Chapter Twenty-One #2
She laughed uncomfortably, then continued.
“It wasn’t easy to grow up in that place, you know?
When you don’t have much, kindness doesn’t come easily, does it?
And I was an ugly little girl. Chubby. Nearsighted.
Ines was friendly—she pulled me in, fed me, asked questions.
Made me feel special, you know? Her husband died right after Gaetano was born.
I was thirteen…and I started helping out. ”
“Did she pay you to watch Gaetano?”
Ravenna shook her head. “She didn’t have money…none of us did!”
“Besides babysitting Gaetano, did she ever ask you to do other types of work?”
“No.”
“Did she ever talk about the work she did for Luca Errichiello or Paride Silvestri?”
She shook her head.
“I didn’t know about Silvestri,” she said.
“And Errichiello?”
“She talked about him all the time: what a great man he was. I honestly didn’t know…the things you say he did.”
“Errichiello said she was his housekeeper. Does this seem right to you?”
Ravenna’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve seen her home. Does she look like a woman who knows how to clean?”
Ravenna pulled her hand back. “She’s sick, Valerio! Have a little compassion.”
Valerio nodded. “But she wasn’t always sick. Did she ever clean? Alright…I’ll ask another way. What did she wear when she would go to work for him?”
Ravenna seemed to think.
“She was always a beautiful woman. Slender. Long hair. Men liked her. She dressed nicely.” She paused, then stared intently at Valerio. “You aren’t saying she was a prostitute?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t think that.”
Valerio realized he was reluctant to tell Ravenna what he’d learned. Telling her would change things. And he didn’t want things changed. Not yet.
He’d spent his life peering into dark places, digging through the sewers of human nature.
He was never surprised to find filth—disappointed, but never surprised.
But Ravenna, with her cheery disposition, seemed determined to look for the best in people.
She’d worked her way out of the slums of Forcella to create a better life, yet returned regularly to minister to a sick old neighbor.
He wished he could shield her from what he suspected.
Better to keep your illusions and live with whatever peace you’d achieved than to know that every truth you treasured had turned to shit.
The pizzas arrived.
“Let’s set this aside,” he said. “We’ll talk about it after lunch. Buon appetito!”
They ate, and Ravenna chatted amiably about her work. Valerio listened with real interest. He wished this could just be a nice meal where they talked about themselves, or made plans for the weekend together. He would ask to take her sailing on Calypso when things calmed down.
—
At last, it could be delayed no longer. With the pizza sitting like a rock in his gut, he gave Ravenna a summary of what Beppe had said—and then played segments of the recording he’d made of Maria’s confession.
When it was finished, Ravenna sat in stunned silence.
“Those poor girls,” she said.
Her hand shook a little as she lifted her glass of water.
“Did you ever hear anything about this?” he asked. “Did Ines ever invite you to Errichiello’s or Silvestri’s house?”
“No! I mean, there were always disgusting old men who wanted to look at you…or do things. That’s life…that’s just what happens. But Ines would never do that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course!” she insisted. “It must be someone else.”
“Would you come with me to ask her?”
—
Valerio smelled the cats as they approached the entrance of Ines’s apartment. Ravenna turned the key, and pushed the door. An overwhelming stink wafted out, and two cats streaked past them onto the concrete landing, racing down the stairs.
“It’s me,” Ravenna called out.
A moan came from within, and a weak voice. “Ravenna! Sweet girl. Oh, help me!”
—
The house was just as disordered as before, Ines’s armchair a throne in a kingdom of clutter.
Ravenna busied herself opening windows and shutters, letting in grey light and fresh air, city sounds, and a view of the chipped paint and plaster of the building across the alley.
Ines limped towards a window, dragging the cart with her oxygen tank behind her, her skeletal frame silhouetted against the light through her thin nightdress. She lit a cigarette.
“It’s dangerous to smoke with your oxygen,” Valerio warned.
She gave a baleful stare and sucked her cigarette, leaving lipstick marks on the filter.
“My son is dead,” she wheezed. “Tell me what I have to live for now. He was my only child!”
She began to sob. A dry, hoarse sound. Her body curved around it. Ravenna gently took the cigarette from her fingers, putting it out in an ashtray.
“Sit down,” she urged, helping the frail woman back to her chair.
