The Abduction: A Novel (10 page)

SEVENTEEN

“
THERE’LL BE A
press conference tomorrow at nine a.m.,” Saito told the packed room. “In the meantime, no one else is to see this unless I’ve cleared it.” He gestured to a technician to start the tape.

The Carabinieri team had been assembled in record time. Already, eighteen officers and sixty regular
carabinieri
had been allocated to the case. Kidnap specialists were driving down from Milan, and several Americans whose job titles were as vague as their names were uncatchable had set up a secure communications centre in a side room. Kat spotted Colonel Piola in the crush of officers and looked away, determined not to catch his eye.

The first thing on the film was a crude title, typed on basic video-editing software.

FOLLOWING CAPTURE, THE CAPTIVE IS SHACKLED AND DEPRIVED OF SIGHT AND SOUND THROUGH THE USE OF EARMUFFS, GOGGLES AND HOODS.

The film cut to a grainy image of a figure, hooded and bound, lying on the floor of a van. It had been filmed with a phone, or some other unsophisticated camera: the picture was shaky and slightly out of focus. Almost immediately, it cut to another title.

THE RECEPTION PROCESS GENERALLY CREATES SIGNIFICANT APPREHENSION.

Now the camera was moving through the doorway of a small stone-built room, like an animal pen. A figure was sitting on the floor, handcuffed. The hood had been taken off, but only as she looked up did it become clear that it was a teenage girl. She looked terrified.

SLEEP DEPRIVATION AND DIETARY MANIPULATION ARE USED AS STANDARD PREPARATORY STEPS.

Then there was a brief shot of the same girl drinking from a plastic bottle of Ensure. Again, it was only on screen for a few brief seconds.

THE INITIAL INTERVIEW IS RELATIVELY BENIGN.

Next came a shot of the girl’s face in close-up. The camera pulled back jerkily to reveal that she was sitting in a chair. There was a murmur of disquiet around the briefing room as they saw that she was stripped to her underwear, and that her limbs had been secured to the chair’s arms and legs with duct tape.

The framing was adjusted by an unseen hand, and the background came into view. On a kind of banner behind the girl was a crudely daubed circle containing a giant A, with a smaller D and M immediately beneath. To one side, a man wearing a Harlequin mask stood impassively.

THE CAPTIVE MAY BE OFFERED CLOTHING, FOOD OR OTHER INDUCEMENTS IN EXCHANGE FOR COOPERATION.

The man spoke through the mask in strongly accented English. “Mia, do you have something to say?”

“Yes.” The girl looked directly at the camera. In her terror she spoke too fast to begin with, so that it was hard to make out all the words. “Azione Dal Molin demands that a referendum be held immediately, so that the people of the Veneto can determine for themselves the following. First, whether all work be halted on the Dal Molin military base with immediate effect. Second, whether plans are drawn up to demolish the buildings already finished.” She paused and took a breath, slowing herself down. “Third, whether the site is returned to public ownership by the end of the year. And fourth, whether all American troops engaged in the illegal occupation of northern Italy should be gone by August first.” Her voice faltered. “I’ve been told I can add a short message to my parents. Mom, Dad—”

Abruptly, the picture cut. Another title appeared.

TO BE CONTINUED.

As the screen went blank, all the Carabinieri officers in the briefing room collectively exhaled.

“Her name’s Mia Elston,” Saito said. “Sixteen years old, the daughter of an American officer based at Caserma Ederle, reported missing last night. As for Azione Dal Molin, we hadn’t heard of them until this morning, when some of them broke into the construction site and sprayed graffiti around in what now appears to be a coordinated attempt to publicise themselves ahead of this film.” He nodded to where Piola stood. “By a stroke of good fortune, we were asked to investigate that incident, and Colonel Piola has already gathered the names and addresses of the ringleaders. We’ll go in at four a.m. for maximum surprise and disorientation, and bring them in for questioning – all of them. One four-man team to each address, and an additional three-man unit to remain in each location to search for any evidence that might indicate where she’s being held. Clear?”

Around the room, people were nodding.

“Coscia will lead a team that will analyse the film. Flamini will activate the official protocols and liaise with specialist advice units. Horst’s unit will follow up on a van that was glimpsed driving away from the probable abduction site. Everyone else has been assigned to one of the arrest groups – there’s a full list on the table, along with briefing packs detailing what little we know.”

The officers filed out of the room, talking quietly amongst themselves. Having looked at the allocation list, Kat hung back.

“Yes, Capitano?” Saito said, noticing her.

“The list doesn’t say which team I’m on, sir.”

“That’s because you’re not on any of them. You can return to your other duties.”

Kat couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “With respect, sir, if it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t have the leads to the club, or the van, or the girl’s telephone.” She thought it best not to mention her role in contacting Daniele Barbo, or in persuading him to pass on the film to the authorities. “I think I’ve proved I can be of use.”

“Possibly. But you’re forgetting one thing.” Saito gestured towards the door. “Colonel Piola is playing a key role in this investigation. And I have instructions from Internal Affairs that the two of you aren’t to work together until your complaint against him has been resolved.”

