Involuntary Witness - Страница 39

“I will summarize these points. Signor Renna does not like non-European citizens and wishes the police would do something about them. Signor Renna does not know Abdou Thiam very well if – having two photographs of him in his hand and being in the same courtroom – he fails to recognize him. Signor Renna, finally and consequently, doesn’t have much of a memory for faces and does not find it easy to distinguish between one non-European citizen and another. From his point of view ‘they are all niggers’, to use the very words he used himself in replying to a question from the defence.”

I was about to launch one of the decisive offensives, so I paused once more and gave the court at least twenty seconds. They had to wonder why I had stopped speaking and give me all the attention they could, after so many hours in the courtroom. When I started again, I pitched my voice higher. It had to be clear that we had reached the climax.

“And on the basis of the statements of this witness, these statements from a dubious source – dubious on account of what we have said concerning the first interrogation by the carabinieri – the public prosecutor is asking you to inflict a sentence of imprisonment for life.

“Bear in mind that to inflict not life imprisonment but even a single day in prison, you must not apply the criteria of verisimilitude, you must not apply the criteria of probability. Even supposing that in this case and with reference to the content of Renna’s deposition we are entitled to speak of verisimilitude or probability. You must apply the criteria of certainty. Absolute certainty!

“We may speak of certainty in the reconstruction of an occurrence when every other alternative hypothesis is implausible and must therefore be rejected. Is that the case here? Is it implausible to think, for example, that Renna saw someone else that afternoon, not Abdou Thiam, in view of the fact that for him ‘niggers’ are all alike? Is it implausible to think that this witness was in some way mistaken? This witness who – mind you – failed miserably before your eyes to recognize the photographs. Could he not be mistaken? Can you with untroubled mind entrust your entire decision, and the whole life of a man, to the declarations of a witness whose fallibility has been revealed before your very eyes?”

A pause. Seven, eight seconds.

“And please take note: even if against all the evidence you still choose to maintain that Renna’s account is reliable, this would not amount to proof of the defendant’s guilt.

“Because the other evidence against him isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.”

And I went on to examine the statements of the two Senegalese, the results of the searches and all the rest of the evidence.

I spoke of the mobile-phone records. Even if we agreed to speak in terms of the famous “verisimilitude”, I said, the prosecution’s reconstruction didn’t hold water. In fact it was almost grotesque. The prosecution held that the defendant had returned from Naples in the grip of a raptus, and had gone to Capitolo with the insane intention of kidnapping, violating and killing little Francesco. In that case he was mad. Because only madness could account for such preposterous behaviour. In which case, why had he not been subjected to any psychiatric examination? If to explain his behaviour it was necessary to fall back on mental illness, then this illness should have been ascertained. Otherwise that hypothesis remained simply an attempt to influence the court.

I raised all these points fairly briefly. The jurors were tired, and I was convinced that when the moment came to decide they would primarily discuss Renna’s evidence.

So I began to wind up. To end at the point from which one started gives the idea of completeness and lends strength to an argument. So I believe.

“Verisimilitude or veracity, ladies and gentlemen. Probability or certainty. The choice ought not to be difficult. But instead it is. Because if on the one hand there is the perception – which I am sure we all share – that this trial has produced no answer, on the other hand there is the feeling of dismay at the idea that a horrible crime can remain unpunished, without a known culprit. It is an intolerable idea, and one that brings with it a very grave risk.”

At that moment Cervellati re-entered the courtroom. He sat down and propped his head on his right hand, using the hand as a kind of barrier. Between him and me. His gaze was ostentatiously directed at a point in the courtroom high up on the left. Where nothing was.

It was the position closest to turning his back on me that was physically possible with the tables and chairs arranged in parallel rows.

I thought he was a turd and carried on.

“The risk is that we may try to rid ourselves of this anguish by finding not the culprit but a culprit. Anyone at all. Someone who has suffered the mischance of getting ensnared in the proceedings.