At Ravenna’s instruction, Valerio cleared the seat—picking up a thick photo album. Ravenna tucked Ines in, and he opened the book, glancing through the pictures of Gaetano as a child.
He was suddenly full of the pizza, and sick with pity and the stench of the room. His stomach wrenched.
“Ravenna tells me Gaetano had a good heart,” he said, handing her the album. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“You can’t possibly understand my loss,” she moaned. “Only a mother whose heart is broken like mine.”
Valerio still saw the juddering form of the boy as the bullets tore into him.
“I want to find and punish whoever was responsible for Gaetano’s death,” he said. “Will you answer my questions?”
“What questions could you possibly have?” she keened.
“I need you to tell me what you do for Paride Silvestri.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped with a sudden appraising look.
Valerio opened his phone, and showed the picture of Ines and Silvestri together.
She examined it for a moment, then exhaled and shrugged. “He’s a friend of the family.”
“You weren’t working for him?”
“As you’ve already pointed out, I work for Luca Errichiello.”
“You didn’t arrange for Gaetano to work for Silvestri?”
“No!”
“You weren’t grooming little girls?” Valerio said. “Serving them to Silvestri?”
She stared, her eyes narrowing. “How can you torment me at a time like this?”
Her hands reached into the air as she spoke, as if she wanted to grab onto him. The book slid to the floor, spilling papers and pictures.
“Capo,” Ravenna said, rushing in to tidy up, “that’s enough.”
But Valerio was watching Ines as carefully as she watched him.
He knew what it was when a woman lied to him.
He’d grown up with two sisters whose deceptions he readily detected, and an ex-wife whose lies had taken longer to spot.
Ravenna might be blind to whatever Ines was hiding, but he didn’t have time to play these games.
Without asking for permission, he strode from the room, and into the dark apartment.
“Where are you going?” Ines shouted after him. “You can’t go there. Stop!”
Ravenna caught up to him as he opened doors in a back hallway where he found more clutter, and a box of cat litter, brimming with shit.
Three cats came from the bedroom as he switched on the lights.
“What are you doing?” Ravenna protested. “You can’t invade her privacy!”
This room was tidier than the rest of the house, the mess stacked into piles along the walls.
The bed was lavish and oversize—the headboard carved and gilded wood. A fat ginger cat curled atop a baby-blue satin coverlet.
On the dresser sat an open jewelry box—overflowing with gold bangles and necklaces and rings.
A dozen framed photographs displayed a well-dressed Ines Mancusi at parties throughout the years—each with a different celebrity.
There were also several images with the tanned and smiling Paride Silvestri, his arm draped across her shoulders, looking directly into the camera while Ines laughed.
As Ravenna examined the photos, Valerio moved to the wardrobe. Inside were designer dresses—labels of Prada and Ferragamo and Hermès. Many had clearly never been worn.
He turned his attention next to a mountain of boxes stacked to the ceiling. One box revealed a 950-euro pair of heels, the price tag still visible. The next, a 1,300-euro pair of boots. Another, a Gucci handbag.
“Look at this,” Ravenna said, holding up one of the pictures. It showed Ines and Silvestri with three girls in skimpy dresses and heels, heavy eyeliner and bright lipstick—none of which could camouflage the full cheeks and knobby knees of youth.
“But I don’t understand,” she said. “If what you’re saying is true…she never did anything to me.”
“Didn’t she?” Valerio said, staring at the woman who had spent her childhood so desperate for attention and care that she’d been manipulated into raising another woman’s child without a penny of payment or word of thanks.
Meanwhile, Ines Mancusi hoarded blood money and fed her own vanity.
That Ravenna had escaped the fate of those other girls was only due to the separate purpose she served the grotesque witch.
Gripping the picture to her chest, Ravenna marched from the room.
She was trembling and pale as she held the photo in front of Ines.
“How old were these girls?” she demanded.
Ines hunched in her chair, waving a hand as if shooing it away. “It isn’t what you think. It isn’t what he said.”
“I heard it for myself,” said Ravenna. “You brought girls to Silvestri…and other men.”
Ines fumbled for her cigarettes and struggled to light one. She took a couple of puffs, her head turned away from Ravenna and the photo.
“What future did they have here?” she said at last. “What future did any of you have here? At least I gave them a chance.”
Ravenna’s lips were rimmed in white, her eyes wide.
“A chance at what?” she demanded. “Exploitation? Rape?”