we do not know. In any case the request is late, and in this respect also it must be rejected.”
“Does the civil party have any observations?” said the judge.
“We concur with the considerations put forward by the public prosecutor.”
“Your Honour,” I put in, “may I be permitted a brief objection to the observations made by the prosecution?”
“As you well know, Avvocato, objections are not admitted at this stage.”
“Your Honour…”
“Avvocato, not a word more. I repeat, not a word more.”
Thus saying, he rose to retire. One by one the members of the jury rose to follow him. The associate judge remained seated. I got the impression that he clenched his teeth for a moment. Then he too got up and was the last to leave the courtroom.
The wait was a long one. Usually decisions of that kind, regarding applications for additional evidence, are taken directly in the hearing, or after only a few minutes of consultation in camera. But not that day. The hours went by without anything happening. I chatted a bit with the clerk of the court, who told me he didn’t understand the reason for the delay. I told him that I didn’t either, but it wasn’t true. They were out that long because the court was in fact divided between those who had already decided to convict Abdou and those who wanted to understand things better. If the first lot won, and my application for the attachment of the phone records was rejected, I might as well save myself the trouble of disputing the case. Abdou was already done for. Only if the others won was our hat still in the ring.
From where he was in the cage, Abdou asked me what was going on and I lied to him, saying that the wait was perfectly normal.
I had an urge to call up Margherita, but I didn’t.
For no reason I could put my finger on, there came to mind an ancient Turkish proverb that goes more or less like this: “Before you fall in love, learn to walk on snow without leaving footprints.” Now why did that come to mind?
I felt terribly alone and, hell and dammit, I was on the verge of tears. After months, just then of all times, just there of all places.
No. Please, no!
I made for the courtroom door, just in case I should make a spectacle of myself, and anyway to have another cigarette. I had already put it to my lips when the providential ringing of the bell tore through my thoughts.
I returned to my place, put on my robe, and realized I still had the cigarette dangling from the corner of my mouth even when the court had filed back in and taken their seats and the judge was beginning to read the ruling.
I lowered my eyes to my desk, half closing them, blurring the papers lying there. I listened.
“The Court of Assizes of Bari, pronouncing on the application for the taking of additional evidence put forward by the defence of the accused Abdou Thiam, observes as follows.
“The defence of the accused – in accordance with Article 507 of the code of criminal procedure – applies for the attachment of the mobile-telephone records relative to the telephone traffic of mobile number 0339-7134964 for the day of 5 August 1999, on the double presupposition that the necessity for the aforesaid attachment has emerged in the course of the proceedings (and in particular from the examination of the accused) and that in any case the above-mentioned attachment is absolutely necessary to the ascertainment of the truth.
“The public prosecutor objects, maintaining the non-relevance (or at any rate the absence of absolute necessity) and the tardiness of this request.
“In fact – as the public prosecutor observed – the application could well have been made at the time of the introductory exposition, because the elements to make it were at that stage already in the possession of the defence.
“Technically, therefore, the application is to be considered tardy.”
The judge paused, or so it seemed to me. I stayed stock still, eyes cast down, head bent. A moment or two later I realized I had been holding my breath.
“From another point of view, however…”
“From another point of view, however, we have to point out, in accordance with the judicial principles of the Court of Appeal, that the presiding judge is obliged not to neglect the fact that the primary purpose of a criminal trial cannot be other than to search for the truth. Within this perspective we cannot accept methods or decisions which unreasonably obstruct such ascertainment of the course of events as is required to arrive at a just decision.
“This said, we are bound to stress the fact that the evidence requested is to be considered as potentially decisive. From the attachment of the mobile-telephone records there could in fact emerge a real and proper alibi, in the case of the accused being located in a place incompatible with the hypothesis of his responsibility for the facts set down in the indictment.
“For these motives the Court of Assizes of Bari orders the attachment of the mobile-telephone records relative to the telephone traffic of subscriber number 0339-7134964 for the day of 5 August 1999 from 06.00 to 24.00 hours.
“It furthermore orders the presence of the officer responsible for Telecom (Bari Branch), or another employee of the company expressly empowered, to explain the precise meaning of the records before the court.
“It charges the criminal police with the execution of this order within five days.
“It postpones the taking of evidence and the closing argument until the hearing of 3 July.
“The court is dismissed.”
When I reopened my eyes and looked up, the court had already left.
One week and it would all be over. One way or another.
34
During that week there were some strangely normal days. I worked as normal, attended my normal hearings, received clients, pocketed a few fees – which was all to the good – and so on and so forth.
I didn’t concern myself with Abdou’s trial. I had to wait for the mobile-phone records to arrive anyway, because on the result of that inquiry depended the line I would take in my final speech. Until then it was pointless to re-read documents or prepare for the closing argument.
On Thursday afternoon Margherita called me on my mobile. I had heard nothing from her since the message on Sunday evening. I hadn’t called her, or tried her on the intercom. I don’t know why. Something had held me back.
Would I care to go out for a drink after supper? Yes, I would. Should I buzz her from down below or knock at her door? Ah, she was going out earlier and could we meet up somewhere, fairly late on. How would Via Venezia suit me? In front of the Fort at about half-past ten? Fine by me. See you later, then.
Her tone of voice was a little puzzling, and worried me slightly.
From that moment on, the afternoon dragged by. My thoughts wandered and I kept looking at my watch.
I left the office at about eight, went home, had a shower and change of clothes, and started off long before the appointed hour. I whiled away the time in one way or another, and headed towards the Fort at about ten.
I walked up the slope of Via Venezia, crowded as it always was at that hour in summertime.
Mostly with groups of youngsters. They exuded a mixture of deodorant, sun cream and mint-flavoured chewing gum. A few bronzed fifty-year-olds with twenty-year-old girls in clouds of perfume. Very few of my age. I wondered why, just to give my mind something to toy with.
I reached the Fort at least ten minutes early, but I felt better simply because time had passed. I leaned my back against a wall and lit a cigarette, waiting.
She arrived at about twenty to eleven.
“So sorry. It’s been a rough day. In a rough week. And that’s only to mention this week.”
