A Fine Line Page 17

  The prosecutor informed the court that Marelli, whose illness had been the reason for this hearing being requested in the first place, had died the previous Sunday.

  I know it was a stupid thought, or rather, a vulgar and even rather horrible one, but I couldn’t help it: Salvagno’s practice, where Marelli had worked up until a few months earlier, must have been jinxed. I felt a little ashamed and forced myself to follow what was happening in the courtroom. The judge was speaking.

  “We take note of this. In that case, I think we should proceed with the examination of the witness Capodacqua, who I believe is present in a safe location—”

  The prosecutor broke in before she could finish the sentence. “Your honour, before proceeding with the examination of Capodacqua, I have a request to make.”

  The judge made a slight, almost imperceptible gesture of irritation. “Go on.”

  “As I have just informed the court, Signor Marelli died two days ago. The death occurred after this pretrial hearing had already been granted, having been requested in a timely manner by my office. Given that the examination of Marelli’s testimony will no longer be possible, I ask that the statements made to my office by the said Marelli during the preliminary investigations be declared usable for the purposes of this hearing and admitted in evidence.”

  “Are there any observations by the defence?” the judge said, addressing me and Lopedote’s deputy, whose name I hadn’t caught. She spoke with her head bent over the sheets of paper she had in front of her. The other lawyer said no, thank you, he had no observations. I said yes, thank you, I had a few observations.

  “First of all, let me say, in a few words, what I’m not going to talk about. I’m not going to talk about the timeliness or otherwise of the petition for a pretrial hearing, because I don’t have sufficient elements at the moment to do so. Only some of the papers have been filed along with the petition, and in any case I don’t consider that this is the right time and place. I’m sure that in the trial phase, we will be able to evaluate if Marelli’s serious medical condition had already been known about for some time and if therefore the prosecutor had for some time been able to foresee that the testimony would be unrepeatable and had delayed formulating a request for a pretrial hearing. Because if that should emerge, it would be necessary to exclude the applicability of article 512 of the code of procedure, in other words, the possibility of reading the transcripts of statements made by Marelli. But I repeat: that’s a subject that will have to be confronted in any possible future trial. The purpose of today’s hearing, a typical pretrial procedure, is simply to bring forward if possible the examination of the witnesses, not to bring forward the trial and all the questions of admissibility that will characterize it. I will take the liberty of reminding you that article 512 concerns the reading of the statement whose repetition has become impossible, not the admission of the corresponding transcripts as evidence. The decision on this point rests solely with the trial judge. I ask therefore that the prosecutor’s request be denied. Or rather, to be more precise – this not being the place to tackle the point – I ask that said request be met with a declaration that there is no need to give a decision.”

  “Does the prosecutor wish to add anything?”

  Greco leaped impatiently to her feet. From the expression of those not very reassuring eyes, even before she said anything, it was clear that she hadn’t liked my argument.

  “Your Honour, the matter is very simple, despite the attempt by the defence to make it pointlessly complicated. This hearing is an anticipation of the trial. It was expected that the aforesaid Marelli would be examined today. This examination is no longer possible because the individual concerned has died. Therefore it is necessary to admit Marelli’s statements into the case file of this hearing, which will then become part of the case file of the trial, in accordance with article 512 of the code of procedure. I repeat my request.”

  The judge looked at her and then me for a few seconds, still in the same way, with her eyes raised but her head bent over her papers. Finally, she straightened up and dictated her ruling.

  “The judge, having heard both parties on the question of the admission, according to article 512 of the code of criminal procedure, of the transcripts of statements made by Nicola Marelli, and having noted that this is not the place for presenting such a request, being a judicial matter that strictly belongs to the trial judge to resolve, for these reasons declares that there is no decision to be made and asks that we proceed. Let us move on to the examination of the witness, if we can make the connection.”

  The monitor – not exactly a state-of-the-art piece of equipment – emitted a crackle, and the washed-out image of a room all in shades of grey appeared. It looked like a black-and-white Bulgarian TV programme from the Sixties. Not that I’ve ever watched Bulgarian TV, either in the Sixties or more recently, that’s just to give an idea.

  The scene was being captured from a high angle, the camera having been placed about two metres from the floor. A man with not very much hair was sitting at a desk with his back to the camera, slightly stooped. On the right, another man, in profile. The one with his back to the camera was Capodacqua, the one in profile the clerk of the court.

  “Can you hear us?” the judge asked, speaking into the microphone.

  “Affirmative, Your Honour. We can hear you and see you in our monitor.”

  “Can you tell us who you are?”

  “I am Clerk of the Court Baldi.”

  “Can you attest the particulars of the person who is with you?”

  The clerk of the court read Capodacqua’s particulars and confirmed that it was indeed him. The scene, as I’d felt before in similar cases, struck me as taking place in a parallel, unreal dimension.

  “Can you confirm that all precautions have been taken to ensure the correct functioning of the remote examination?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Signor Capodacqua, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Your Honour. Good morning.”

  “Do you have a lawyer, Signor Capodacqua?”

