The Namesake Page 37

  Twenty minutes into the taxi journey, Massimiliani called with news that was good when she looked at it one way, ominous when she looked at it another.

  ‘We found a vehicle belonging to Pietro Megale. The call you got came from his phone. I am assuming there is no connection between you and him beyond this call?’

  ‘You assume right. Blume has his phone. That means he is dead.’

  ‘Blume’s dead?’

  ‘No!’ shouted Caterina. ‘Pietro is dead. If he’s missing and Blume has his phone, he’s either dead or incapacitated. Blume is strong. But now he needs our help.’

  Caterina realized the taxi driver had heard every single word; she didn’t care. She looked at her watch. Seven o’clock. It would be dark when she got there, wherever ‘there’ was.

  The taxi driver’s sense of timing was spot on. The sun was dipping below the mountains, a perfect orange disc and soft on the eyes as they climbed the curving road to Ardore. Massimiliani had asked her to call as she arrived, and she did. He told her to have the taxi leave her in the main square, where a squad car would be waiting for her. It wouldn’t do to have a taxi drive all the way to the scene.

  The taxi driver looked at her askance when she produced a Bancomat card.

  ‘What, you don’t have one of those swipe machines?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure I do.’ He pulled one out of the glove compartment, switched it on. ‘It takes time to boot up, find a phone signal, especially out here. Are you sure you don’t have cash? It would be much faster.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Caterina.

  ‘That police car is waiting for you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Always with the flashing lights. Maybe if you police turned off the flashing lights, you’d catch someone unawares someday, but no, the lights have to be flashing. Sirens, too, blaring away in the night when the only things that’ll be listening are children trying to sleep and the only things on the roads have four legs . . . there we go, we’re online now. How much shall I put in for the tip?’

  The police car swept down the hill, siren blaring, then took a series of bumpy roads and tracks. The driver did not turn off the siren until they left the road for a field. He remained grimly silent and concentrated even as the vehicle dipped and shuddered across a rough field, tossing them up and down uncontrollably in their seats like two children in a bouncy castle.

  Parked by a thicket of myrtle bushes were three other police vehicles, one of which was a van, all of them with their lights flashing.

  ‘Is that all?’ said Caterina.

  The policeman shrugged.

  They parked and Caterina had to hurry the policeman who was supposed to be accompanying her to wherever they were going. She saw no sign of generators or arc lights. The writing on the side of the van said Squadra Cinofilo. The dog handlers were here.

  Locri

  When Ruggiero came downstairs, showered and in fresh clothes, Zia Rosa was in the kitchen. The familiar folds and lines in her face seemed to have been drawn taut as if the white skull beneath was straining to get out. He had had no idea she would be here. She and his mother had not been talking, so he had not heard their voices. Nor had anyone been crying. Only now did he remember hearing whispering and murmurs too tense and disjointed for it to be his mother talking to Roberto. He had walked into the kitchen without thinking, and when he saw his aunt there, sitting in the same chair where his father had been a few hours earlier, he recognized this meeting was inevitable and he had been childish not to anticipate it.

  His mother looked startled to see him there, as if a stranger had just walked into the room.

  ‘Zia Rosa,’ said Ruggiero, his voice full of pleasant surprise. He went over to the kitchen sink, and filled a glass of water and drank it down, making an appreciative and slightly jocular ‘ah’ as he drained the glass, then filled up another, annoyed to see his hand was trembling. He let the water run, rinsing out the glass several times before turning off the tap, and taking another drink of water, more slowly this time. He reached out and touched his mother’s elbow, and held it for a while.

  ‘Any news from Zio Pietro?’

  No one answered.

  ‘We are all shocked at what happened to your brother-in-law. I’m sorry for your loss. Tony was a good man. We did not see enough of him in these parts. I am sure whoever did this . . .’

  ‘Where is Enrico?’ said Zia Rosa, her voice husky and harsh, almost a growl.

