Bella Italia (8 page)

Much to everyone’s surprise, the political initiative became a big success. The lines of communication improved, which saved a lot of time, administrative costs, and extra work hours. The briefings, which had always been given to each department individually, were now given to all the departments together at once. The police commissioner ran these briefings with a tight leash, cutting down on needless or endless conversations, which kept things highly efficient. Each department had its own spokesperson who explained the state of his department. The others were only allowed to interrupt the speaker if they thought they had an idea that could help another department.

Martuccia walked out with the crowd. During his briefing to the entire corps, the police chief had just announced that the person who murdered eleven-year-old Mats had been identified. Because he died on the scene, the case was solved and now closed. But they had to remain extra vigilant. Especially during the beginning of the season in April, when the campground would fill up with children again. Sadly, there were more sick and crazy people walking around freely in the world than there were locked up in prisons or insane asylums. The vast majority of those present at the briefing had nodded with approval. They would keep their eyes and ears open to avoid another tragedy like this, because once was more than enough to last a lifetime.

But the people from his own department hadn’t moved an inch during the chief’s speech and had just taken it in. They all thought that the whole speech was a bunch of nonsense.

Forty-eight-year-old Ottavio Galli may have very well died as a result of his head wound, but that didn’t mean that the “Monster of Garda,” as the tabloids had labeled him, was a closed case. There were several points that clearly indicated that Ottavio Galli was not the killer, but they couldn’t prove it beyond a doubt. They found his fingerprints and the Dutch man’s prints on Mats, but the prints had no direct connection with the cause of death and were easily explained according to what Hans Kolwijn had told them. The police commissioner had not lied when he spoke about Galli’s fingerprints being found on Mats’s body, but he had left out the fact that they didn’t coincide with a typical strangulation pattern. They had to close this case as fast as possible to settle everyone’s nerves. A large part of the population around Lake Garda survived financially on tourism. If they announced that the killer was still roaming around free, it would cause great political and economic distress.

Martuccia left the police station and looked at his watch. It was a quarter to five. Time to go home. While he walked to his car, the unanswered questions kept spinning around in his mind.

What was a homeless person doing there at that time? He was probably attempting to find leftover food and drinks at the campground. He did have a criminal record, but it consisted of a few harmless violations like public drunkenness and disturbing the peace. There was nothing in his file about any sexual abnormalities or pedophilia, but that didn’t say anything definitive either. The fence had been carefully and precisely cut open with a very sharp object, a very precise action, which was probably premeditated and executed earlier. The homeless man had no tools with him and had very few personal belongings to begin with. He must have found the opening by chance and had hoped to enter the grounds with the possibility of finding food. Then there were the results from the forensic department. The lack of fingerprints in the strangulation area suggested the killer wore gloves when he strangled the child. Another clue that the murder had been premeditated and had been carefully planned ahead. Galli had no gloves on. He could have thrown them away, but there wasn’t a single witness who had seen him wearing gloves, and they had searched every inch of the campground looking for evidence without finding anything. Thankfully, they didn’t find any traces of sexual abuse. But this had made it even more difficult to determine why the boy had been murdered. Unless there was some sort of mental sexual gratification the offender had gotten from it, but that was impossible to prove. Certainly not in this case now. The trace evidence done on the clothing also hadn’t come up with anything.

Martuccia felt someone place a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to the side and looked straight into Filippo Tardelli’s face.

“Hey, Carlo, are walking around contemplating again?” Tardelli didn’t give him a chance to confirm or deny it. “I don’t need to guess what you are thinking. I know each one of you thoughts by heart, from
A
to
Z
.”

Martuccia grinned sheepishly. “Well, it isn’t very difficult to figure out.”

Tardelli pulled on his arm. “You don’t happen to have any important or urgent appointments right now, do you?”

“No, I’m headed home.”

“Ah, the family. That is very important, but not urgent. Come on, we need to take a ride. I want to introduce you to someone who is going to boost your self-confidence.”

Tardelli pointed to his car, a light-blue Fiat. A few moments later they got in.

Neither of them spoke as they drove. Tardelli concentrated on the busy traffic, and Martuccia continued to ponder and wondered who they were going to meet. He had no idea who it could be. Once they were outside Verona, Tardelli stopped in front of a supermarket.

“Be right back.”

He returned five minutes later with a bottle of wine in his hand. He got in, put the bottle in his bag, and started the car. “I see doubt in your eyes, Carlo. It’s an affliction were all confronted with sooner or later.”

Martuccia remained silent.

“You’re still young, but you have it in you to become a really great detective,” Tardelli continued in the same calm and reassuring tone, like a father who only wants the best for his son. “Always pursue the burden of proof and follow your instinct. Follow your hunches; they are usually there for a reason. But more importantly, forget all that nonsense the chief spoke about this afternoon. It’s basically fiction, to help settle the masses.” He let out a loud sigh. “I understand that management decided to do it this way to end any and all rumors out there. But I have to wonder if upper management realizes the kind of risk they are taking by doing it this way.”

Martuccia nodded. He completely agreed with his colleague. The very thing that had made this area such a thriving success was now working against them. The killer could be from anywhere in Europe, but could also be someone from Milan, Turin, or Rome. Or a friendly boy next door from Peschiera who had prepared his plan very well. Should the murderer strike again in this area, then all hell would break loose.

“We’re here,” Tardelli said as he turned into a large parking lot. He stopped the car in one of the parking spots closest to the water park’s entrance. After they got out, Tardelli walked toward a tunnel that ran underneath the main road and ended at the square in front of the water park’s entrance.

“Do me a favor and let me do all the talking, okay?”

