“You’ve told me some useful things. Obviously before you testify we’ll prepare well, to avoid any surprises like the ones that were sprung on you at the original trial. Maybe we can manage to set the record straight, at least in part. It isn’t an easy case, but there may be some glimmers of light.”

“Have you dealt with many cases … of this kind?”

“You mean murder cases?”

“Yes.”

I counted. There were eight in all. Not many, but not a small number either for a lawyer who doesn’t usually take on clients involved in organized crime. It’s those who do who are more likely to handle certain kinds of case.

“How did they go?”

“Four acquittals and three convictions.”

“Four plus three makes seven.”

“In one, the defendant died during the trial. He had a heart attack. The judge ruled that the case couldn’t go ahead.”

“Was he guilty or innocent?”

“Guilty, I think. Though he swore he was innocent.”

“If he hadn’t died, would he have been convicted?”

“Hard to say. The evidence was circumstantial, but maybe yes.”

“And in the other cases? The cases where your clients were convicted?”

“Two convictions out of the three were where the accused confessed. Then it’s all about getting the mildest sentence, not getting them acquitted. As for the third … if I’d been in the judges’ place, I’d have delivered the same verdict.”

“And what about those who were acquitted?”130

“Do you want to know if they were guilty or innocent?”

“Yes.”

“One was a case of self-defence. The others … I like to think they were all innocent, but let’s say I’m only reasonably certain about one of the cases. With the other two, I don’t know, but the investigations had been badly conducted and acquittal was the right decision.”

At that moment my mind went in a direction I couldn’t control. It had happened to me before, every time I had dealt with a murder: I wondered what the last minutes of the victim’s life had been like. What activity had Gaglione, bouncer and drug dealer, been engaged in just before he was killed? What had his last normal thought been before he realized there was somebody in his apartment about to shoot him?

I told myself it wouldn’t be a particularly good idea to share this stream of fantasies with Lorenza. So, to cut it off, I looked at my watch.

“It’s already twenty to ten. Come on, I’ll close the office and we’ll go down together.”

I switched off the lights, checked there were no windows open (a little neurosis I’d developed ever since I’d found a bat in the conference room) and we left.

“Do you have a car?” I asked her, remembering from the reading of the file that she didn’t live nearby.

“No. I like walking.”