  ‘Enrico? You mean he hasn’t called? He must be . . . I don’t know, have you tried Basile’s bar? I was there today and they were saying that Enrico had been in. I thought he would be home by now. But I’ve been in for a while, you know, on PlayStation. So, I don’t know. He’s not really my responsibility. If he wants to disappear, have some time to himself after all that’s happened . . .’

  ‘Maria! Get out of the way. I want to see your son standing there.’

  His mother pulled her elbow away, and seemed to shudder as she did so.

  ‘Look at me, Ruggiero,’ ordered Zia Rosa. ‘Look into this face from which you have received thousands of kisses. Look at me.’

  Ruggiero raised his eyes, and looked at Zia Rosa, and allowed his feelings to drain out of him. He could feel the light go from his eyes as he stared at what was in effect nothing more than an ugly old woman, her skin like an uncooked chicken, her eyes full of despair turning to hate. If he concentrated on that alone, he could suspend all sympathy.

  ‘I have not seen Enrico,’ he repeated, using his standing position to try to stare her down. ‘I have not seen him. You cannot ask me if I have seen him.’

  The moaning sound that came from the old woman at the table seemed to fill the entire room. With a sudden scream, she leaped up and went for his face, clawing at him with her hands, slicing his lips and bloodying his gums with her nails, spitting, biting, pulling his hair and hurling maledictions into his face. She screamed curses against his health, his reason, his prick, balls, gut, the follicles in his head, the shit in his intestines, the ice in his blood; she invoked deformities and pain on his children and his children’s children, and called down every human and animal disease upon the whole Curmaci family. She begged God to blast him, men to rape him, burn him, scatter his parts, and she called upon the wind to sweep him away as if he had never been.

  He accepted all this, and even willed her to strike him harder, but she was too feeble. Across the table, his mother was weeping.

  Ardore

  Massimiliani was standing in a field of white flowers, three policemen wearing reflective jackets by his side.

  ‘We’re near, but there’s no sign of anyone,’ said Massimiliani. He looked at her again. ‘You’re different in person. I saw your file.’

  ‘What about a helicopter? Searchlights, a full team?’ she demanded.

  Massimiliani puffed out his cheeks. ‘We’re not looking for a missing child. And I’m not even in charge here. I am about to call in extra help, though.’

  Something nuzzled her knee, and she glanced down to see a white Labrador. The handler, dressed in blue fatigues, was grinning at her.

  ‘How many dogs are out here?’

  ‘Two,’ said the handler.

  ‘And this is one of them?’ she pointed to the Labrador, which was lolling in the grass and licking her shoes. ‘Why isn’t he helping?’

  ‘It’s a she,’ said the handler. ‘She’s not much use at this sort of thing.’

  Caterina pointed at an unleashed black dog walking slowly away from her across the field. ‘And that one?’

  ‘That’s a cadaver dog,’ said the handler, following her gaze. ‘It sniffs out, well, it’s self-explanatory.’

  ‘And the Labrador?’

  ‘She’s great with scent articles. You know, a piece of clothing or something worn by the victim.’

  ‘By the missing person,’ corrected Caterina.

  ‘Yeah, whatever. But there is nothing belonging to the victim for her to use . . . so.’ He shrug
ged.

  ‘Wait . . .’ Caterina pulled open her bag, and started fumbling around in it. ‘Did no one here think to bring a fucking torch?’

  ‘Use your mobile phone,’ said the handler helpfully.

  ‘This is a night-time search and no one . . . Hold on.’ She dropped to her knees and the Labrador raised its face and looked at her expectantly, then, out of sheer friendliness, gave her mouth a lick. Caterina cupped her hands and the dog stuck its nose into them.

  The handler caught the dog by the collar and dragged it away. ‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing? What are you giving her?’

  ‘It’s his watch. He only wore it for a short time, but – it might work, mightn’t it?’

  ‘A watch? That’s not ideal. What you really want is a piece of cloth. And if he only wore it . . .’

  ‘But he kept it in his pocket for months, used it like it was a pocket watch.’

  The handler dropped to his knees and ushered Caterina away. ‘OK, but I’ll do this. She’s still young and a bit stupid, but she’s good.’

