Escape (16 page)

Stefania Cavalli has a shrill, almost childlike voice. She listens attentively to Lisa, who mentions her uncle’s name and asks if the paper has an archive on the Tomasino banking family that she could pass on to her. Stefania has her repeat the name, and then, without a second’s hesitation: ‘I’ll be straight with you. If I find this information, what do I get in return?’

Lisa smiles. The niece is very different from her uncle. So much the better. What if, as a bonus, she gives Stefania the chance to publicise the affair in Italy? That will save her from having to submit to the lawyers’ scrutiny and going to the League of Human Rights in France, as well as avoiding any discussion with Filippo. Tempting.

‘I’ll be equally straight with you. I’m not going to mix you up in this. I’m not sure of the veracity of my information. But if it is confirmed, which depends on what you dig up, I’ll have a scoop. A big one. I’m in France, and have no way of leaving. You’ll have an exclusive on the story for Italy, on condition we both agree not to disclose that this conversation took place.’

‘Give me an idea what this story’s about.’

‘The fallout from the Brescia massacre of 28 May 1974.’

‘There was a lot of talk about it here last year and a fresh trial, which once again ended up with the case being dismissed.’

‘I know.’

‘Protecting the sources on both sides?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘OK, I’m up for it. What exactly do you need to know?’

‘Some background on the Tomasino family, without going back to the year dot, just to have an idea of the circles they move in. I’m particularly interested in 1974. Who was arrested in the immediate aftermath of the massacre? Does the name of the eldest Tomasino boy, Andrea, figure on the lists? And a certain Daniele Bonamico? What can we find out about this Bonamico? Does he still live in Brescia, and what is known about his family? You might not find all that in the paper’s archives…’

‘Probably not, don’t worry about me. If this Daniele exists, I’ll find him. Is that all?’

‘Yes.’

‘Give me two days. I’ll call you tomorrow evening.’

‘After eight, at home. I’ll give you my number.’

Stefania calls at 8.15. Punctual, or almost. Lisa is grateful to her for sparing her the ordeal of waiting.

‘Oh, you’re there?’ There’s a hint of laughter in her voice.

‘Of course I’m here.’

‘Nothing in the paper. It has never published anything on the Tomasino family.’ She gives Lisa a moment to digest her disappointment. ‘But a whole lot in the archives, particularly unpublished articles. One hell of a family. I’m a newcomer to Brescia, so this gets me into the swing of things. Hold on, let me go back to my notes…’

Lisa grits her teeth. The kid’s got a sense of theatre. She says nothing.

‘…Here we are. A prosperous family-owned bank until the
war. The grandfather, a notorious fascist, goes off and dies a violent death in the Republic of Salò saga, which denotes either profound stupidity or profound despair. The bank came in for strong criticism after the war, because of its fascist past, and the son’s only solution was to allow it to be taken over by the Piemonte-Sardegna bank.’ Lisa shudders at the name; could there be a connection? ‘He’s appointed regional director of the new bank, thus securing a very lucrative position for himself. Married into a prominent Venetian family, four children, two boys, two girls. As for the eldest son, Andrea – named after his grandfather, by the way – he becomes very active in neo-fascist circles. To be precise, Ordine Nuovo, in its clandestine period, is repeatedly hinted at in a number of
half-concealed
allusions. He’s alleged to have been involved in the Padua group, which may explain why he was arrested during the investigation into the massacre of the 28th of May, 1974. He was released a month later, for lack of evidence. A certain Daniele Bonamico was arrested and released at the same time as him.’ Lisa’s heart is racing,
I’m there, I’m almost there
. ‘And in that connection I’ve got a very funny story (
I don’t give a damn about your funny story. Get on with it
), even if it is a bit late in the day. In 1976, Andrea and Daniele have a fight in public, in the main square. A very violent, bare-knuckled brawl. The police break it up and cart them both off to the police station.

According to statements made to the police, Andrea accuses Daniele of having slept with his sister Anna-Maria, without going into further detail, but I bet she ended up pregnant. Daniele offers to make amends by marrying the young lady, but Andrea replies that it’s impossible for a Tomasino to marry a hired hand and that’s what sets off the fight. Afterwards, the family saga continues, but there’s nothing further about Anna-Maria – vanished, swallowed up. But maybe that’s not of any interest to you.’

