Chapter 101
101
After the riot was over, the inmates were forced at gunpoint to clean up the mess. Besides the trashed commons areas, there was a lot of blood – and over two dozen dead bodies. Some of them had been killed by the guards; others had been murdered because of bad blood or gang rivalries.
Then there were the ones Dario and I were responsible for.
We weren’t part of the group that handled Aristide and his underlings’ corpses, but I watched from a distance as other inmates carried their bodies to the morgue.
Surprisingly, there were no accusations.
No questions.
No investigations.
Nobody asked us about the blood on our clothes.
Although, to be fair, there were a lot of inmates with blood on their clothes.
The warden and prison guards just acted like it was over and done – no need to discuss it.
Nothing to see here; move along.
Then, a week after the riot, someone came to see me.
A guard came to the cell to fetch me. “Hey, Anderson – you got a visitor p>
Dario glanced over at me. “You expecting anyone p>
“No,” I said, mystified.
No one knew I was here besides my lawyer and Gunnar, and I seriously doubted either one of them would have visited without informing me beforehand.
The guard escorted me to the administrative part of the building and led me into a room where inmates conferred with their lawyers.
Except the man waiting inside the room wasn’t a lawyer.
He was dressed in a cheap navy blue suit. The rest was inexpensive, too: shirt, tie, shoes, haircut.
Add to that the cynical look on his face, and everything about him screamed ‘cop p>
He was sitting on one side of a battered table. I sat down opposite him.
The guard was about to handcuff me to the chair when the stranger shook his head. “Non c’è bisogno p>
No need.
The guard shrugged and left the two of us alone.
The man looked at me and said in heavily accented English, “I am-ah here to talk-a to – ”
“Parlo abbastanza bene l’italiano,” I interrupted.
I speak Italian fairly well.
He raised one eyebrow and continued in Italian. “Court records indicate you didn’t know Italian at your trial p>
“I’ve had some time on my hands,” I said drily. “I picked up a few things since then p>
He smirked at my answer, then got a serious look on his face. “I’m Detective Vincent Benardi with the Milan Questura – the police department. I’m here about some of the deaths that happened during the riot p>
I didn’t say anything.
He opened up a battered briefcase and took out a mugshot. “In particular, Aristide Caproni, a made man in the Camorra mafia p>
I looked at the black and white photograph in silence.
“You know him?” Bernardi asked.
“I know of him,” I said. “I saw him around p>
“You know what happened to him p>
“I heard he met an unfortunate end p>
“That’s one way of putting it,” Bernardi said. “Another way of putting it is he was murdered p>
“A lot of men were killed in the riot p>
“We’re interested in Caproni in particular p>
“Can’t help you p>
“I think you can.” Bernardi laid down another mug shot. “I understand you’re pretty close to this guy p>
Shit.
It was a mug shot of Dario.
“He’s my cellmate,” I said casually.
“Just your cellmate p>
“What’s that supposed to mean p>
“Maybe he’s your buddy p>
“Not particularly p>
“That’s interesting… because I have testimony from several inmates who say they saw you walk out of a hallway where Caproni and five other men were found dead… and that Dario Rosolini came out a few minutes later with blood on his clothes. What do you have to say about that p>
“I’d say your sources are trying to pin shit that they did on innocent people p>
“‘Innocent’ – that’s cute.” Bernardi narrowed his eyes. “I heard your buddy gets a lot of nice things because of his connections. Wine… better food than the shit in the cafeteria p>
When I didn’t say anything, Bernardi snapped, “Well? Yes or no p>
“I didn’t realize you were asking a question,” I replied coolly. “Yes, he gets some wine and food from the outside. But you probably want to talk to the guards about that since they’re the ones who let it into the prison p>
Bernardi smirked. “Does he share it with you? The food and wine p>
“Sometimes p>
“And you’re not his friend, huh p>
“Like I said – I’m his cellmate p>
“What do you know about Caproni and the five other dead guys p>
“Nothing p>
“Nothing at all,” Bernardi said sarcastically.
“Nope p>
“What if I told you I don’t give a shit about you – that I only want Rosolini p>
“I’d ask you why p>
Bernardi grew more animated the longer he talked. “He got off easy on a plea deal when he and his fucking family should be in here for the rest of their lives. You give me something I can hang him with – anything – and I’ll get you out of San Vittore as a cooperating witness p>
My heart sped up.
“…anything,” I repeated in disbelief.
