BELLA MAFIA (31 page)
Authors: Lynda La Plante
Luka sat down in his seat, paying no attention to the proceedings, sizing up the best possible position for the next day. He noticed the elderly woman dressed all in black and concentrated on her for a few moments, then let his eyes drift down the aisle. The end seat, that was the best one. He spent the rest of the afternoon deciding exactly what weapon he would need and how to get it into court. He had no further conversation with the man next to him.
Graziella did not have to wait in line; her seat was reserved. She had sat in the same seat since the opening of the trial and continued to pay highly for the privilege.
She was holding a crucifix. Her hands rested on her handbag, in which she had brought a large stone. The guard had not searched it.
She twisted her crucifix, her eyes constantly straying to the hunched figure of Carolla. She found a strange satisfaction in knowing there was so little time left; she would kill him the next morning.
Pirelli had received a fax from the States. Paul Carolla had married one Eva Gamberno in New York on April 19, 1955, but there was no record of a child. Eva Carolla had died in May 1959, yet the prison records stated that Paul's son Giorgio Carolla had visited him in January and in February 1987. The records stated that he had produced a passport for identification, but it did not give its number.
Pirelli's second fax drew a blank; there was no record of Giorgio Carolla's existence; he was not an American citizen. The third yielded a glimmer of light; Eva Carolla was buried in Sicily. Pirelli consulted the records for 1959.
Sure enough, there was Carolla's wife. But there was still no record of a child. So who had visited Paul Carolla, using a false passport? Who had received the order from Paul Carolla to murder the Paluso child?
Pirelli demanded another meeting with Carolla, only to be told by his chief that Carolla would be on the stand for the entire day and probably the following day, too. His evenings were taken up with his lawyers, that was his right, and unless Pirelli had some new evidence involving Carolla directly, he would not be given permission to question him.
Pirelli snapped that he had evidence that someone had used a false passport to gain access to Carolla just two days before the Paluso child was killed. He had to know who that someone was. He presented his proof that Giorgio Carolla did not exist. He was finally granted leave to see Carolla after the court session the next day.
Disgruntled, he returned to his office to find his assistant sitting in his chair again. But this time he did not jump up; he held out a piece of paper.
"Have a look at this. It's unbelievable. I was in C-four when it came through; that's how we got the copy. It's a ballistics report. You know the Luciano children were shot, two of them. . . . Look at the description of the bullets."
Pirelli snatched the paper; his eyes flew over the page; then he let it drop. "Holy shit, what the fuck is going on in this place? Who's on the Luciano case?"
Detective Sergeant Francesco Ancora looked up from the latest football results when Pirelli walked in, waving the ballistics report.
"Have
you seen this? The same gun that killed the Paluso kid was used on the Luciano children."
Ancora laid the paper down carefully. "They
think
it was; it's not a hundred percent. They're still doing tests; they got only fragments from your boy."
Pirelli snorted. "Fuck that, look at the similarities, the grooves. You got the blowup photos?"
Ancora tossed him a folder and watched as Pirelli read the reports and checked the photographs of the minute chips of the bullets.
"Why weren't these sent to me earlier? How long have you had them?"
"They came in yesterday. They're still working on it. They figure the bullets were customized with a diamond drill, probably a dentist's. Holes are bored in the tops to make them explode on entry. All they've got is one millimeter from—""How much do you want, for chrissakes? A flag flying over your head? I don't believe this. . . ."
"Got a suspect?"
Pirelli tossed the file back on the desk. "I'm not sure, not a hundred percent. When I am, I'll let you know."
The glass in the door threatened to crack as he slammed it behind him. Ancora leaped from his seat and yanked the door open.
"Pirelli, hey, Pirelli! I don't like your attitude. You got a problem, you know that? I'm working my butt off."
Pirelli kept walking but called out, "Yeah, it looks like it, your ass is hanging over your chair."
He entered his office, and the door banged behind him.
Dante's heart pounded. He hadn't heard Luka enter his office. "You move like a cat."
Luka smiled, liking the description, and sat down in his usual place on the edge of the desk.
"I'm gonna do the hit tomorrow. Main problem is getting the gun into the courthouse, but I think I've found a way around it. That is, if you can get me what I want."
Dante spread his fat hands. "You name it, I got contacts. Just tell me what you need."
Luka beamed. "This is it. . . ."
Dante stared at the single sheet of paper, then looked up. "How the fuck am I gonna get hold of that?"
Luka smirked. "There's one in the museum, and there's one in a case at the Villa Palagonia. I've seen it on display. It'll need a lot of adjustments, but we've got all night."
The Villa Palagonia was an outrageous Gothic house on the outskirts of Palermo. It had been built by an eccentric, deformed nobleman, and the high walls were topped by strange dwarflike figures in stone, standing like sentries.
Luka pointed up to one of the figures. "That remind you of someone?"
Dante shrugged, more intent on listening to one of the tourist guides, who was explaining to Dante's man, Dario Biaze, that no one was allowed in; viewing times were four and six, the villa was closed.
"The statue looks like my father," Luka laughed.
Dario Biaze returned to the car, bending to talk to Dante. "Place is shut up, there're alarms, but give it a couple of hours, and we can get in. . . ."
Luka settled back in the seat and closed his eyes. "Well, I guess we just wait. Drive around, don't want the guide getting suspicious." As the car passed the villa, one of the stone dwarfs seemed to leer down at them. It did, as Luka said, resemble Paul Carolla.
Teresa let the curtain fall back into place. "Here's Mama now. I can see the Rolls coming down the hill."
Sophia took a cigarette from a solid gold case and lit it with a gold Dunhill lighter. Her movements were unhurried and casual, yet she chain-smoked, stubbing out each cigarette only halfway through.