“But that’s crazy,” she said furiously. “It was because he tried to move me off a case that I made the complaint in the first place. And now Internal Affairs are effectively doing the same thing.”

“So make a complaint about them,” Saito said, turning away. “Make a complaint about me. Perhaps if you make enough complaints, Captain, your career will get back on track. But personally, I doubt it.”

She went back to her desk still seething. Glancing at her emails, she saw that the list of petty crimes to be processed had almost doubled in her absence. She clicked on the top one.

CF56431A. Tourist camera missing from café.

Not for the first time, she found herself regretting ever having made the complaint about Aldo. She’d been right in principle, of course; but almost certainly wrong in practice. Looking back, she realised she’d probably been trying to emulate Piola’s own somewhat idealistic attitude to his work. Well, that was a lesson well and truly learned. If you were a man, and a colonel, you could get away with romantic notions about fairness and justice. If you were female and a captain, you had to work the system.

“Fuck it,” she said aloud. She reached for her phone. “It’s Kat,” she said when it was answered. “How’s it going your end?”

“Crazy,” Holly replied. “People flying in from all over. And the Elstons still in complete shock. You?”

“They’re trying to take me off the case, just because Aldo’s on it. Will you speak to Major Elston? If you can get him to insist, I reckon my bosses will have to let me stay.”

“If you want.” Holly’s voice was guarded. “But Kat, what
about
Aldo? Wouldn’t it make more sense to keep some distance?”

“He’ll be fine. It’s a big investigation, and what matters now is finding Mia. There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

EIGHTEEN

WITHIN AN HOUR
Piola was told that the texts sent to Mia’s phone on the night of her kidnap had been traced. They’d been sent from a phone registered to one Johann Vicaro, whose address was listed as an apartment in Vicenza.

“Who’s bringing him in?”

“A local unit. He should be here in forty minutes.”

Someone handed him a printout of the texts, along with Mia’s replies. The first had been sent at 11.57 p.m.:

Meet you in the restaurant on Via Zamenhof. I’m wearing a jacket and blue silk shirt. Johann

Thx! I’m in a red T-shirt. M

Ten minutes later Vicaro had texted Mia again:

I’m at the bar. Want a drink?

Coke pls! Be there in five.

Apart from that, the two of them had exchanged just one phone call, a week previously, which had lasted twenty-two minutes. Before that point, they appeared never to have contacted each other; at least, not by phone.

His own phone rang, the caller ID one he didn’t recognise. “Piola.”

“Hello, Colonel, how are you? It’s Dottora Iadanza.” The archaeologist’s voice was friendly.

“What can I do for you, Dottora?” Aware of how much had to be done before the night was out, he spoke a little more briskly than he’d intended. In response, her own voice also became more businesslike.

“I thought you’d want to be told straight away – I managed to get some ground sonar out to the dig site, and there are what appear to be two further objects in the soil. It looks very much like two more skeletons. Of course, I’ll make sure they’re excavated properly this time.”

“Ah.” Piola thought hard. “How long will that take?”

“A week, perhaps more.”

“You may have to let the construction work go on around you,” he said, knowing that she’d assume he’d caved in to pressure from her bosses. But there was no way, now, that work could be halted – it would look as if the Carabinieri were giving in to the kidnappers’ demands.

“But that could totally compromise the lift.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re not going to be able to hold off any longer. I’m afraid I can’t explain the precise reasons just at the moment.” There was silence from her end. He added, “Look, you know Professor Trevisano at Ca’ Foscari, don’t you?”

“Of course. It was me who gave you his name.”

“Would you do something for me? The professor provisionally identified the first skeleton as a partisan commander by the name of Max Ghimenti. It’s a fair bet the other two will be the partisans who vanished with him. But there was another man with them who survived – he was photographed after the war, standing next to an American intelligence officer. If I send you the photographs, could you pass them on to the professor? If he can put a name to the survivor, it would be a great help when I do come back to the case.”

“Certainly,” she said with a sigh. He could tell she thought he was fobbing her off. “We’ll see what we can do.”

He rang off, a little regretful. But wartime skeletons would keep, whereas a kidnap needed to be solved in the golden hours and days immediately after the victim was taken. It was when such cases dragged on, and frustration mounted on both sides, that tragedies occurred.

By the time Johann Vicaro was brought in, Lieutenant Panicucci had also arrived, and had surprised Piola by speedily assembling a sheet of background information on their subject. Vicaro was Swiss, twenty-eight years old, and ran his own business exporting wine. The company appeared to be doing satisfactorily: the rent on apartments in the building where he lived was around four thousand euros a month. A passport check showed that he travelled regularly around Europe, flying business class or taking the high-speed train. He had no criminal record and his residence permits were up to date. He was, in fact, the very model of a hard-working young entrepreneur.