“I don’t give a damn about Caproni. He was a murdering piece of shit. But I do give a damn about Rosolini – because he’s a murdering piece of shit, too. If you agree to testify that Rosolini offed Caproni – or any of the others – I can pull you out of here right now and get the magistrate to vacate your sentence. You’d stay in protective custody until we taped your testimony and got it to the judge, but then you’d be free. You can leave Italy, go back to Sweden, whatever you want p>
When I didn’t say anything, Bernardi interpreted my silence as hesitance. He leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Look, I don’t care if you offed Caproni or any of the other guys – we’ll give you immunity. I just need something on Rosolini. A murder – a confession to any other criminal activity – anything we can use to invalidate his plea deal and keep him in here for life p>
My heart was beating wildly, but I stayed still.
I could get out of here – I could see Rachel again! –
…but…
…at what cost?
Bernardi stared at me like a wolf sizing up its prey. “You give me anything on Rosolini, and you walk out of here right now. Two weeks – three weeks max – and you’re a free man. What do you say p>
I stared at him for a long time –
And I made my decision.
“Sorry,” I said. “Can’t help you p>
He stared at me in disbelief. “You’re saying you don’t know anything about Rosolini p>
“That’s right p>
Bernardi got a crafty look on his face. “You know… you could just tell me some shit. It doesn’t have to be 100% accurate. I could even suggest some things we already know. I just need you to testify that Rosolini told you p>
I stared him straight in the eyes. “But that would be a lie, Detective. And you’re not suggesting I lie, are you p>
Bernardi clenched his jaw in anger before he spoke again. “You realize that you’re in here for another four years. This is your only ticket out p>
I held up my hands like What can I do? “I’d help you if I could, but as far as I know, Dario wasn’t anywhere near Caproni during the riot… and he hasn’t told me jack shit about his life outside prison p>
Bernardi smirked in disbelief. “You’re cellmates with this guy, and he hasn’t told you anything p>
“He keeps his cards close to his vest p>
Bernardi leaned back. “That’s an interesting phrase – ‘keeps his cards close to his vest.’ A whaddayacallit – ”
“An idiomatic phrase?” I suggested.
“Yeah, an idiomatic phrase.” Bernardi fixed me with a look like he was trying to pin me to the wall. “I wouldn’t expect a Swedish guy just learning Italian to know what it means p>
“Well… like I said, I picked up a few things while I was in here p>
“Uh-huh. Not like your cellmate helped you or anything p>
I smiled. “Nope p>
Bernardi bared his teeth. “You know, I can get you out of here – or I can make your life a living hell. I can tell the guards to make sure you get beatings on the regular. They’d be more than happy to comply. Hell, I could tell my sources – the ones I talked to – to spread the word that you’re a snitch. You know what they do to snitches in here? The guards’ll find you with your dick cut off and your balls in your mouth. So… you can have it easy… or you can have it hard. What’s it gonna be, Andersen p>
I stared at him for a long moment.
Then I said, “Like I told you, I can’t give you anything on Dario because I don’t know anything. And I’m not going to lie for you. So if that’s it, I’d like to go back to my cell now p>
Bernardi got a vicious look on his face. “This is your last chance, Andersen p>
“Well…” I said hesitantly. “There is ONE thing I can tell you p>
The detective almost licked his chops as he leaned across the table. “Yeah p>
“Yeah.” I leaned in, too, and whispered, “Va’ a farti fottere, pezzo di merda p>
Go fuck yourself, you piece of shit.
Bernardi looked at me with murderous rage, then yelled at the top of his voice, “GUARD p>
The guard opened the door. “Everything okay p>
“We’re through in here,” Bernardi snarled. “Take this piece of shit back to the sewer where he belongs p>
The guard gestured to me, and I stood up and walked over to the door.
“You just signed your death warrant, Andersen,” Bernardi said with an ugly laugh.
“You know what… I changed my mind,” I said.
Bernardi looked startled. “…yeah p>
“Yeah. Don’t go fuck yourself – go fuck your mother p>
If the guard hadn’t been there, I think Bernardi would have tried to beat me to death.
As I walked down the hall, the detective screamed out behind me, “I hope you enjoy having your rectum resized, you fucking piece of shit p>
As I walked away, I just raised one hand in the air and flipped him the bird.
The guard chuckled behind me. “You’re dumb as shit, Andersen… but I gotta give it to you, you got balls p>
“No,” I replied. “I’m just not a fuckin’ rat, is all p>