Chapter Eighteen #4
For fifteen minutes, they strode wordlessly through the crowded streets of the city. Then her pace slowed and she gradually came to a stop. Her arms hung limply at her sides, and she swayed. Valerio worried she might collapse.
She turned towards him, but her gaze averted as she spoke.
“Other girls had it worse.” The words came haltingly. “Alfeo wasn’t so bad…but some of the other men could get rough.”
“At the parties?”
“Yes. And…afterwards.”
“These men—the important ones. Do you know who they are? Do you have names?”
She exhaled. “I know they were important and rich, because Alfeo used to talk about them. They never use last names, but I know their first names. And I’ve seen some of them on television.”
“Were they local?”
“Most were Italian,” she said. “But from other places, too. English, American, French, German, Russian…Spanish.”
“I’d like to take you to the station,” Valerio said. “Show you some photos, get your testimony on record—”
“No!”
The word was loud. Her eyes darted up to his—wide and full of anxiety. She shook her head and took a step back.
“No problem,” Valerio said, raising his palms. “It’s just you and me. Shall we find a place to sit?”
He scanned the street. He wanted to take her someplace warm, but was worried that having other people nearby would spook her. He pointed at a nearby café with outdoor seating—all empty, the chill having driven everyone indoors.
—
Maria pulled her wool coat around her, but she was shivering as he ushered her into a chair. Valerio gave her his scarf and she wrapped it around her neck. Then he took out his phone and placed it on the table between them.
“May I record this?” he said. “I’ve had a few glasses, and I don’t want to forget anything you tell me.”
She seemed to think about this for a moment, and then nodded.
“Allora,” he said. “Tell me about the parties.”
She stared at the tabletop. “They were beautiful, you know? Everything so sophisticated. Expensive. They gave us beautiful clothes, picked us up in nice cars. You could have whatever you wanted: wine, drugs, whatever. There was a part of me…that liked it. But the rest…”
She shuddered.
“Were the parties sexual?” Valerio asked.
“Not always,” she said. “There were two sides, you know? One side was…glamorous—with the celebrities—everybody there for a good time. We were part of the decoration. But even at those parties, we always knew…”
“Knew what?” he urged.
“That anybody could pick us—take us into one of the rooms in the back. That we had to go along with it.”
Valerio’s throat was tight. “How did they force you?”
She looked past him, watching the street. “They didn’t. It was just…you just had to.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
She sighed. “It isn’t easy to explain. When I was little, things were hard.
My father lost his job, and Mamma was sick and couldn’t work either.
I had four younger brothers. We were always hungry.
At school, I was clever and got good grades, but my parents wanted me to quit, and go to work.
One day, this older girl at school—Paola—she told me that she knew how I could make money.
She took me to this place in the city—to this woman.
The woman asked a lot of questions, then she drove me to this huge house in Sorrento to meet this man.
He told me I was pretty enough to be a model.
He had me take off my clothes so he could be sure. ”
Valerio was cold.
“He didn’t touch me,” Maria continued. “Just looked. Then he gave me two fifty-euro bills and said I was hired.”
“How old were you?”
Her fingers gripped the scarf.
“Eleven. Almost twelve.”
Valerio’s chest was tight with anxiety. With fury. He tried to inhale, but the air didn’t seem able to come in.
“It was the most money I’d ever had,” she said.
“It was like that. As long as we did what they wanted, they were nice. They gave us money, food. Sometimes drugs. They told us how lucky we were to be able to meet important people. We needed to do what the clients expected, and be cheerful about it. If we brought another girl in, we got a bonus. If you refused a client, the agency dropped you. We were all worried about losing our place—about being one of those girls.”
Until now, her voice had been steady. She recounted these details factually, almost without affect. Now, her voice began to shake. Valerio felt an impulse to reach out and comfort her, but didn’t want to stop her confession.
She continued: “I met Alfeo at a party. He wanted me exclusively. He made an arrangement. Then he paid for a place for me, and gave me spending money. At the parties, everyone knew I was his—so they left me alone.”
When he was sure she’d finished, Valerio said slowly, “You were too young to make those decisions. You understand that, don’t you? You should have been protected.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, a grimace of agony painted her expression.
“I brought other girls to them,” she said in a whisper, face turned away. “I was getting too old. They wanted younger girls. I knew what would happen to them, but I did it anyway.”
Valerio fought back a crashing wave of nausea. He clenched his teeth and breathed through it.
“It’s very brave of you to tell me this,” he said.
She didn’t speak for a long moment. She stared at the lights of a nearby restaurant.
At last, with a shuddering breath, she looked at him, fresh anger in her face. “What will you do?”
“I’m going to find the people who did this to you,” he said. “I’m going to stop them. But I need you to tell me every name you know.”
She nodded.
“Can you tell me the name of the man who made you undress that first time?” he asked.
She glanced to the end of the street. “That was Paride Silvestri. You can look him up. He’s very rich. Very powerful.”
Valerio kept his face blank, but the confirmation of the man’s name dropped into place like a stone in his mind.
“And the woman who was helping him. What was her name?”
“I only know her first name: Ines.”