27.
The plane was taxiing onto the runway and Caterina finally was obliged to turn off her iPod.
“How do you know about Mike Patton?”
“Why, is that confidential information?”
“Come on, you know what I mean.”
“You mean I’m too old to know about that kind of music.”
“No, but you have to admit it’s not the kind of music people your age listen to. It’s pretty hardcore hip-hop. My parents listen to the Pooh and Claudio Baglioni.”
“How old is your dad?”
“Fifty-two. My mom is forty-nine.”
“Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“I have a younger brother. He’s seventeen.”
That information stirred up a series of vague and unsettling thoughts that I rapidly suppressed.
“What did you tell your parents?”
“What do you mean?”
“About this trip.”
“I said I was going to Rome because there was a party tonight. Sometimes I go to Rome for things like that. I decided that it would just be too complicated to explain everything, so it might be best to avoid a lot of questions. Do you think I did the right thing?”
I ignored the question.
“Tell me about Nicoletta. What’s she like?”
“Anxious and insecure. She’s very pretty, as I told you, but that’s not enough to make her confident. And she can’t seem to make a decision, even about something that’s not important.”
“She’s not like you.”
She was about to say something but then changed her mind and—I’m certain of this—said something else instead.
“Why did you ask me for a picture of Michele yesterday?”
“Did you find one?”
“I found a few group pictures, but none of them are close-ups. You can’t really make out the faces. Why do you need a picture of Michele?”
I hesitated for a moment, but then I realized I couldn’t conceal the reason from her.
“I talked to an old client of mine. He’s a coke dealer, and he works the so-called respectable circles of Bari. I asked him if he had ever heard of someone named Michele in his milieu. He doesn’t know him, but he asked around a little bit, and he found a small-time dealer who might know a guy by that name. To be certain, he needs to show him a photograph.”
“And who are these two coke dealers?”
“Why do you care? I can’t imagine their names will mean anything to you. The important thing is the information they can give us. That is, if it turns out there’s a link to Manuela’s disappearance, of course.”
I realized that I’d answered her sharply, with irritation, more or less the way a policeman answers when someone—a prosecutor, a lawyer, or a judge—tries to pry the name of a confidential informant out of him. It just isn’t done. Caterina looked at me with a mixture of astonishment and resentment.
“Why are you getting mad?”
“I’m not getting mad. It’s just that there’s no reason for you to know the names of professional criminals. Among other things, I’m a lawyer, and I can always claim attorney-client privilege, but you don’t have that option.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that if for any reason, which we can’t even imagine right now, we were questioned about what we’re doing, by the police, by the Carabinieri, or by a prosecutor, I could refuse to answer by invoking attorney-client privilege. But you would have to answer their questions, and you’d have to tell the truth about anything you know concerning crimes and people who may have committed them. Believe me, the less you know, the better.”
I paused for a moment, then added, “And I’m sorry if I sounded a little harsh.”
She seemed about to say something, but then she decided against it and just shrugged.
A short while later, the plane began its descent toward Rome.
We finally got a taxi after standing in a long line. While we were in line, Caterina started talking to me again. She’d been giving me the silent treatment to let me know she was offended, I guess. If she wanted to make me feel guilty for what I’d said to her on the plane, she had succeeded brilliantly.
There were no books in that taxi. Instead, there were decals with Fascist double-headed axes and silhouettes of Il Duce. The taxi driver was a twenty-something with a soul patch, a shaved head, an imperial Roman eagle tattooed on his neck, and a dangling lower lip. I felt a sudden, intense desire to land a few hard punches to his head and face and wipe away his dull-eyed, arrogant expression.
I told Caterina about the taxi driver I had the last time I was in Rome and how he’d learned to love reading. It didn’t seem to make any particular impression on her.
“I don’t really like reading. I rarely find a book that I care much about.”
“Have you read anything lately that you liked?”
“No, nothing recently.”
I was about to push a little further and ask about the last book she had read, even if it wasn’t very recent. Then I realized that I probably wouldn’t like the answer, and decided to drop the subject of reading entirely.
“What do you do in your free time?”
“I really like listening to music. I listen whenever I can, especially on the Internet. I like to go to concerts when I can, and I like to go to the movies. Then I work out at the gym, I see my friends and … oh, I almost forgot the most important one of all: I love to cook. I’m a good cook. I’ll cook for you sometime. Cooking relaxes me. The best thing is if there’s someone else who cleans up after me. But I haven’t asked you anything about yourself. Are you married, do you live with someone, do you have a girlfriend?”
“I could be gay and have a boyfriend or even be living with a guy.”
“That’s impossible.”
“What makes you think that’s impossible?”
That hit me like a straight-armed slap to the face, a fast one that I hadn’t seen coming. I had difficulty swallowing as I tried to come up with a clever answer. Of course, I couldn’t think of one, so I just pretended I hadn’t heard her.
“No, I’m not married. I used to be, but that ended a long time ago. I don’t have a girlfriend, either; haven’t for a while.”
“What a waste. You don’t have children, either, do you?”
“No.”
“Well, here’s what we’ll do. One evening when we’re back in Bari, you invite me over for dinner. You’ll do the shopping—I’ll tell you what to get, but you’re free to pick the wine—and I’ll cook, but I won’t wash up. Are you in?”
I said that would be fine, I was in. She looked satisfied. She put her earbuds back in and went back to her music.