Abdou’s interrogation by the public prosecutor was little less than catastrophic.
It had taken place at night, in the carabinieri station in Bari, with a defence lawyer appointed by the court.
The report was a summary, without recording or stenotyped record.
Two days after his arrest, the hearing took place before the magistrate in charge of preliminary investigations. Abdou had availed himself of the right not to reply.
Since then he had not been further interrogated.
I re-read the order for precautionary detention. I read the decision of the regional appeals court by which – rightly, in view of the evidence – Abdou’s appeal was rejected.
I read and re-read every single document.
The statements of the habitues of that beach who said they had often seen Abdou stop and talk to the child. The statements of the Senegalese who spoke about the car-washing and the other Senegalese who had said that he had not seen Abdou at the usual beach the day after the child’s disappearance.
The scene-of-the-crime report about the finding of the boy’s body. The report of the search of Abdou’s home and the list of books confiscated.
The report of the police doctor, which I leafed through swiftly, avoiding the photographs.
The upsetting, useless statements of the boy’s parents and grandparents.
On the Sunday evening my eyes were smarting and I left the flat. The mistral was blowing and it was cold.
That pitiless cold peculiar to March, which makes spring seem a long way off.
I had thought of taking a stroll, but I changed my mind, fetched the car and headed north along the old State Road No. 16.
Bruce Springsteen was booming from the loudspeakers and in my head as I drove through the coastal towns, all deserted and swept by the north-west wind.
I stopped in front of the cathedral in Trani, facing the sea. I lit a cigarette. The harmonica screeched in my ears and in my soul.
The terrible words were written especially for my desperate solitude.
At dawn I woke up shivering with cold, the taste of tobacco smoke in my mouth. My hand was still clutching the mobile, which I’d stared at interminably before falling asleep, thinking of calling Sara.
12
The code of criminal procedure requires that at least twenty days elapse between the announcement that inquiries have been concluded and the application for committal for trial. The public prosecutors nearly always take much longer. Months, sometimes.
Cervellati filed the request for committal on the twenty-first day. Obsessive punctuality was typical of him. You could accuse him of practically everything, but not of letting documents stack up on his desk.
The preliminary hearing was fixed for early May. The judge was Ms Carenza, and all in all it could have been worse.
Among us defence lawyers La Carenza was considered one of the good ones. The shortened procedure became an increasingly interesting possibility. Abdou really did have a chance of getting off with twenty years.
In about 2010, with good conduct, he would be out on parole.
While I was having these thoughts, still holding the note with the date of the hearing, I had an uneasy feeling.