A Walk in the Dark

7

Martina Fumai came to my office about seven o’clock the following evening, with Sister Claudia. Maria Teresa showed them in, and I asked them to sit down on the two chairs in front of the desk.

Martina was a very pretty woman with short brown hair. She was wearing quite a bit of make-up, and there was something evasive in her eyes and her manner. She was very thin. Unnaturally thin, as if she’d been on a diet and hadn’t stopped when she should. She was wearing a sweet-smelling perfume, and maybe she’d put on more than was necessary.

She spoke in a quiet voice, and as soon as she sat down she asked me if she could smoke. Yes, of course, I said, and she took a thin cigarette out of a white packet with a floral design and lit it. An unfamiliar brand. The type of cigarette I’ve always hated. She had a cylindrical lighter with the face of Betty Boop on it. That must mean something, I thought.

She thanked me for taking the case. I told her I couldn’t see any problems – using those very words, which I usually hate: I can’t see any problems – and then I asked her to sign the papers agreeing to have me as her attorney.

She asked me if she was doing the right thing, bringing a civil action.

Of course not. It’s madness. We’ll both be slaughtered. You and especially me. All because when I was a child I read comics featuring Tex Willer and now I’m incapable of turning back when that would be the most intelligent thing to do. Like right now, with this case. As my more pragmatic colleagues have done.

I didn’t say that. Instead, I reassured her. I told her not to worry, of course this wasn’t a simple case, but we’d do the best we could, we’d be resolute but at the same time tread carefully. And a whole lot of nonsense like that. The next day I would go the Prosecutor’s department, talk to the prosecutor and get the papers. Fortunately, I said, the prosecutor, Dottoressa Mantovani, was someone you could trust. That much was true.

I told her we’d meet again a few days before the hearing, after I’d had a look at the papers. I preferred not to talk about the case until I had an idea of what was in the file.

The meeting lasted at least half an hour. Sister Claudia didn’t say a word the whole time, just kept looking at me with those inscrutable eyes.

As they left, I threw a glance, almost involuntarily, at her tight jeans. Just for a moment, until I remembered she was a nun, and that wasn’t the way to look at a nun.