A Walk in the Dark by Gianrico Carofiglio Page B

to ask you about these things. Your stay in hospital, your therapy, and so on. That way we tackle the subject calmly, we show we have nothing to hide, we take away their big surprise, we prevent them influencing the judge, and we reduce the risk of stress. What do you think?”
    Martina turned to look at Sister Claudia, then she looked at me again and nodded mechanically. The smell had become sharper, and I wondered if Sister Claudia smelled it. If she did, you couldn’t tell from her face. You couldn’t tell anything from her face. I resumed speaking.
    “Of course to do this you need to tell me everything calmly.”

    She lit a cigarette, and looked around as if searching for something on the shelves, the desk or out of the window.
    Then she told me everything. A common story, not at all out of the ordinary.
    Eating disorders, ever since she was a teenager. Problems with her university studies. Nervous breakdown because of an exam she couldn’t pass. Depression, anorexia, a spell in hospital. And then the start of her recovery. Drugs, therapy. Meeting a nurse who also worked as a volunteer at Safe Shelter. Meeting Sister Claudia, the job at the refuge with the girls. Graduation, at last. Work.
    The meeting with Scianatico.
    And all the rest, which I partly knew already. She also told me a few things I didn’t know, about the time she lived with Scianatico and some of his predilections. Very unpleasant things, which we might be able to bring up in the trial, if I could find a way.
    She also told me something about her family. A little about her mother. And her younger sister, who was married with one child. But she didn’t talk about her father and of course I assumed he was dead, but I didn’t ask her.
    Martina’s story lasted at least three quarters of an hour. She seemed a bit calmer, as if she had at last relieved herself of a burden. She insisted that she hadn’t taken any medication for at least four years.
    Let’s hope she doesn’t need to start taking it again after this trial, I thought.
    “Can I ask you something?” she said, after lighting another cigarette.
    “Of course.”
    “Will he be in court when I testify?”
    “I don’t know. He’s free to come or not to come. We
won’t know until the day. But it shouldn’t make any difference to you if he’s there or not.”
    “But will he be able to ask me questions?”
    “No. Only his lawyer can ask you questions. And remember: when he examines you, and when you answer, don’t look at him. Look at the judge, look straight in front of you, but not at him. Remember you mustn’t get into any arguments with him, and that’s easier if you avoid looking straight at him. And if you don’t understand a question, don’t try to answer. Politely, without looking at him, tell the lawyer you haven’t understood and ask him to repeat it. And if I or the public prosecutor object to one of his questions, just stop, don’t answer, and wait for the judge to rule on the objection. I’ll go over all these things the day before your appearance, but try to memorize them now.”
    I asked if there was anything else they wanted to know. Martina shook her head. Sister Claudia looked at me for a few moments. Then she decided now wasn’t the moment for her question, whatever it was, so she shook her head too.
    “Everything’s fine, then. We’ll talk again tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll tell you how it went.” I said that as I was walking them to the door.
    I wasn’t at all convinced everything was fine.
    When they’d left, I went and opened the windows wide, even though it was cold outside. To get a change of air.
    I didn’t want the sharp smell of fear to linger in the room too long.

17
    I closed the office, returned home, had dinner with Margherita and just as we were going to bed I told her I was going down to my apartment. I had to work, to check some papers for the trial next day, and I’d be up late. I didn’t want to disturb her, so it was better if I