"Can I get anyone a drink?"
Teresa looked at her watch. It was not five o'clock, and she murmured that it was too early for her.
"Do you want anything, Rosa?"
Rosa shook her head and continued finishing
The New York Times
crossword puzzle. Her legs were crossed, and her right foot tapped annoyingly against the chair. She was wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers.
Sophia rose from the sofa and stretched, catlike, yawning, then walked across to pull the bell beside the door. She rang, leaned against the door, and turned her attention to Rosa.
"How's college, Rosa?"
"I left. . . . What's five letters, 'Almost with warmth but no affection'?"
Teresa stood up. "Tepid . . ." She couldn't bear to look at her daughter. The new haircut had caused considerable interest, if not amazement.
There was a bang and a sound of scraping metal outside. Teresa looked through the curtains again. "My God, the car's hit the gatepost—I don't believe it, Graziella is driving. She's driving the car."
Sophia smiled. "You'd better believe it, and never accept a lift. You should see what she's done to the armored Mercedes."
"Why isn't there a driver? There's not even a man at the gate, and it's obvious no one's been tending the garden. The pool's covered by millions of wasps. It's disgraceful. How could she let the place go?"
They heard Adina opening the front door, the two sets of footsteps on the marble floor.
The three women looked expectantly at the double doors. They heard Graziella's voice, then footsteps going up the stairs.
Sophia went into the hall to call after her mother-in-law. When she returned, she lit another cigarette.
"Mama's tired. She'll see us at dinner, eight o'clock. . . . And she would like us to dress."
"Who else is coming? Mario Domino, is he coming?"
"No, Teresa, he's dead. Didn't you know? He died a week or so ago."
Teresa took off her glasses. "Nobody told me. Why didn't Mama tell me?"
Sophia's head began to throb. "She didn't tell me either. Does it really matter?"
Teresa pursed her lips angrily. "Well, he was supposed to be seeing to Papa's will. I just thought I should have been informed."
"Well, now you are, and if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower."
Teresa watched as Sophia left the room. Rosa gave her mother a hooded look. "Why don't you take a rest, Mama? I'll be up in a minute."
Left alone, Rosa tried to concentrate on her crossword puzzle, but she wasn't that interested in it. She tossed the paper aside and looked over at the piano. It was strange to see it without any photographs on display. Suddenly she didn't like the feel of the room or being alone. She went upstairs.
Rosa looked at her mother. "Aunt Sophia's very noticeable, isn't she? I mean—I don't know what I mean, just that she's kind of magnetic."
"If you say so."
"Don't you think so?"
"I notice she isn't short of money. That diamond she's wearing must be worth thousands. . . ."
"You really don't like her, do you, Mama?"
"Not particularly. I don't think she'd put herself out for anyone. And I always felt there was more to her than she admitted. How come she knew about Domino and we didn't? Do you think she's been seeing Graziella and not letting on? You are her only grandchild. . . . Out of all of us, you are the only one who can carry on the line. If you were to have a son—"
Rosa snapped coldly, "I'm not likely to before dinner, Mama, so don't even think about it."
"Well, if you insist on wearing those awful jeans, you won't find anyone decent. Be a good girl and dress up tonight. Let Grandma see how pretty you are, will you?"
"God, you are so old-fashioned! But if it means we get more dough, I'll wear a lampshade on my head, okay?"
Teresa banged her pillow and turned her back on her daughter. Sometimes she could throttle her, she was so infuriating.
The lights in Carolla's cell were already out. The loss of his many privileges had continued, and it did not bode well. No matter how much money he offered, it was now refused. Did they all know something he didn't?
There was a loud banging on his cell door, and the peephole cover slid back. A guard peered through. "You've got an interview with Commissario Pirelli before court. Be dressed by seven."
Carolla hit the cell door with the flat of his hand. "I wanna talk to my lawyer. I won't talk to that bastard again unless my lawyer's with me. . . .
Hey, come back, scum."
He leaned his back against the door, thinking. He would have to make a statement before he saw Pirelli again. It was the only way out.
The table could easily seat fourteen, and the four places set at one end looked cluttered compared with the long stretch of starched white cloth at the other.
The table glittered as if for a banquet. The heavy silverware, each piece monogrammed with a large
L,
was highly polished, and the fine bone china dinner service, Graziella's wedding gift from her husband, shone as if it, too, had been polished. There were five cut crystal glasses grouped around each setting, and an eight-branch candelabrum in the center. Decanters of red and white wine were placed within reach.
The three women were waiting for Graziella to appear. Sophia wore a full-length black silk gown with long sleeves, the tight skirt and bodice beautifully tailored. Diamond earrings and a diamond ring were her only jewelry. Her hair was pulled back from her face into her usual severe knot. She looked stunningly beautiful; the black Valentino gown enhanced her creamy complexion and dark, slanting eyes.
Teresa had made a great effort, but her black crepe dress with a V neck was ill-fitting and old-fashioned. The long sleeves were too wide for her slim arms, and the whole dress seemed several sizes too large. She wore three rows of pearls and pearl stud earrings, and her hair was pinned up at the sides in combs.
Rosa wore a simple black dress in a shiny satin material. One glance told Sophia exactly where it had been bought. It was cheap, but somehow Rosa's prettiness made it acceptable. She wore no jewelry, and her hair, springing up in uneven tufts, made her seem much younger than her twenty years. Her eye makeup was unnecessarily heavy for her large brown eyes and emphasized the fact that she wore no foundation or lipstick.
Graziella entered like a duchess. Her weight loss made her appear taller, more austere, and reminded them of how beautiful she must have been in her youth. Adina seated her before the women could make up their minds whether or not to stand. The wine was poured, and Graziella lifted her glass in a toast.