Chapter Eleven #2
Back at the office, Valerio spent nearly an hour trying to reach the public defender assigned to Gaetano before he finally got through; then more calls over the next few hours to encourage him to get the right paperwork filed with the magistrate.
Midafternoon, he and the public defender went to the magistrate’s chambers, where he summarized his visit to Ines Mancusi, talked about her obvious illness, and proposed that the magistrate release the young Gaetano on humanitarian grounds.
“I need a statement from Signora Mancusi’s doctor, confirming her illness,” she instructed the public defender.
Assured that the arrangements would proceed without him, Valerio returned to the office to close out his paperwork.
“Will it happen?” Maurizio asked. “Will they let him go home?”
Valerio nodded.
“Is it finished? What they wanted from you?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Now keep yourself out of trouble, you idiot.”
—
Valerio expected to feel the burden lifted as he left the station and began the walk home.
It was nearly finished, he told himself.
In a few hours, Gaetano would be released from Poggioreale and the whole business with Luca would be behind him.
He hadn’t crossed any lines—nothing illegal, nothing unethical.
Gaetano was just a kid, and the jail was the wrong place for him.
If, instead of Luca, Ines Mancusi had asked for his help, he would have given it.
These thoughts comforted less than they should.
He felt heavy and dull, a sensation worsened by the commercial cheer of the holiday shoppers.
Unease jostled through his feet and hands, clamped onto his throat.
Eager to escape the feeling, he made his way to Cosimo’s pizzeria, where he filled up on a dinner of meaty pizza.
Fingers still a little greasy, he checked his phone, smearing the screen. He hadn’t paid attention to it for a few days. Not since the night of the murder.
There were far too many texts.
He skimmed the group chat messages between Orlanda and Penelope as they diagnosed the psychological maladies of their mother, discussed whether they should insist she stay with one of them, coordinated bringing her dinner, and complained about Valerio’s nonparticipation.
His ex-wife, Giorgia, had texted several times with news reports about the murder at the church, fishing for details.
His son, Davide, had texted, wanting money for new football boots.
Nikki had also sent him three texts since the incident at the police station—when he’d yelled at her boss.
He wasn’t proud of that moment. It wasn’t like him to let his anger get the better of him, and he felt strange about it now.
To his relief, Nikki didn’t seem upset. She could get mad, but it was rarely about stupid things.
He sent her a message, asking if she wanted to meet.
There was insurance paperwork they needed to sign for their boat.
Of course, he could have just emailed it to her, but he hadn’t seen her for a while, and it seemed good to have her company right now.
He was looking at his phone when a text came through from a number he didn’t recognize.
Ines says Gaetano will come home tonight. Is it true?
Valerio looked for a moment before writing back, Who is this?
Ravenna.
Yes, he typed. It’s true.
There was a long pause, then she wrote, I was wrong about you.
Valerio stared at those words, and in his mind’s eye, saw those tight brown curls, and the expressive dark eyes of the beautiful nurse.
As he thought this, as if she somehow knew his mind was on her, she sent him one more word: Grazie.
The uncomfortable sensation in his chest released. The pizza, which had sunk like lead in his belly, seemed to rest more easily.
—
The bar was called Point Break, named in honor of the 1991 movie that Dario, the bar owner, had loved. Dario was a childhood friend from the old neighborhood. Valerio had lost touch with him for the better part of two decades before running into him again in Quartieri Spagnoli after his divorce.
Dario was married to a woman fifteen years his junior named Graziella.
Voluptuous and kind, she always painted her wide mouth red, as if to outline the large white teeth of her smile.
Her perfume, citrus and cinnamon, made Valerio think of pastries.
Her dark hair was cut in a flattering fringe, and she wore big sparkling earrings and necklaces.
“Buona sera, sweetie,” she said when Valerio arrived, leaning in to kiss his cheek. She was soft and warm.
“Ooh, you smell like camping,” she said with a throaty chuckle. “What can I get you? Peroni?”
“Sì, grazie!”
She glided back indoors, and Valerio shuffled behind one of the upright barrels that, balanced unsteadily on the slanting paving stones, served as an outdoor table.
Point Break was little larger than a closet, with a counter running along the back wall.
The interior was finished in dark wooden beams, shrinking it even further.
There were only two cramped tables for indoor seating.
Outside were three wooden barrels and wobbly stools.
