The Colombian Mule (20 page)

On the way back to Padova, I glanced over at the bracelets on my associate's left wrist. There were two new ones. One was slender with a catch shaped like the head of a serpent; the other was thicker, with a catch consisting of two miniature anchors. The scalps of Mansutti and Kupreskic.

The following morning we saw Victoria leave home at ten. She stopped for breakfast at the main square in Oderzo and then resumed her journey, all the way to San Biagio di Callalta, near Treviso. She drove into the forecourt of a recently built condominium, parking her car alongside Celegato's yellow Saab.

Rossini shifted into reverse and we returned to Padova.

As soon as he saw our faces, Fat Max knew the result of our stakeout. ‘She's seeing that rat, isn't she?'

I nodded, still struggling to take it in. ‘I'd never have believed it,' Max continued. ‘She seemed truly, sincerely, devastated by Nazzareno's arrest.'

‘And all the while she was hanging around us, just trying to work out whether we were following the Celegato lead,' I replied.

‘They must have been seeing each other for a year or more,' Old Rossini said, thinking aloud. ‘Ever since she got hold of that love nest.'

‘And as soon as the opportunity presented itself, Bruno leapt at the chance to put his romantic rival out of circulation. Which is why, of all the people he could have sold to the cops, he chose poor old Nazzareno,' I added.

‘I don't understand all the secrecy,' Max said. ‘Victoria and Corradi weren't even married. They were both perfectly entitled to pack their bags and leave any time they liked.'

‘The rules of the criminal underworld,' Rossini explained.

‘You don't get involved with a friend's woman. Not even if she leaves him.'

I abstained from any comment. ‘This afternoon we had better go and see Bonotto and pass a message on to Nazzareno. He needs to know about Victoria. Maybe this new blow will make him change his mind. Who knows?'

‘Sometimes I don't understand you, Marco,' snapped Rossini, getting heated. ‘Surely you don't want him to go to the trial and rat, do you?'

I tried to restrain my anger but failed. ‘I don't get you either, Beniamino. It's not about ratting. Just tell me why the fuck that poor hapless bastard, a man innocent as charged, should have to grow old behind bars? To save the asses of his woman and his best friend, both of whom have betrayed him? Or to protect cops who took the law into their own hands to fit him up?'

Beniamino smashed his fist down on the table. ‘Rules,' he shouted. ‘You don't get out of prison by accusing others.'

It was my turn to yell. ‘Don't you realize how absurd it is to stick to the rules when drugs are involved?'

‘That makes no difference. Even if he was accused of paedophilia, he would still be obliged to remain silent.'

‘Calm down, the two of you,' Max broke in, refilling our glasses.

‘Answer me this, Marco,' Rossini continued, lowering his voice. ‘If you were in Corradi's shoes and you discovered it was Virna and Max who had put you behind bars, would you tell your lawyer to drag them through the courts?'

‘No, I wouldn't,' I replied at once. ‘But that doesn't mean the rules aren't totally fucked up. In such circumstances, I would feel obliged to comply with them because the alternative would be worse. But if Nazzareno decided to come out fighting in court, I would respect his decision. It wouldn't be for me to sit in judgment over him.'

 

Max explained to Bonotto that our investigation had run into the sand and that we couldn't help his client any further. Obviously he skipped a number of details, not least the murder of the Croatian chemist. He concluded his report by handing over the photographic material we had collected during the various stakeouts, and the tape of the conversation between Celegato and Rosa Gonzales Cuevas at the Ristorante Barchessa in Caposile.

‘This material is more than enough to win the case,' Bonotto said. ‘If Corradi would only listen to me.'

‘Please tell him that if he decides to follow your advice he'll have my total sympathy.'

‘Thank you for that, Buratti. I'll pass it on, without fail. However, I've decided to play a little trick on my client. The preliminary hearing is set for the twenty-fourth of March, and I have decided to place Celegato's name on the list of witnesses to be called. I want Nazzareno to make up his mind what to do while looking his friend in the eye.'

‘A waste of time,' Rossini commented.

I handed Bonotto a sealed envelope. ‘You should deliver this to Corradi.'

