Chapter Sixteen #2
She picked at the corner of the paper tablecloth as she spoke, folding it back on itself in tight little patterns. Her fingers were nimble, bare nails trimmed short. Her forearms were muscular—Valerio guessed from the manual labor of her job.
“You’re a nurse,” he said.
“Sì.”
“Why did you choose nursing?”
“I grew up in a big family—always scrapes and bruises and accidents. When I was ten, my brother broke his arm and I triaged it. I liked being able to know what to do when something bad happened. I think it was my way of being in control—not feeling helpless.” She leaned forward.
“That’s what you do, too, isn’t it? Help people? ”
“I don’t help people,” Valerio said frankly. “I’m a cleaner. It’s an ugly job, but functional. I find the filthiest places and clean them out. If I do my job well, nobody ever notices.”
Ravenna said, “That’s not true. Of course we notice!”
“I’m not saying it to complain,” said Valerio quickly. “But the world is full of so much filth. I can only cage a few rats and clean up their shit. It isn’t much. It doesn’t really fix anything. There are always more rats.”
“Why are you saying this?”
“Because I want you to understand that this is dirty and dangerous, but I’ve been trained to take this risk—I’ve spent years doing it. I know what I’m dealing with. If you wanted me to help with nursing, I’d hurt people and probably hurt myself.”
“Not if I showed you what to do,” said Ravenna. “You could rely on my expertise.”
Valerio sighed, and found that he had started folding the edge of the tablecloth as well. He stopped and clasped his hands in front of him.
“Last night, you came to my house—and told me what you thought. You accused me of killing Gaetano. It was very brave of you. It was also very stupid. If I’d really been one of Errichiello’s men, you might be dead now.
I promise, I’ll investigate what happened to that boy—but you need to stay away, for your own sake.
And for mine. I don’t want to worry about you. ”
A tight, hot knot closed his throat. He clenched his teeth.
Ravenna stared at him. “You’re worried about me?”
Cosimo was back with their drinks—acqua frizzante for Ravenna and a Peroni for him.
For a moment, Valerio found that it was difficult to look at her, but he forced himself.
She was crying. Fuck. He’d done the wrong thing somehow. He didn’t know how to fix it, so he sat uncomfortably with his beer.
Gradually she stopped, and wiped her eyes with a thin, waxy napkin.
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay, what?”
“I can stay away. I can trust you to do this—and I’ll keep my mouth shut. I won’t go around asking people questions or accusing them of murder. But can you at least tell me what you’re doing? Can I help with something—anything at all?”
Valerio exhaled and shrugged as he considered. She’d known Gaetano—at least peripherally. There could be value in having her identify connections in the boy’s life, as long as she stayed out of the way.
“What do you know about Paride Silvestri?” he asked.
“That name sounds familiar. Should I know it?”
The pizzas arrived. While they ate, he told her about the photo on Ines Mancusi’s fridge—and what he’d learned about Silvestri. Ravenna took out her phone and started searching.
“Wow,” she said, taking a bite of pizza and scrolling. “It’s like the Oscars. Everybody in Hollywood has been at his parties…. Oh! That’s a gorgeous dress.”
She held the phone up for him to admire a starlet in a slinky purple dress standing on a beautifully pillared balcony overlooking the sea.
“Where did he get his money?” she asked. “Exchange trading? Is that even real? It sounds sketchy to me.”
Valerio didn’t know. It was a mystery what the rich did with their money.
“The financial police have checked him out,” he said. “They cleared him—but I guess that’s different than saying he’s legitimate.”
Valerio realized that he’d been eating with his hands, rolling up the slices of hot and spicy meat pizza and shoveling them into his mouth, talking with his mouth full. He chewed, harvesting a handful of napkins to wipe his lips and fingers.
“What makes you think he’s crooked?” Ravenna asked.
“I don’t,” said Valerio. “I just wanted to know who he was—since Ines had a picture on her fridge. It isn’t a lead, really. Just a question. Gaetano gave me his name.”
“Shall I ask her?”
Valerio shook his head. “Don’t ask her any questions. Errichiello may have been responsible for Gaetano’s death—but you heard her. She’s in denial about him—what he is. I don’t want her tipping him off about my investigation.”
“Would you like to talk to Natale—Gaetano’s girlfriend?” Ravenna offered.
—
Gaetano’s girlfriend, Natale, worked in a leather goods store on Via dei Tribunali—close to Pio Monte della Misericordia, a chapel that drew tourists to its famous Caravaggio paintings.