  “Avvocato Carrozza…”

  “Who isn’t present today, and has been replaced by Avvocato… I’m sorry, Avvocato, can you repeat your name?”

  “Florio, Your Honour.”

  “Avvocato Florio is here, deputizing for Avvocato Carrozza. Do you have any objections?”

  “No, no. It’s fine, Avvocato Carrozza already told me.”

  “Then we may begin.”

  I stood up before she could give the floor to the prosecutor. She looked at me with a questioning and slightly frosty expression. She had already conceded one point to me, that look said, but that didn’t mean I should abuse her patience.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Honour, I’d like to make a suggestion to simplify the hearing.”

  “Go on, Avvocato.”

  “I declare my willingness to admit in evidence all the transcripts of statements made by Signor Capodacqua during the preliminary investigations. I still have to proceed with the cross-examination, but I think that in this way, if the prosecutor agrees, the hearing could be speeded up.”

  “What do the prosecutor and Ladisa’s counsel have to say?”

  Lopedote’s substitute, after exchanging a glance with me, said he had no objection. Greco appeared taken by surprise: she hadn’t been expecting such a request – just as she hadn’t expected my previous objection. She leafed through the case file she had in front of her, just to gain a few seconds, though less excitably than before.

  “No, Your Honour, I have no objections to the admission proposed by counsel for the defence. But I still wish to examine Signor Capodacqua, because there are some points I need to clarify with him.”

  “Then let’s admit those transcripts and the prosecutor may proceed.”

  In actual fact, there weren’t many points to clarify, and most of those were of little importance. Everything Capodacqua had to say, from the point of view of the prosecution, he had already
said during the preliminary investigations. Once it was over, the judge gave me the floor.

  “Go ahead, Avvocato…”

  “Guerrieri, Your Honour.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. Avvocato Guerrieri, proceed with your cross-examination.”

  “Good morning, Signor Capodacqua, I’m Avvocato Guerrieri, representing Judge Larocca.”

  “Good morning, Avvocato.”

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions. If they aren’t clear, don’t hesitate to tell me, and I’ll rephrase them.”

  “All right.”

  “So, Signor Capodacqua, you have stated that your friend Ladisa told you he had in his pocket—”

  “At his disposal. He said at his disposal.”

  “Right, I’m sorry. You said that Ladisa told you that he had members of the state police, carabinieri and even judges at his disposal. Did he also mention the customs police?”

  He hesitated for a few moments. “Maybe, yes. I don’t remember if he said anything about the customs police.”

  “Do you remember his exact words?”

  “The thing is, he didn’t just say it once. He was always boasting that he had cops – excuse the term – and judges at his disposal.”

  “Do you remember the first time he said this, that he expressed this concept?”

  “No, Avvocato, how could I?”

  “You don’t remember the first time he said this. You told the prosecutor about a dinner at which Ladisa told you—”

  “Yes, a dinner at Il Pescatore.”

  “I’d be grateful to you, if only to make the work of the stenographers a little easier, if you gave me the chance to finish my questions.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “As I was saying, you told the prosecutor about a dinner at a restaurant called Il Pescatore, in the course of which Ladisa told you about a presumed episode of corruption involving Judge Larocca. Before that dinner, though, he had already told you about these police officers and judges at his disposal. Is that correct?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Can you remember any specific occasion on which, before that dinner, Ladisa told you this? In other words, the fact that he had judges at his disposal ?”

  “He talked about it… he talked about it lots of times—”

  “I repeat, can you remember a specific occasion on which, before that dinner, Ladisa told you that particular thing?”

  “It must have been at another dinner. Like I said, we often went to dinner together.”

  “You’re an intelligent man, Signor Capodacqua. So you understand perfectly well that saying ‘it must have been’ isn’t a factual reply. It’s a hypothesis. Correct me if I haven’t understood: you are unable to indicate a specific occasion, previous to that dinner, on which Ladisa spoke of his relations with members of the various law enforcement agencies and the bench?”

  Greco rose to her feet. “Objection, Your Honour. Counsel for the defence is arguing with the witness, but not asking any question.”

  I was about to reply but the judge stopped me with a gesture of her hand.

  “Counsel for the defence wants to know from the witness whether or not he is able to indicate a specific conversation on the subject of judges at his disposal prior to the dinner in that restaurant. That is certainly a question. Please reply, Signor Capodacqua.”

  He shook his head, or at least so it seemed from the blurred image on the screen. “No, I don’t really remember a particular time.”

  “Before that evening, had Ladisa ever talked to you about Judge Larocca?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “After that evening did he talk to you again about Judge Larocca?”

  “He dropped a few hints. He’d say things like: my friend, our friend.”

  “Can you tell us more precisely when – after the conversation at Il Pescatore – Ladisa spoke to you again, even if only in hints, about Judge Larocca?”

  Capodacqua had his back to the camera, but the gesture of impatience that preceded the answer was perceptible all the same. “Avvocato, if I’d known then that I was going to cooperate, I’d have kept a diary and written down all the things I was supposed to say. Oh, yes, I’d have kept a diary if I’d known that I was meant to cooperate.”

