A Fine Line Read Online Free PDF Page A

I have to challenge the witness on the statements she made at the time she lodged her complaint.”
    â€œGo ahead, Avvocato.”
    â€œWhen you were questioned by the carabinieri the morning after, you stated: ‘I left the office at six and met Antonio Bronzino, who had been pursuing me for some time and was obviously waiting for me.’ You told the carabinieri six, now you’re saying five. Which is the correct time?”
    â€œI don’t know, I don’t remember. If I said six, it must have been six.”
    â€œBut when did you usually leave your office?”
    â€œAt five.”
    â€œAt five. In that case, how did the defendant know that on that particular day you would be leaving at six?”
    She was about to reply instinctively, but must have realized the trap concealed in the question. “Maybe I got it wrong. I probably did leave at five.”
    â€œYou probably did leave at five. I still have here the records of Signor Bronzino’s mobile phone. That day there was a thirty-three-second call at 5.18. The other number must have been yours, Signora. If you like, I can show you the records.”
    She moved her hand in a sign of denial, but it looked more like a gesture of self-defence.
    â€œI point this out because if you met soon after five, it’s hard to figure out why Bronzino should have called you on his mobile at 5.18.”
    It wasn’t a real question, it was an explanation of what was happening, intended for the judges.
    â€œWas your partner away on business that day, by any chance?”
    â€œI don’t remember.”
    â€œI put it to you that you had an appointment with Signor Bronzino that day. In other words, that meeting wasn’t a chance one at all.”
    â€œNo, I—”
    â€œI put it to you that your partner was due to be away that day, and that when you got home fairly late that evening, you discovered that he hadn’t left.”
    She didn’t say anything. It was time to bring this to an end. I turned to the judge.
    â€œYour Honour, if it can be entered in the record that the witness hasn’t answered the last two questions, I’ve finished.”
    The judge was just doing as I had asked when the woman spoke again, without warning. Her voice was thin, diaphanous, seeming to come from somewhere else. It was as if her face had dried up in the course of the half-hour she had been in the witness box, as if the skin had stuck to the bones. Occasionally, as if in some terrible time machine, her face looked like an old woman’s.
    â€œI’m sorry. Forgive me.”
    Startled by the sound of her voice, the judge broke off, looked at her and asked her if she wanted to add anything. He, too, without realizing it, lowered his voice. But she didn’t say anything else. She was looking somewhere else, outside that courtroom.

3
    The judge told Di Cosmo that she could go. He said it in a tone that was meant to be stern, but he couldn’t quite manage it. The sense of unease, of defeat that she conveyed had prevailed over his indignation. I turned to watch her while Basile was saying that we would adjourn for fifteen minutes. It’s something I usually avoid: watching the actors of the drama (or the comedy) as they leave the stage. I was just in time to see her leave the courtroom, as silent and insubstantial as a ghost.
    It was only then that I noticed Annapaola in the public seats. The investigation we had relied on for the cross-examination of the witness was hers. Most private detectives are men: retired former police officers or carabinieri. Usually somewhat elderly gentlemen.
    Annapaola Doria doesn’t correspond to the stereotype. Firstly, she isn’t a man, and secondly, she isn’t elderly. She’s thirty-seven years old, and has a face like a rebellious schoolgirl, which makes her look younger. Above all, she isn’t an ex-cop. She used to be a freelance crime reporter. A very good one,