Bonotto handed it straight back. ‘I can't do that. As you well know.'

‘It relates to Corradi's personal life,' Rossini explained.

The lawyer rested his hands on his desk. ‘That makes no difference. I can pass on to him by word of mouth the content of the message and then report back to you his answer, should there be one. I'm bound by professional secrecy, and that ought to be more than enough for you.'

‘Okay,' Max said. ‘We wish to inform Corradi that for some time now Victoria has been betraying him with Bruno Celegato.'

‘What?' Bonotto asked in astonishment. ‘That's not possible.'

‘We are absolutely certain of it,' Max confirmed.

‘To think she kept coming around here begging me to do whatever I could to get Corradi out of prison, playing the inconsolable little woman,' Bonotto continued.

I shrugged. ‘She fooled the lot of us.'

‘So she was aware of Celegato's activities. Including his role in my client's arrest,' Bonotto went on.

Max lit another cigarette. ‘We want to know what Nazzareno intends to do about this.'

Bonotto looked us all hard in the eye. ‘Let it be quite clear that I am not a conduit for orders relating to murder or violence of any kind.'

‘What on earth are you thinking of?' I said with a laugh.

‘Max was referring to a quite different matter—the fact that Victoria is living in his house and spending his money.'

‘I apologize, Buratti.'

‘Forget it. When are you intending to see him next?'

‘Tomorrow morning. I'll call you as soon as I leave the prison.'

 

At eleven o'clock the next morning I was still sleeping and, in the perennial mess that is my home, it took me a while to locate the phone.

‘How did he react?' I asked.

‘Not well. He burst into tears and it took me quite some time to calm him down.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘What I'm sorry about is the fact that Corradi is still stubbornly refusing to implicate those responsible for his arrest. It's an absurd position to adopt.'

‘Has he decided what to do about Victoria?'

‘Yes, he has. He asked me to remind you that you promised him you would look after her if things went badly. He would like you to see that she returns to Colombia. Immediately.'

‘Okay.'

‘Buratti?'

‘What?'

‘Provided she agrees to go, obviously,' he stressed.

‘Obviously, Avvocato. Don't worry.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Victoria greeted me with her usual shy smile. She smiled at Old Rossini too, but her mouth fell open when she saw La Tía. She touched her hair with an uncertain gesture. ‘What's going on?'

‘You're going back to Colombia. Today. And for good.'

She backed into the lounge. I picked up the framed photograph of her, Corradi and Celegato laughing, their arms thrown round one another. I pointed at the police informant and she understood. She burst into tears. Doña Rosa walked over to her and stroked her hair. ‘Don't cry, chica. From now on, I'll be taking care of you.'

Victoria pulled away and La Tía slapped her violently.

‘You're going to be my little whore,' she told her. Then she reached her hand down between Victoria's legs. ‘Here I want you rubia, blonde,' she whispered in her ear.

Victoria let out a yell and tried to escape from her grip but La Tía pressed a hairpin against her throat. ‘You have family in Colombia. Father, mother, two sisters, baby brother and granny. You want to see them all dead?'

She shook her head and fell to her knees, begging us not to make her leave Italy.

‘It's what Nazzareno wants,' Rossini explained. ‘You should count yourself lucky you're still alive and that you and your snitch of a boyfriend haven't been thrown in prison.'

I handed her a glass of grappa. She drank it down and somehow found the strength to pull on her coat. Rossini rummaged through her bag and took out her passport and residence permit. As we left the house, the two rottweilers began to bark.

‘What'll happen to them?' I asked Beniamino.

‘I know a vet in Oderzo. Tomorrow I'll get him to come and fetch them.'

When we got to Mestre we went through a back entrance into a store selling photographic equipment. It belonged to a masterforger, an old acquaintance from our prison days. He sat Victoria down on a stool opposite the polaroid he used for passport photos. He rearranged her hair, used a paper handkerchief to dry her mascara-streaked tears, and took the snap. He then picked up Aisa's and Victoria's passports and switched the photographs. This had been La Tía's idea. She had taken a fancy to Victoria one night when she had met her at a club and when we had suggested she take Victoria back to Colombia with her, she had decided to leave Aisa behind in Italy. Aisa would end up as a hostess. Yet another.