The small shop burst with purses and satchels—stacked and squashed on floor-to-ceiling shelves, hanging in colorful bouquets. A full-figured girl stood at a cash register. As they entered the shop, she stood rapidly as if she’d been caught.
“Hallo, Natale,” Ravenna said warmly. “I’m Ravenna. We met a few months ago—with Gaetano at the McDonald’s on Via Medina. Do you remember?”
“Oh.” Natale glanced between Ravenna and Valerio, looking slightly stunned. She had a square face and heavy forehead and small eyes, long dark hair in a tight high ponytail. Beneath thick makeup, her face was splotchy, eyelids puffy.
“Yeah. I think so. Yeah.”
She blinked several times very fast and then said, “Gaetano’s dead.”
“I know,” said Ravenna. “I’m so sorry for you.”
Natale squeezed her eyes shut and frowned. Her next words came out awkwardly loud: “Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t do me any good. What do you want?”
“This is my friend, Valerio,” said Ravenna. “He’s looking into what happened to Gaetano. Can we ask you some questions?”
“Will it get me money?” Natale asked, eyes wide open now. “They don’t believe I was his girlfriend so they won’t pay me. They’re going to pay his mother instead. And she hates me. If I was pregnant or had his kid, they’d believe me.”
Ravenna looked at Valerio.
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “But I believe you. I want to find out who killed your boyfriend.”
Valerio’s phone rang. He glanced down and saw Luca Errichiello’s number before switching it off.
Natale gave him a disparaging look. “Isn’t it obvious? You gotta be stupid if you don’t know.”
“Who do you think killed him?” asked Valerio.
“No,” said Natale, suddenly aggressive. “You can’t trick me. I keep my mouth shut. I don’t need to be dead, too.”
“Well, I’d like to find out why he died. Wouldn’t you?”
She hesitated, then sniffed. “You the cops?”
“No,” Ravenna lied without hesitation. “I used to babysit Gaetano—when he was little. He was a really sweet kid. He had a tender heart. I can see you cared about him, too.”
“Of course I care!” Natale said.
“Can you please answer a few questions?”
Natale gave a small nod. Ravenna looked at Valerio.
“Did he ever talk about what he was doing?” he asked.
“Yeah. Sometimes,” she said. “They gave him his own motorbike when he was fourteen. He made deliveries.”
“Did he say what he was delivering?”
She shrugged. “Last year, he got his driver’s license, and started driving properly—you know, driving people around. They had a big car for him to use.”
“What sort of people?”
“Important people—you know, from the government, and businessmen.” Natale picked at a sore on her jawline.
“And he drove models to parties. He used to brag about that to me to make me jealous. He told me that one girl offered to suck him off, but I knew he was lying. That’s why I picked him.
He wouldn’t cheat on me. He liked to show off, but none of those girls actually liked him.
I saw him with them once, and they were making fun of him. ”
“Where did these models come from?”
“Modeling agencies.”
“Do you know which ones?”
“Yeah. I asked Gaetano. Maybe I might want to be a model, too.” She gave them a fierce look as if challenging them to contradict her. “They make good money. Alta Visione Talenti and Sogni di Moda. There were others, but I remember those.”
Valerio made a note.
“You know Gaetano was arrested for cocaine possession,” he said.
“That stupid thing!” She was suddenly furious. “That wasn’t Gaetano! He wouldn’t do that. He didn’t need to.”
“Why didn’t he need to?”
“He was doing important work, wasn’t he?”
“What important work?”
“Aren’t you listening? The driving. They needed him to drive.”
“Why was this important?”
She looked flustered for a moment as she thought about this.
“It just was,” she insisted quietly.
“These parties he drove for—did he ever go in?”
“They didn’t let him in, did they?”
“Do you know where the parties were?”
“Uh…Sorrento.”
“Do you have addresses?”
“No.”
“Did he ever tell you about what the parties were like?”
She picked at her skin while she thought. Scratching off a scab, her fingertips came back red. She didn’t seem to notice.
“The night before he was arrested, Gaetano dropped a bunch of girls at a party. Then, they made him come back and pick up this girl. She was super high. Crying and bleeding everywhere.”
“Bleeding?”
“Yeah. Her face was all bloody, he said. That happened sometimes.”
Ravenna’s eyes met Valerio’s.
“The women would be injured?” said Valerio. “This happened more than once?”
Natale had been speaking confidently. Now, for the first time, she seemed uncertain.
“That’s how rich people are, isn’t it? Do whatever they want. That’s what Gaetano said.”
“Gaetano took women away from the parties when they were hurt?”
“Yeah.”
Suddenly, she seemed to switch off, arms hanging limply, the light dimming in her eyes.
—