  “Please don’t become impatient, Signor Capodacqua.” Actually, I wanted him to get impatient and lower his guard a little. A good way to induce someone to do something is to tell him not to do it. “So you aren’t able to tell us on what occasions Ladisa again spoke about Larocca, if only in hints that you had to interpret. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Ladisa ever talk to you about other specific instances of corruption of public officials?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you tell us about them?”

  “Objection, Your Honour,” Greco said, with a hint of nervousness in her voice. “The question is irrelevant to the facts we are discussing and may damage the confidentiality of other proceedings.”

  “Sustained. Go on to another question, Avvocato.”

  I pretended to be upset and disappointed. “The question was formulated in order to evaluate the credibility of the witness according to article 194, paragraph 2 of the code of procedure, credibility we have reason to doubt. But of course I have no intention of questioning your decision, Your Honour. I’ll move on to another subject. Signor Capodacqua, is it correct to say that in the criminal circles in which you have moved, people often have nicknames?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you have a nickname, for example?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was it?”

  “Molletta.”

  “Can you tell us what that means?”

  “A molletta is a knife… The kind where you press a button…”

  “You mean a flick knife?”

  “Yes, that’s it, a flick knife.”

  “Why did they call you Molletta?”

  “They didn’t exactly call me Molletta. I mean, they didn’t say, ‘Hey, Molletta’. I mean, they did when I was a boy, but not after that. Let’s say that when I wasn’t there—”

  “You mean they didn’t use the nickname Molletta to address you, but they used it to talk about you in your absence.”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Now that that’s clear, can you tell us where the nickname comes from?”

  “It was because when I was a boy I already carried a knife – a flick knife – and once I stabbed an older boy, because he gave me a slap. I took out the flick knife and stabbed him, and after that they called me Molletta.”

  “I see, that’s very clear. Thank you. Can you tell us some of the nicknames of people in your circles?”

  “There are so many…”

  “Tell us a few, just to give us an idea.”

  “For instance, there was someone they called Cedrata because whenever he went to a bar he always ordered a cedrata, a citron juice. Then there was another guy who was called The Tramp…”

  “Why did they call him The Tramp?”

  “They called him that because… no offence meant, but he was stingy. He never stood a round, he was always careful with his money, even though he had plenty.”

  “And tell me, Signor Capodacqua, does Ladisa have a nickname?”

  “Yes, but it’s a nickname nobody ever uses to his face.”

  “Let’s take things one at a time. First tell us, what is the nickname, then explain it to us.”

  “They call him Il Flippato.”

  “Can you explain to Her Honour, who isn’t from Bari, what Il Flippato means?”

  “It means someone… how can I explain this?… someone who’s a little bit off his head. Someone who you don’t know how he’s going to react…”

  “You mean: a bit unpredictable?”

  “That’s it, yes.”

  “Can you tell us the reason for this nickname?”

  “For that very reason, because he was… because he says one thing and does
another… It’s hard to explain the dialect.”

  “Of course, I understand. Let’s say he showed a certain inconsistency. I’ve found a vocabulary of expressions from Bari dialect, complete with definitions. To help you, I’d like to read you the one corresponding to flippato.”

  I took the printout I’d made of that vocabulary page and looked at it for a few moments. I remembered the definition by heart, but in these cases reading has a different effect. It makes it sound more official, even if what you’re reading comes from a silly website about life in Bari. And anyway, the definition I had found was philologically impeccable.

  “So, ‘Flippato: scatterbrained by nature or through the consumption of drugs, unreliable, weak in the head.’ Do you agree with this definition?”

  At this point the prosecutor objected. I couldn’t blame her.

  “Objection, Your Honour. We’ve allowed the defence to continue for a while along this line of dubious relevance – nicknames and etymologies, so to speak – but now he’s overstepped the mark. The question aims to elicit a personal opinion from the witness and is therefore inadmissible.”

  The judge turned to me after looking for a few fractions of a second more than necessary at the prosecutor.

  “Your Honour, I have no intention of arguing with the prosecutor, but I have to say that the objection strikes me as quite unfounded. As for the admissibility: the aim of the question is to establish if that definition of the word corresponds to the meaning attributed to such an expression in the social and political context to which Capodacqua belongs. It’s obvious therefore that in this particular case the witness is not being asked for a personal opinion – which is forbidden by the final paragraph of article 194 of the code of procedure – but a semantic fact, if you’ll allow me the expression. The same article 194, as it happens, specifies that the prohibition of personal opinions is reduced when it is impossible to distinguish them from statements of fact. The fact is: Ladisa was nicknamed Il Flippato, a word of which you can’t possibly know the meaning. It belongs to the dialect of Bari, which for these purposes should be considered a foreign language. In order to convey this expression into the material usable in the trial, it is necessary to – how shall I put this? – translate it, and in particular to translate it into its generally accepted meaning in the context from which the witness comes. The most obvious way to do this is to ask the witness, and, for greater clarity, to consult a text that enunciates with perhaps superior precision – begging Signor Capodacqua’s pardon – that meaning in its diverse facets. As for the relevance—”