The Fallen Angel

THREE

‘A deal?’ Toni Grimaldi asked. ‘What kind of deal?’

They sat at a quiet table outside the Caffe della Pace, not far from the small temple-like church of Santa Maria. When the place was quiet Falcone liked to use it for such meetings. It was close to his old home near the Piazza Navona, a pleasant, ancient establishment with an atmosphere conducive to the kind of frank conversation that was, on occasion, impossible inside the formal corridors of the Questura.

He’d called the lawyer that morning, catching him on the train in from Ostia as Falcone had hoped. Timing was important in such matters. It was vital to plant the seed of this idea early, outside the office.

‘A deal that suits us all,’ Falcone said, picking at his breakfast pastry. ‘This case is damaging everyone. The Questura. The family. The judiciary, if we allow it to get that far. .’

‘You sound very different from yesterday,’ Grimaldi noted. ‘Then you wanted me to give you carte blanche to throw these two women into a cell and leave them there until they signed a confession to murder.’

‘Yesterday was yesterday.’

‘And today you have firm proof the girl was involved in the death of her own father! Now you wish to pardon her! Please.’

That was not what Falcone was suggesting. He repeated the idea. Grimaldi listened, nodding. He was a good, decent man, one who would stop at nothing to put a criminal in the dock. But a solid Catholic, with a large family and a happy home life too. An honest, hard-working citizen with an open mind. The kind of individual the Questura depended upon.

‘I want this to go away,’ Falcone continued. ‘We all do. Unless that happens, we’ll have those people demonstrating outside the Questura every day of the week. Headlines in the newspapers. Officers engaged in fruitless inquiries.’

‘Fruitless? You still have two unsolved murders. That’s if we apportion the brother and our friend Riggi to this drugs gang. You’re not suggesting we forget them, are you?’

‘Not for a moment. The deaths of Malise Gabriel and Joanne Van Doren are not unsolved. Robert was responsible for both. That’s what I’ll put in my report. But this new evidence. The email linking the daughter to her father’s death. Much as I’d like to, I can’t bury it. She, perhaps the mother too. . there needs to be a statement. An admission of some prior knowledge. She can say she never knew why he wanted the information. I don’t want an admission of guilt, but I do require an explanation. In return. .’

Grimaldi finished his coffee. His walrus moustache bristled.

‘In return what?’

‘An agreement that the case will go no further. You tell me. You’re the lawyer.’

The man opposite thought about this for a while.

‘If there was a prosecution she’d never go to jail, you know. The daughter. Even if you could gain an accessory conviction on the basis of a simple email. And the mother? You’ve nothing, have you?’

‘Nothing. I know all this, Toni. Why do you think we’re having this conversation?’

It was a beautiful morning. The air had the first breath of autumn in it, a subtle chill beneath the heat that had pervaded Rome night and day for weeks. This harsh summer would come to an end.

‘There are four people dead, Leo. Even if one of them was a crooked cop. Another a murderer. The third some kind of monster.’

Falcone wished Grimaldi hadn’t said that. Mina Gabriel did love her father in some way, he believed. This was one reason, an unspoken one, why he didn’t wish to pursue the case. He feared what else it might uncover, to no one’s benefit.

‘All the more reason I’ll be happy if we can close this for good today,’ Falcone said. ‘That would be best for all of us. No one need suffer more.’

Grimaldi nodded.

‘So be it.’

‘What? A pardon? A caution? What?’

The lawyer laughed.

‘A pardon? I’m a Questura lawyer. Not a judge. I can’t hand those out. Besides, I want this girl, the mother too, to understand we know they’ve been less than frank with us. That we’re choosing not to take this any further. I want to hear Mina Gabriel acknowledge that email you found and tell me, in her own words, she didn’t know why Robert wanted it. I’m no priest, Leo. I don’t offer forgiveness to the guilty. For our sake and for theirs I want to hear some word, some expression of responsibility on their part. If I get that, they’ll hear no more from me. I’ll concur with you that there’s insufficient evidence for anyone else to be charged. Which is probably true, by the way.’

Falcone recalled the difficult meetings he’d had with Cecilia Gabriel and her daughter.

‘I’m not sure how easy that’s going to be.’

‘The girl hasn’t even admitted there was abuse, has she? Even with those photographs you have.’

‘True, but-’

‘No,’ Grimaldi cut in. ‘I won’t move on this. If she won’t give me even this small thing, you must continue the investigation. Find more evidence than a single incriminating email. I can’t bury four murders without a reason. It’s not as if I’m asking for some sign of complicity. Only a brief and understandable explanation. In return they may be getting away with murder. Or at the very least being party to one. You asked for a deal. How good a deal is that? The best they’re likely to have.’

Falcone scratched his tidy silver beard, thinking.

‘The trouble is,’ he asked, ‘how on earth do I sell that to them? I haven’t managed to have a civilized conversation with Cecilia Gabriel since we met. She’s slapped me in the face twice. I don’t know. .’

‘You need a lawyer with you,’ Grimaldi told him. ‘We possess what those bright young things in human resources call a different skill set. Come.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I can make the time. Let’s walk round there now. This House of Owls sounds an interesting place. We can have a full and frank conversation, just the four of us. No notes. Nothing formal. A little chat, one that in legal terms doesn’t even exist. I will make the situation plain. All I require is a little candour on their part. In return I shall see that the file goes no further on the grounds that a prosecution would not be in the public interest.’

He opened his hands in a very Roman signal of generosity.

‘What more can I offer, Leo? Please. Tell me.’

Falcone thought about this. It was what he’d hoped for, though he still felt uncomfortable leaving his team rudderless that morning.

‘I should call Costa and explain.’

‘That,’ Grimaldi said, ‘is the last thing you’re going to do. Trust me. With arrangements of this nature you do not involve the Questura. Not till the deed is done.’

The lawyer tapped the side of his bulbous nose.

‘Agreed?’ he added, though it was not, in truth, a question.