Martuccia kept walking next to him and nodded. He was curious as to where this walk would take them and did his best to look as neutral as possible.

In the middle of the tunnel they found a man sitting down on the ground. Tardelli stopped directly in front of him.

“Good afternoon, Professor.”

The man gave them both a friendly nod. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. What can I do for you?”

“We would like to talk to you for a moment. This is my colleague, Professor. A good guy, you can take my word on that.”

Martuccia smiled at the homeless man, who politely nodded at him again. He wondered if maybe Tardelli was playing a joke on him. If this was the case, he would just play along for now.

“They say you must give in order to receive,” Tardelli said almost ceremonially, as he handed the homeless man a bottle of wine.

The man twisted the cap off the bottle of wine, took a sip, and let out a satisfied sigh. “What is it you need? As long as the answers to your questions don’t put my people in any danger, I won’t hesitate to help you.”

“We are here about Ottavio Galli, the deceased man suspected of killing the eleven-year-old German boy.”

“Yes, I heard about that—what a terrible story.” He shook his head sadly.

“Can you tell us a little more about Ottavio Galli?”

Before the man answered him, he stared straight ahead quietly for a moment. “Ottavio Galli showed up here in our district about three years ago.” He looked at Tardelli questioningly and nodded in the direction of Martuccia. “It may be smarter if I explain to your friend first how things work in the world of the homeless.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Tardelli answered.

“When a new homeless person is spotted in what we refer to as our ‘district’ that stranger then receives an invitation to report to the Council. This Council meets weekly and is made up of three men, who are regarded highly by those in the community of homeless people. During one of those meetings we will ask the stranger a variety of questions. By doing so we hope to gain some insight into the stranger’s background and what we can expect from them. In Ottavio’s case, there wasn’t much to ask. He was welcomed lovingly and with open arms into our community. As tradition dictates, two weeks later the president of the Council appointed him with his new name. After consulting with a few of the members of our community, we decided to name Ottavio the Noble One.”

Martuccia had to bite his lip in order not to burst out laughing. Apparently the homeless man noticed this, because he spoke to him directly.

“I understand that this may sound ridiculous to you. But this way, if someone doesn’t adhere to the rules, we know who they are—and they are banished from our community immediately.”

“And what are those rules?” Martuccia asked, now with a serious face.

“There are many different rules. For example, any criminal activity. It is strictly forbidden for any of our members to take part in anything criminal. They could cause irreparable damage to our small community. Believe it or not, we don’t allow just anyone into our group.”

“What is the advantage of such a community? There is usually a reason those people live on the street. They don’t fit in in society; otherwise, they would have a roof over their heads. Besides, you’ve got enough to worry about just so you can survive.”

Tardelli gave Martuccia a shove with his elbow. “Forgive my judgmental colleague. He is still young.”

The Professor smiled and nodded. “Those are indeed the typical preconceived notions about us. But not everyone that lives on the streets does so voluntarily, or is a bad person who deserves exactly what they got. Even though the questions about the advantage of a community like ours are legitimate. I can explain it to you quickly: respect, solidarity, and protection. Exactly the things society has denied us. We give all of our members a feeling of being worthy human beings—be it with some limitations, but those are all fleeting and of material nature.”

Martuccia really wanted to respond, but kept quiet. Besides, they hadn’t come here for a lecture about the details of a homeless existence. He tried to think how he could take the conversation in a different direction.

Apparently the same thought was going through Tardelli’s head, because he put the conversation back on track. “Okay, so back to Ottavio, Professor. Roughly what was his background and what kind of person was he?”

“In your civil society, he worked as an accountant. He was happily married and six years later they finally had a child, a daughter. But sadly, after a very debilitating illness, his wife died. At first, Ottavio went crazy and buried himself in his grief. He drank more than he should have and often lost himself in drunken episodes, filled with self-pity, fear of the future, and a deep sadness. He continually blamed himself, a thought that began to take over his mind to the point that he began to neglect himself and his daughter in many ways. He had convinced himself that it was his fault that his wife had died, not the disease that had destroyed her body. He, and no one else, was to blame, and he should have done much more and responded more adequately during her illness. Instead of following the doctor’s treatment plan, he should have found the best specialists in the world. Then she would have had a chance. He had put her fate in the hands of doctors who had not been able to save her. They had not made any mistakes; they had simply followed protocol. But he should have intervened sooner, an unforgivable mistake for which he blamed himself all day and all night, over and over.

“A few weeks after he was fired from his job, he received a visit from children’s protection services. Eventually they took from him the one thing he loved most in the world. And because of all these setbacks, he ended up on the streets and in our community.

“Why name him the Noble One?” Tardelli wanted to know.

“Because the name suited him perfectly. Ottavio was a sensitive, polite human being, who only ever had nice things to say about everyone. Despite his heavy-drinking problem, he still tried to take care of everyone else.”

“How was he with children?”

“He was very good with children. He was even friendly to the children who called him names on the street. And I’d like to emphasize that when I use the word
friendly
, I mean that in the proper sense of the word, gentlemen.”

They already knew about this part of Galli’s past. They also knew he had a daughter. She lived with a distant relative in Rome and no longer had any contact with her father. According to the detectives who spoke with her, she wasn’t sorry or regretful about that.
Sad
, he thought.

“So you really think Ottavio is not the murderer?” Tardelli asked.

“I’m convinced he is not. In fact, I would bet my life on it. It’s simply unthinkable that Ottavio could ever harm a child.”

“Well, that is quite a statement. Maybe he was just projecting his grief? Because he was really angry that he couldn’t see his daughter, or that she didn’t want to see him?”

The man took a swig from the bottle. “Yeah, it is quite a statement indeed, but you know what they say about drunken people!”