A Walk in the Dark by Gianrico Carofiglio Read Free Book Online Page A

civil action, I had the impression the official responsible for receiving documents looked at me in a strange way.
    As I left, I wondered if he had noticed which case I was bringing a civil action in, and if that was the reason he’d looked at me that way. I wondered if that particular clerk of the court had connections with Scianatico’s father, or with Delissanti. Then I told myself that maybe I was becoming paranoid and let it go.
    That afternoon, I had a call at the office from Delissanti. Now at least I knew I wasn’t becoming paranoid. The clerk of the court must have called him less than a minute after saying goodbye to me.
    Part of Delissanti’s professional success was based on his shrewd handling of relations with clerks of the court, assistants, bailiffs. Christmas and Easter presents for everyone. Special presents – sometimes very special, it was said in the corridors – for some people, where necessary.
    He didn’t waste time beating about the bush.
    “I hear you’re representing that Fumai girl in a civil action.”
    “News travels fast. I suppose you have a little bug in the clerk of the court’s office.”
    The clerk of the court was a small, thin man. But Delissanti didn’t catch the double meaning. Or if he did catch it, he didn’t think it was very witty.

    “Obviously you realize who the defendant is.”
    “Let me see . . . yes, Signor . . . no, Doctor Gianluca Scianatico, born in Bari . . .”
    I was annoyed by the phone call, and I wanted to provoke him. I succeeded.
    “Guerrieri, let’s not be childish. You know he’s Judge Scianatico’s son.”
    “Yes. I hope you didn’t phone me just to tell me that.”
    “No. I phoned to tell you you’re getting involved in something you don’t understand, something that’s going to cause a lot of trouble.”
    Silence at my end of the line. I wanted to see how far he would go.
    A few seconds passed, and he regained control. He probably thought it wasn’t the right time to say anything too compromising.
    “Listen, Guerrieri, I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. I’d just like to explain to you the spirit in which I’m phoning you.”
    All right, I thought. Explain it to me, fatso.
    “You know the Fumai girl is unbalanced, psychologically speaking, don’t you?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean exactly what I said. She’s someone who’s been in mental hospitals with serious problems. She’s someone who’s still in therapy, under psychiatric observation. That’s what I mean.”
    Now he was the one to enjoy a pause, and my silence this time was because I was stunned. When he thought maybe he’d waited long enough, he started speaking again. In the tone of someone who has the situation under control now.
    “In other words, we’d like to try to avoid situations we might come to regret. The girl isn’t well. She’s had serious problems. Young Scianatico was very stupid to
take her into his home, but then the relationship finished and the girl made up this whole incredible story. And that other woman, who’s a fanatical oldstyle feminist” – he meant Alessandra Mantovani – “has taken it as gospel truth. Obviously, I’ve talked to her, but it was no use; knowing her type I should have expected it.”
    I resisted the impulse to ask him what Martina’s psychiatric problems were. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
    “There’s no evidence against my client. Just her word, and you’ll soon realize what that’s worth in court. This case should never have come to trial. It should have been dismissed by now. So let’s avoid making waves, which would only be pointless and damaging. Look, Guerrieri, I’m not saying anything. Check it out yourself, get the information you need, and then tell me if I’m talking rubbish. Then we’ll have another word. You’ll end up thanking me.”
    He broke off, but resumed almost immediately, as if he’d just remembered something.
    “Oh, and don’t