“Without – having – done – a – thing. Let me repeat that: without – having – done – a – thing.

“Some may not share the categorical tone of my statement. Very well. Everyone is entitled to doubts. I am the defending counsel and for many reasons I am convinced of the innocence of my client. You have the right not to share this certainty. You have a right to your doubts. You have a right to think that Abdou Thiam could be guilty, despite what his counsel says.

“He could be guilty. Despite the absurdity of the reconstruction put forward by the prosecution, you have the right to think that the defendant could be guilty.

“He could be. In the conditional.

“Verdicts of guilty, however, are not written – cannot be written – in the conditional mood. They are written in the indicative, they affirm certainties. Certainties!

“Can you make affirmations of certainty? Can you say it is certain that the witness Renna was not mistaken? Can you say that at the end of this trial you are left with no reasonable doubt?

“If you can say all this, then convict Abdou Thiam.”

I had raised my voice and I became aware that this time I was not play-acting.

“Sentence him to life imprisonment and nothing less. If you can say that there is not a single doubt, that you are absolutely certain, then it is your duty to sentence this man to prison for ever. You must have the courage to do it. The great courage.”

For an indefinable time everything hung in the air. Until I heard my voice once more. Low now, and with a crack in it.

“If, however, you do not have this certainty, then you require even more courage.

“In order not to suppress your doubts in the name of summary justice, and therefore to acquit, you will need enormous courage. I am confident that you will have it.

“Thank you for hearing me out.”

I sat down, scarcely able to believe that I had really finished. From behind me on the public benches came a murmur of voices. I sat with lips compressed and head slightly bowed, staring dumbly to my left at the grain of the wood on my desk.

I heard the judge speaking and his voice seemed to come from far away. He asked the prosecution and the civil party if they had any responses. They said no.

Then he asked Abdou if he wished to make a concluding statement, before the court retired in camera. As was his right by law. The murmur died and there were a few seconds of silence. Then came Abdou’s voice speaking into a microphone inserted between the bars of the cage. It was quiet but firm.

“I want to say one thing. I want to thank my lawyer because he has believed I am innocent. I want to tell him he did right, because it is true.”

The president gave an imperceptible nod. “The court will retire,” he said.

He got to his feet, and almost at once the others did likewise.

I got up too, mechanically. I watched them disappear one by one through the door and only then did I turn to Margherita.

“How long did I speak for?”

“Two and a half hours, more or less.”

I looked at my watch. It was a quarter past six. It seemed to me I had spoken for no more than forty minutes.

We stood for a while in silence. Then she asked me why I didn’t take off my robe. I did so and laid it on the desk, while she regarded me with the expression of one who wants to say something and is searching for the way, for the words.

“I’m not very good at paying compliments. I’ve never really liked doing it, and I think I know why. In any case, that doesn’t matter now. What I wanted to say was that… well, listening to you was… extraordinary. I’d like to give you a kiss, but I don’t think this is the time and place for it.”

I said nothing, because I was at a loss for words, and what’s more I had a lump in my throat.

A journalist came up and complimented me. Then another, and then the girl who had asked me what I thought of the prosecutor’s request for a verdict of guilty. I felt a pang of remorse at not having been kinder to her earlier.

While the journalists jabbered on at me without my listening, Margherita gave a gentle tug at my sleeve.

“I must dash. Good luck.” She raised her left fist to her brow and briefly bowed her head.

Then she turned and made off, and I felt lonely.

37

The first defence I conducted on my own, shortly after qualifying, had to do with a series of frauds. The defendant was a large, jolly fellow with a black moustache and a nose laced with broken veins. I had a feeling he was not a teetotaller.

The prosecutor made a very short speech and asked for two years’ imprisonment. I made a long harangue. While I was speaking the judge kept nodding, and this gave me confidence. My arguments seemed to me cogent and unanswerably persuasive.