Armed with the sheet, Piola stepped into the interview room. The young man sitting at the table was better-looking than his passport scan had suggested. He was expensively dressed in Ermenegildo Zegna knitwear, while his tanned face and general air of athleticism suggested that he spent much of the winter skiing. He hadn’t asked for a lawyer, and didn’t seem especially nervous, just bemused and frustrated at the sudden interruption to his evening.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Piola asked as he sat down.

“No,” Vicaro said. “Some bureaucratic nonsense.”

“It’s to do with a young woman. Can you guess who I mean?”

Vicaro looked thoughtful. “Not Mia Cooper?”

Piola put a photograph of Mia on the table. “Is this who you’re talking about?”

Vicaro nodded. “Yes, that’s her. Mia Cooper.”

Piola chose not to correct him. “How do you know her?”

“Well, I don’t, not really.” For the first time, Vicaro seemed a little awkward. “That is, we met on a dating site. We had one date, but it didn’t go so well. We haven’t been in touch since.”

“Where was this date?”

“At a nightclub in Vicenza.”

Already Piola could see that Vicaro was the sort of intelligent, educated man who would finesse his answers so as to show himself in the best possible light, and might well leave out important details in the process. He decided to give him a rapid push towards disclosure. “You took her to a swingers’ club. Do you know how old she is?”

Vicaro blinked. “Twenty-one. I saw her ID when we signed in.”

“She’s sixteen.”

“Jesus!” Vicaro looked worried now. “But it’s not illegal, is it? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“That depends on exactly what you did.”

“Because it was her who wanted to go there, you realise that? That was the whole deal.” Vicaro was talking quickly now, desperate for Piola to understand. “It was a special party for Carnevale. But they only let in couples, and she needed someone to go with.”

“Why you?”

Vicaro shrugged. “She liked my profile picture, I guess. And she trusted me.”

“In what way?”

“Not to hit on her. That was the arrangement.” He was still gabbling, but his eyes were steady as they met Piola’s. “I had to promise I wouldn’t touch her.”

“You mean…” Piola was trying to get his head around this. “She recruited you to go to a sex club, but she made you promise that you wouldn’t have sex?”

Vicaro nodded. “It seemed strange to me too. In fact, I thought she was just playing it safe, in case she didn’t like the look of me when we met, and that she’d change her mind once we got there. But it was no big deal to me if she didn’t. Places like that, there’s always more than any man can handle.”

“And that’s what happened?” Piola said slowly. “You had sex with… others?”

“Yes. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a nice-looking girl and I asked, but she knocked me back. So I thought: fine, you do your thing and I’ll do mine. What with the masks and everything, we lost touch – it was pretty busy in there. I looked for her at the end of the night, but she wasn’t around. I thought she must have decided the scene wasn’t for her after all.”

“Her name’s Mia Elston, and she was abducted that night,” Piola said. “Her coat and phone were left in a locker at the club. I think you were angry that she’d led you on. So you followed her outside. Perhaps you’d planned it that way from the start.”

Vicaro looked genuinely puzzled. “Why would I leave a club full of women who wanted to have sex with me, to go after the one person who didn’t?”

Why indeed, Piola thought. “Have you heard of an organisation called Azione Dal Molin?”

“Not that I recall.”

“So you never signed their petition to close the American base, or visited their website? We’ll check, you know.”

“Political protests aren’t really my thing,” Vicaro said. Piola didn’t doubt it.

“Where have you been since Saturday?”

“First thing Sunday morning I went down to visit a new supplier in Sicily, a wine grower. I got back today.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Of course. I have receipts for petrol,
autostrada
tolls, my hotel room, the dinner with the grower…” Vicaro was opening his wallet, pulling them out as he spoke.

Piola took him over his story one more time. But he was already certain Vicaro was telling the truth.

“Just one more thing,” he added when the man was done. “What made you assume it was Mia we wanted to talk to you about?”

“Oh.” Vicaro thought. “I suppose because of the website. I don’t usually meet girls on the internet – I find them in bars, or clubs, or just wandering about. But recently I’ve been working hard, travelling a lot, so I joined a couple of dating sites. But even those, you have to send girls messages, wait for them to get back to you, spend time chatting… The girls on those sites are looking for love, or at least for a boyfriend, so of course they choose carefully. Me, I was just after some fun. So I went on Carnivia – do you know it? It’s the website where you don’t have to say who you are unless you want to. There are different areas for everyone: singles, married people, gays, swingers; whatever you’re into. I went to a swingers’ chat room and saw there was a girl asking for someone to accompany her to the masked Carnevale ball at Club Libero. I sent her a photo, and we took it from there.”

“And?” Piola asked.

“A couple of days after Mia and I talked, I went back to the same chat room. I thought maybe I’d contact a few more girls and arrange to meet them too – not all at the same time, obviously, but over the next couple of weeks. Like I say, I’m busy, and it seemed an easy way to line up more dates. But when I went back, the message thread had disappeared. So I did a search, and it didn’t come up that way either. And then I tried typing in the actual page address. And that was even weirder, because I got this error message saying it hadn’t even been registered yet.”