  ‘It’s a full moon,’ said Massimiliani. She jumped, having forgotten about him, being completely focused on the handler and his stupid Labrador, who were now running back and forth through the flower stalks for all the world like they were playing a game.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Massimiliani, ‘here’s the torch you were looking for, though we hardly need it.’

  Caterina looked up at the moon. That was why she could see the Labrador and the handler so well.

  The Labrador barked and the handler cried out, ‘She’s got something.’

  Hadn’t he asked for a new moon, a dark night and stars? But the moon would do just fine. He couldn’t see it yet, but it was lighting the patch of sky he was watching. Soon he would have moonbeams for company. In the morning, he would think about ways of getting water out of the soil. Or he might crawl back into the hole.

  A shadow blocked out the view through the hole he had made, and Blume felt immeasurable sadness at the loss of sky. The shadow vanished, then suddenly popped back and poked a face in. An animal. A goat? It must be a goat.

  The goat barked. The sound was very loud as it echoed down the walls of his prison. It barked and barked and barked. The clamour was tremendous, overpowering. If he had any voice, he would have shouted back, and they would have created a feast of noise.

  The lid came off and a bright light shone straight down into his face. He gazed up at it, too lazy to blink. If it was Curmaci, or some other demon, the odds were not good.

  ‘Alec? Alec!’

  His throat and tongue were too swollen and dry for him to speak. There was the ladder, coming down from the sky. A second person was holding the light now. Ah, someone on the ladder now. He would have liked to stand up for the occasion, if only to check that it was real. The pain in his shoulder, the cramp in his legs were reassuring in this respect. Dreams tended to gloss over the body’s pains.

  A woman in blue was descending towards him, and Blume stared up at her beautiful smiling face, illuminated from above.

  ‘Let’s go home, Alec,’ she said.

  Glossary

  AISI

  Agenzia Informazioni e Sicurezza Interna is the ‘Internal Intelligence and Security Agency’ of Italy. The British equivalent is MI5, but it is more difficult to draw a parallel with a US agency, the closest being the FBI and Department of Homeland Security. AISI is a relatively new name for what used to be known as SISDE, the covert role of which in modern Italian history is ambiguous, to say the least.

  BKA

  Das Bundeskriminalamt, the Federal Criminal Police Department. The German FBI, effectively.

  Camorra

  The Mafia of Naples and Campania. Its reach extends to southern Latium (Lazio, q.v.) and Rome.

  Camorrista

  Either a member of the Camorra of Naples or, confusingly, a rank in the ’ndrangheta. There are several different levels of camorrista, much as a legitimate military might have several different levels and types of lieutenant.

  Campania

  The region south of Lazio, the beginning of the ‘Mezzogiorno’ (southern Italy), capital Naples.

  Carabiniere

  The Carabinieri Corps (Arma dei Carabinieri) is the national gendarmerie of Italy. Although the Carabinieri Corps carries out police and investigative work, it also operates in its military capacity in theatres of war and – an important distinction – reports to the Ministry of Defence rather than to the Ministry of the Interior. Most of the 112,000 members of the Corps operate as ‘policemen’ rather than soldiers. It also functions as the Military Police for the Army, Navy and Air Force. It specialises in investigations into terrorism, forgery, art theft, food adulteration and provides protection to Italian missions and embassies.

  Commissario

  Police Commissioner. Blume’s rank, translated literally. Its US equivalent, however, is not ‘Police Commissioner’, which is far too high and corresponds more closely to the Questore in the Italian system; rather, it is roughly equivalent to Captain or Major. The British and Canadian equivalent would be (Detective) Superintendent or Chief Superintendent. In Australia it would be the Commander.

  Cosa Nostra

  The Sicilian Mafia. It literally means ‘Our Thing’.

  Crimine

  The word means ‘crime’ or ‘felony’ in standard Italian. In the context of the ‘ndrangheta, the crimine is a person in charge of coordinating criminal actions and assassinations – the head of a death squad.