Lisa hears Pier-Luigi,
If you stray, you’re dead to your family
.
And what if, in Anna-Maria’s case, they had taken it literally? Pier-Luigi, a shy, deeply wounded man.
I should have paid more attention to the guy from the start. A missed opportunity to get to know him. The curse of exile. I’m becoming hardened. No time to lose
. Her attention reverts to Stefania.

‘No, it’s not. Did you find out anything else about Daniele Bonamico?’

‘A few bits and pieces. Only one photo, from 1974, where he’s in the background, hiding behind Andrea Tomasino who is showing off in the front row. Scary-looking, with eyebrows that join in the middle, a sinister air, a scar on his cheek that pulls his whole face downwards. Anna-Maria couldn’t have had much choice, or else she had strange taste. Girls from good families who have been a bit too sheltered sometimes rebel by falling for a bit of rough. I’m pretty certain that he was no longer in Brescia after 1976. I also dug up some information on his family.’

‘Keep going.’

‘The grandparents on both sides were farming families from the Po valley. His parents met and married in their village before coming to Brescia.’

‘Have you got the names of these families?’

‘Hold on a sec.’ Lisa hears her flipping through the pages. ‘Yes. Grandfather Bonamico married a Farione on one side, and on the other, an Ercoli married a Luciani.’

There is a long silence. Lisa feels a mixture of excitement and incredulity. The young woman grows impatient.

‘So, have I got my scoop?’

‘Maybe. I think so. Daniele Luciani is the name of the surprise witness who popped up a few days ago in the case of the bank robbery of the 3rd of March 1987 at the Piemonte-Sardegna bank in Milan. He’s accusing an Italian writer, a certain Filippo Zuliani, a refugee in France.’

‘I know about it, I followed the news. He’s not exactly accusing him – he states he was present at the scene.’

‘According to a credible source, an eyewitness who knew the Brescia protagonists personally, Daniele Luciani is in fact Daniele Bonamico. In other words, Ordine Nuovo’s henchman implicated in the Brescia massacre. This suggests he could have left Brescia and changed his name, adopting that of his grandparents, with dates yet to be established, but it’s possible that he chose to remain in contact with the secret service.’

‘Yes, with a lot more delving, this could make a good story. I’ll take it.’

‘I can already see the headline: “Mystery witness turns out to be a Brescia man with a past”.’

‘No, that’s not a good headline. Leave me to do my job. I’ll call you back.’ And Stefania hangs up.

Stefania calls Lisa who is sound asleep. She gropes blindly for the phone and picks it up in the dark.

‘The
Corriere di Brescia
refuses to publish anything.’ A silence. Lisa is sitting up now, wide awake. ‘That’s not all. My editor hauled me into the office this morning, even though it’s Saturday and we were almost the only people there. The offices were deserted. He grilled me on my sudden interest in Daniele Luciani. I kept it very vague, and he ended up dropping your name, and asked me if I’d been in touch with you. Surprising, isn’t it?’

Lisa groans.

‘More than surprising. I’d say worrying.’

‘I said no, no contact with you, and since he kept pressing me, I ended up giving my uncle’s name as the source of my information. After all, he acted as go-between, he can take the blame for it. I wasn’t sacked, but almost. In any case, the boss made it very clear that there was no question of the
Corriere di Brescia
getting involved in this story. Back to dogs being run over. So your rather far-fetched story is true, and it’s put the cat among the pigeons.’ Another silence. ‘I wanted to let you know and ask you not to call me again.’

‘OK. Thank you.’

Lisa lies on her back, staring at the ceiling, fully awake now. What should she make of the reaction at the
Corriere di Brescia
? First of all, obviously, success. Pier-Luigi’s story is pretty much confirmed.
I haven’t got the evidence yet, but I know it exists and where to look for it.
And a failure too.
With this aborted attempt to get the
Corriere di Brescia
to run the story, I’ve alerted our enemies, whoever they are, and they now know that we’re on to them and we’re getting closer. They’re going to be able to take precautions. And that’s not going to be good for us. Most likely they’ll eliminate Luciani. Serious? No, not very serious, the guy has already testified. All the papers are talking about it, impossible to erase, that’s all we need. More importantly, no point now trying to publish our story directly in Italy, the media have been muzzled. We’ll have to go via the lawyers and the League of Human Rights, here in France. And therefore through Filippo. Shit
.