Christmas lights draped across spindly poles, providing lighting.
Despite the hour and the chill, the street was full of people walking past them, up and down the hill.
Valerio sniffed at his jacket. The recent cold weather had prompted him to pull it out of his closet and he wasn’t sure it was clean. It stank of woodsmoke and stale beer. He had vague memories of a long-ago fire on the beach, and beers with some of the guys from work.
Graziella brought his beer and a plate of olives and chips.
He relaxed as he drank, and chatted with Graziella, who had opinions about politics, about art, and about the old woman who lived in their building who had been trying to touch her belly ever since Graziella’s pregnancy started to show.
The evening grew chillier, but Valerio didn’t mind.
He had one beer, then another, and another.
Nikki was late. Dario showed up and had a beer with him.
By the time he spotted Nikki striding up the hill towards him, Valerio was relaxed for the first time in days.
“Ciao, bella!” He waved, and stood to greet her.
“You look like hell,” he said as they hugged.
It was their joke, but this time it was actually true. She had that fiery expression that frightened devils away.
“So do you,” she said.
“I ordered you a gin and tonic,” he told her, then raised his bottle to Dario, who was standing in the doorway, smoking a cigarette. “Another of these.”
“Thanks,” said Nikki, as they settled onto uncomfortable stools. “How’s your mother? Sonia said she was the one…a witness…in the church.”
Valerio drained the last of his beer, thought of the messages his sisters had left, and felt guilty for not checking in with them. He’d had time in the past few hours—he could have driven out and visited his mother, but it was just too much.
“Not good. Lots of praying. Trying to reconcile this with God, I think. My sisters are with her.”
“I’m sorry,” said Nikki.
“Yeah,” said Valerio. “Me, too. Just when you think you’re used to violence, something like this comes along and fucks you up.”
For a moment, he considered telling Nikki about Luca Errichiello, but the thought felt heavy. Some superstitious instinct said that talking about it would grant it substance and reality. Besides, it was over. The whole fucking thing was over. For better or worse, he’d played his part.
“The weather’s supposed to be nice on Sunday,” he said brightly. “If you can get time off work, we could sail.”
It had been too long since he and Nikki had taken Calypso out. Just the thought of getting away from here, of spending an afternoon on the waves, the creak of the hull and the flap of the sails, seemed to loosen some tension in his body.
Dario brought another beer, popped the cap, and handed it to him.
“We haven’t taken you sailing yet, have we?” Valerio asked him. “You two should come with us sometime.”
“He gets seasick!” Graziella said, playfully pinching Dario’s side.
“How about it?” Valerio asked Nikki. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Just for a few hours.”
She shrugged. “Sure. Alright.”
“How’s the investigation?” he asked.
She exhaled. “Don’t know. I’ve been cut out. Sonia’s decided not to work with Phoenix Seven.”
“Fuck,” he said. “Sorry about that.”
He meant it. Nikki’s expression was stoic, but he could imagine her disappointment. He was angry with Nikki’s supervisor. It wasn’t her fault she was forced to work with that idiot.
“It’s that boss of yours…Angelo,” Valerio said. “He’s a mess.”
“Yeah, well,” she said with a shrug. “I can’t help that. Oh, that reminds me…I need to give you this.”
She took something from her pocket, and set it on the barrel between them: a passport in an evidence bag.
“Jayston Lake wanted me to pass this to the police,” she said. “Would you give it to Sonia?”
“And Jayston Lake is who?”
“The employer of our victim…Claire Sexton. When Claire took off last week on Capri, she left this behind in the yacht’s safe.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Jayston thinks she was frightened. He thinks she might have been coerced.”
“Wait,” said Valerio. “I thought you were off the case. Why were you meeting with a suspect?”
Nikki seemed reluctant to tell him the story, needing encouragement from the gin and tonic before he could draw it out of her.
When she finished explaining, Valerio chuckled at the audacious little girl who’d convinced a taxi driver to take her to Nikki.
“Kids are ridiculous,” he said. “When she was seven, Gemma decided she would take a train by herself to visit a play park she liked. Thank god we found her before she actually boarded!”
He picked up the passport and turned it over in his hands.
“And you just happened to be carrying an evidence bag with you?” he asked.
Nikki flushed and gestured for Dario to bring her another drink.
“Of course,” she said. “Don’t you?”