  DCSA

  Direzione Centrale per i Servizi Antidroga – The Central Anti-Drug Directorate. The DCSA has a broader remit than its name implies, because drug running is a crime that covers so many other areas, from homicide to high finance. Like the DIA (q.v.), it is an elite inter-force organisation bringing together members of the Polizia (Police, Blume’s force), the Carabinieri (q.v.) and the Guardia di Finanza (the Finance Police).

  DDA

  The Direzione Distrettuale Antimafia is the judicial arm of the anti-Mafia apparatus of Italy. Its members are magistrates, often with a pronounced level of expertise and commitment. It imparts executive to an interforce agency called the DIA (q.v.). Strictly speaking, a DDA is a regional branch of a national body called the Direzione Nazionale Antimafia (DNA).

  DIA

  The Direzione Investigativa Antimafia was formed in 1991. It is an anti-Mafia force whose members are drawn from the three main police forces of the country (the Carabinieri, the Police and the Finance Police). Magistrate Giovanni Falcone, murdered by the Mafia in 1993, had long campaigned for the institution of the DIA, which he explicitly compared to the FBI.

  Giovane d’onore

  A young man of honour, a new adept in the ’ndrangheta. A private soldier, so to speak.

  Giudice

  Judge. The word may also used as an honorific when addressing a magistrate.

  Lazio

  Also known by its Latin name Latium, a central region of Italy whose capital is Rome.

  Lira, lire

  The old Italian currency was worth around 2,000 to the euro, so that a million lire was, very roughly speaking, 500 euros or 600 dollars.

  Locale

  In the parlance of the ’ndrangheta, a ‘locale’ (locali in the Calabrian dialect) is the collective name for a series smaller criminal units called ’ndrine (q.v.) operating in cooperation with each other in a given (local) area. The most important of these, is the Locale of San Luca, next to the Sanctuary of the Madonna di Polsi. Each district, in Italy and abroad, will have its own locale.

  Mafia

  Italian uses the word Mafia in much the same way as English. It may refer to any organised group of criminals, and can even be used in a loose and facetious sense. Thus the ‘ndrangheta can be called the Calabrian Mafia. In the absence of any qualifying adjectives or gloss, Mafia will refer to the Sicilian criminal organisation, which is also known as Cosa Nostra. The main Mafia groups in Italy are: Cosa Nostra/La Mafia (Sicily); the
Stidda (Sicily); the Camorra (Naples); the ’ndrangheta (Calabria) and the Sacra Corona Unita (Apulia).

  Mastro di

  In Calabrian dialect, this would be mastru i jurnata.

  Giornata

  Effectively the person in charge of the internal communications of the ’ndrangheta. He keeps members up to date and keeps tabs on where any member is at a given time.

  Ndrangheta

  The proper orthography is ’ndrangheta, with an apostrophe and lower-case ‘n’, but an editorial decision was made to spell it as Ndrangheta to make it clear that it is a proper name. It is pronounced with the stress on the first ‘a’ and with a hard ‘g’ (en-DRAN-gehta) It refers to the Mafia of the Region of Calabria (the ‘toe’ on the boot of Italy). The source of the name is uncertain, but it seems to come from the Greek andragathía meaning ‘Valour, gallantry, courage’. The andr- stem of the word means ‘manly’, or characteristic of a man. Other names for the ’ndrangheta are: The Montalbano Family, the Honoured Society (Società Onorata), the Santa, and la Picciotteria. In the past it has also been called the Maffia and the Camorra, the latter of which is now used exclusively for the criminal gangs of Naples.

  Ndrina (properly ’ndrina, pl.’ndrine) Etymology uncertain, but possibly from malandrino, which means ‘ruffian’, ‘bandit’ or ‘scoundrel’. It is the smallest collective unit in the ’ndrangheta and consists of criminal members of blood-related family with a smaller number of external associates. An ’ndrina controls a small district, and several ’ndrine together form a locale (q.v.). Sometimes, however, an ’ndrina, especially if it has sent members abroad, can become more powerful than the entire locale. The ’ndrina will be known by the surname of the controlling family.