‘Aren't you afraid she'll take revenge on you by going to the police and telling them what she knows about your organization?' I had asked her.

‘Aisa has a big family in Colombia,' she had replied.

They all had families in Colombia and they were all terrified. Threatening someone's relatives was like reciting a magic spell.

We drove them to the station. I unloaded Doña Rosa's bags onto the pavement. Victoria's face was as white as marble and her eyes stayed fixed on the ground. La Tía took her by the hand and looked at us with a smile.

‘You'll forgive me if I don't tell you precisely how and when I'll be arriving in Bogotá, but the fact is I can't trust you. You might be tempted to pass the information on to those Marxist sons of bitches in FARC.'

‘You can bet on it,' Rossini scowled. ‘I hope they kill you real soon.'

This failed to wipe the smile off Doña Rosa's lips. She summoned a porter and headed for the ticket office. Victoria followed her docilely.

We got back in the car. I wasn't proud of what we had done. Beniamino sensed what was on my mind. ‘Don't even think about it, Marco. Right now, it upsets you because she has a face like an angel but has ended up in the power of that snake La Tía. But just remember how she betrayed Corradi and ratted him out to the cops. Victoria is a snitch. She deserves nothing better.'

I turned up the volume on the car stereo. Robben Ford's ‘Tired of Talkin' helped me forget Victoria's empty, absent gaze.

 

A few days later we heard that Bruno Celegato had been to every nightclub in the entire region searching for Victoria. Nobody was able to help him. He repeatedly phoned her relatives in Bogotá, but her father always replied that he had no news of his daughter's whereabouts.

Old Rossini returned to his smuggling activities. Max and I worked on a couple of missing-persons cases: a doctor's wife in the throes of some sort of mystical crisis and an obese, unhappy teenager who had fallen out with his mom. Two dead-end fucking cases.

Every time I went to La Cuccia, I couldn't help but look for Virna, and it made me sad to see her place occupied by the new girl, a young brunette with a ready smile. One evening I plucked up the courage to go and see Virna at the sandwich-bar where she worked, in the centre of the city. She noticed me at once and came over with an icy expression on her face. She asked me to excuse her but she was very busy and couldn't stop to talk. I handed her the envelope containing her last month's wages, then left.

 

On March 16, the police and the Guardia di Finanza launched their operation to smash the Veneto drug ring. Beni­amino woke me up the following morning waving a copy of the Gazzettino di Venezia under my nose.

 

COCAINE RESTAURANT, 27 ARRESTS

 

Following orders from the city's investigating magistrates, the historic Trattoria da Nane has been closed down. The chief of police commented, ‘Nowhere is safe from drugs anymore, not even the centre of Venice.' The police and the Guardia di Finanza are working to dismantle a major warehousing operation for drugs originating in South America, based in premises situated in Venice's central Calle dei Fuseri. The operation's code name is ‘Mozzarella by the kilo.'

 

Among those arrested I noticed the names of Toni Vassallo and his wife, as well as all those on the list that Beniamino had given La Tía. Rossini was grinning from ear to ear.

‘That's the end of La Tía's Italian connection.'

‘Celegato has got away clean yet again.'

‘Well, what did you expect?'

‘In eight days, Nazzareno's case will come up for the preliminary hearing. I wonder what he's decided to do . . .'

Rossini looked at me askance. ‘He'll behave like a man.'

 

Avvocato Bonotto stood up and adjusted his gown. ‘Your honour, we would like to call Bruno Celegato.'

Visibly surprised, Corradi gripped the bars separating him from the rest of the courtroom. The usher led Celegato in and, once he had taken the oath, asked him to turn and face the court.

‘The defense counsel may proceed,' the judge said.

Bonotto said nothing, turning instead to stare at his client.

‘Bruno,' Corradi shouted. ‘Look me in the face.'

Celegato didn't move. He had kept his eyes on the floor ever since entering the courtroom.