Lisa gets out of bed and goes into the kitchenette to make a coffee. She paces up and down, half promises herself that she’ll do everything she can to put off the moment when she has to meet him. Roberto will say to her: Because you don’t want to share Carlo.
Maybe. So what? I’m entitled to feel that way
.

She sits down at her desk. A shadow, a vague memory lurks in her mind, perturbs her, prevents her from considering the job done and closing the file. She goes back over her notes and begins to reread them. Very quickly lights on that little phrase of Stefania’s: the takeover of the Tomasino family bank by the Piemonte-Sardegna bank after the war. She recalls how the name Piemonte-Sardegna had struck her when the young journalist mentioned it. Then they had changed the subject. Was its appearance in a different chapter of the history of the bank involved in the hold-up and Carlo’s death pure coincidence? Maybe, maybe not. Best to start from the principle that there’s no such thing as chance.

It is Sunday. Lisa is moping around at home, unable to find a new avenue to explore in her investigation. If she were in Milan … the prospects probably wouldn’t be any better.

The Piemonte-Sardegna bank has a Paris address. Rather than staying there doing nothing, why not use the time to go and check out the bank’s Paris headquarters. Imagination works better when it can draw on images, actual places, real people. And besides, a walk through Paris is always enjoyable, it’s a lovely day and at least she’ll have the feeling she’s doing something. She finds herself in the Opéra district, standing in front of a magnificent Haussmann building. A discreet copper plate in the entrance porch indicates that the bank’s offices are on the second floor. Lisa looks up, the
piano nobile
, a balcony running its length, high ceilings that she imagines covered in frescos. A fine example of nineteenth-century architecture. Of course. The kingdom of Piedmont-Sardinia, Napoleon III, Italian unity, the annexation of Savoy to France – she recalls a whole string of school essays. These offices testify to many strong links that must exist between French and Italian banks. And so … French historians might have taken an interest in this bank, one way or another.

Lisa hurries back home to Rue de Belleville, grabs her address book and seeks out a contact in the academic world.

It doesn’t take her long. She comes across the name of Vicenzo Rivola, very recently arrived in France, close to the Autonomia Operaria movement from which Lisa, as a good ex-Red Brigades member, keeps her distance. But French intellectuals have great respect for this movement, whose manifestos, journals, books and talks are of a reliably high standard. Vicenzo swiftly succeeded in finding some hours’ teaching in the sociology department of a major Paris university. Lisa picks up the phone and easily gets through to him. She explains what she is looking for: any available information on
the links between the Piemonte-Sardegna banks and Tomasino after 1945.

‘It’s a bit vague, but I can’t be any more specific. I’m groping in the dark and I don’t know what I’m looking for.’

‘That’s the best way of coming across something new. At my university we have an excellent historian of modern-day banks. A former communist, not too sectarian, an encyclopaedic mind. I don’t know him personally, but I can put you in touch. On the other hand, I warn you, it might take him a while to respond. Academics aren’t journalists – they’re in no hurry.’

For the last few days, each morning just before six, a man has come and planted himself beneath an awning around fifty metres from the rear façade of the Tour Albassur. He’s a sporty type in his mid-thirties, wearing a grey hoodie with no loud logos on it, jeans and trainers. He stands chain-smoking in the shelter of a low concrete wall, his hood pulled down over his face. He carefully stubs out each cigarette on the sole of his shoe, takes a matchbox out of his pocket, crams the cigarette butt in the box and puts it back in his pocket before lighting another one. He perks up when the Albassur security guards on night shift come out, between 6.05 and 6.10, two men in their fifties, chatting. They head for the Métro entrance, walking placidly, bags slung over their shoulders. He watches them until they disappear, then waits another couple of minutes, checks that there is no one near the approach to the tower before departing in the opposite direction, shoulders hunched, hood pulled well down over his eyes.