real
reason for such contacts was to arrange the kidnapping.

    
The holding cage to his left has another motley collection of men,
including a group that looks like mafia enforcers. In the one to his right
some twenty women, several streetwalkers it seems and a group of
gypsies, including two children, are talking and intermittently screaming.
One of the streetwalkers is leaning against the coarse wire mesh that
separates the cages. The wires press into her bottom, revealing much
flesh below her short short hot pants. The teenager next to André
suddenly reaches over and pinches her. She screams, pouring a flood of
swearwords at him, and then spits. Her aim is true. He only grins.

    
He nudges André. "Have a cigarette, man?"

    
"Sorry, I don’t smoke."

    
"Ah, you one of those. What did they nab you for? Drugs?"

    
"No, I rescued a woman from kidnappers and now am accused of
having kidnapped her."

    
The teenager looks at him properly for the first time. "Ah, you the guy
on TV. Man, you must be crazy to burn 50 grand."

    
André only smiles in response.

    
"Are you that loaded you can just shrug off that kind of money, man?"

    
"No, the money didn’t smell right."

    
"Man, you’re a real weirdo. Money’as no smell."

    
"Oh, yes, it has. The money you earn honestly and for a job you enjoy
smells sweet. The puny money you earn when you feel exploited tastes
bitter. The money you steal is dirty and smells foul. The money you get
selling drugs tastes acrid and quickly goes up in smoke. Haven’t you
noticed?" André made an educated guess that the teenager was caught
selling drugs.

    
"You really’re weird. How did you know they nabbed me for selling
P?

    
"It’s carved into your face that you are on something."

    
The teenager actually rubs his hand over his forehead.

    
"Not just there," André adds, "all over, here, and here." He slides the
index finger of both hands above his eyelids and his cheekbones. "Your
face is just skin and bones."

    
"Can’t help it. Life’s not worth living without it."

    
"You sell P to finance your drugs?"

    
The guy nods.

    
"So for how long will you be in?"

    
"Six months and cold turkey, then out for two or three, then another
six to nine months. At least while I’m in, I eat. It started with just three,
but this is the third time, so it will be six."

    
"And they have never offered you counseling or treatment?"

    
"No, it’s out of sight, out of mind for them pigs."

    
"It’s not the cops that are at fault. They are only doing their job. It’s
the men and women who govern us."

    
"Yea, they think giving big speeches and then stuffing themselves in
flashy restaurants solves all the world’s problems."

    
"It keeps them off the streets."

    
"You are wrong, man, dead wrong. I’ve sold many a high to these
pisspots and even to a couple of them bitches."

    
"So, why don’t you use your one phone call and call up one of these
guys? Tell him you will spill the beans unless he helps you."

    
"You think I’m dumb? I tried it once and then got promptly beaten up
by the guards."

    
Loud screaming erupts in the adjacent cage. Two of the women are
tearing at each other’s hair and clothing. "Give me back that joint," one
of them screams, while the other cries: "You owed me one from last
time."

    
A guard appears, rattles the cage and shouts: "Quiet," and then leaves
again. The women ignore him. They are finally separated by some of the
others.

    
"Why are these girl allowed to keep their handbags, while they took
everything from me?"

    
"They’re only holding them for a few hours and will let them go when
it’s time for them to go back on the beat. They took your things, because
they’re gonna keep you for while."

    
I’m getting quite an education, André muses.

    
Hard punches and subdued moans come from the cage on the other
side. André tries to see.

    
"Don’t look. They are beating up some guy. They don’t like you to
look. Stay away from them as far as you can, especially once you’re
inside."

    
"Thanks for the advice. I don’t expect to remain here for long."

    
"You never know, man. I thought that too the first time. Who is your
commissario
?"

    
"Farnese."

    
"Bad luck, man, real bad luck. She’s the worst. She drags things out
until you’re sick and confess."

    
That’s good to know.

    
A guard calls out André’s name. He goes to the cage door and
identifies himself. The guard takes him down the corridor where two
phones hang on a dirty, scratched section of wall.

    
"Make your phone call."

    
"Officer, what’s the time?"

    
"Make your phone call. No more than three minutes."

    
"The person I want to reach is only available after two." He expects
that by then Bianca will be back at the
pensione
.

    
"Look, my orders are to let you make your phone call now. You do it
or I’ll report that you refused and that’s it. No more phone calls."

    
André is in a quandary. "Officer, I need a phone book."

    
"No phone book. Make your call now or I’ll take you back."

    
André dials the
pensione
. The phone rings and rings. He is almost
ready to give up, when Maria answers, out of breath. He briefly explains
that he was arrested. Maria begins to lament. He can just make out that
Bianca called a few minutes earlier. He interrupts her: "Please, listen
Maria, I have only a minute. Tell Bianca when she comes back to get me
a good lawyer urgently. She should also take her computer and the rest
of her money from my hard case." He is confident that Bianca will guess
he means his computer and the half of the twelve thousand dollars that
is in his case. He is also relieved that the police haven’t yet gone there to
search through his things. Maria would have volunteered that. He just
hopes that Bianca returns before they show up.

    
By late afternoon the teenager shows signs of withdrawal. His hands
begin to shake. He starts pacing up and down the cage. The guards take
him away before dinner together with three other men. André forces
himself to eat the soggy pasta, served in an unidentifiable sauce, and
boiled carrots. He reminds himself to take it philosophically, to see it as
a life experience. He doesn’t really think that any charges will stick, but
is worried how Bianca will cope. However, as time passes, he begins to
wonder why no lawyer has yet come to visit him.

    
Several drunks are more or less thrown into the cage. One of them
urinates in a corner. That reminds André that he needs to relieve himself
too. He calls for a guard. Nobody comes. He calls again. Still no
response.

    
"Rattle the cage," one of the new arrivals mutters.

    
He does. It makes a loud racket. A guard promptly appears, shouting:
"Stop that!"

    
André puts his request and is accompanied to a stinking urinal with
piss all over the floor.

    
They keep him in the cage overnight. If the teenager is right, then this
is the start of softening me up, he reckons.

* * *

Hope for André’s speedy release returns after Gallizio promises to inform
the
Questura
that he is representing him and that he will request to see
him as soon as possible. But he tells her not to expect his release today.
The wheels of justice turn slowly in Rome, he reminds her.