Authors: Giorgio Faletti
They went in. To their left was a long line of bikes, different models but all Harleys. To the right, a display of gear and accessories, from helmets to coveralls to mufflers.
Facing them was a counter, from behind which a tall, sturdy man in a pair of jeans and a black sleeveless T-shirt emerged and came towards them. He had a black bandana, sideburns and a drooping moustache. As he approached, she realized the moustache was dyed, the bandana was probably there to cover a bald patch, and beneath his tan he must be well over seventy. On his right shoulder he had a tattoo of a Jolly Roger with the same words they’d found on the body walled up fifteen years earlier.
‘Hello. My name’s Vivien Light.’
The man smiled, amused. ‘Like in the movie?’
‘No, like in the police,’ she replied curtly and took out her shield. The fact that her name was similar to Vivien Leigh had bugged her all her life.
The man didn’t skip a beat.
A
thick
skin
or
an
easy
conscience
,
Vivien thought.
‘I’m Justin Chowsky, the owner. Is there something wrong?’
‘I believe this used to be the headquarters of a group of bikers called the Skullbusters.’
‘It still is.’ Chowsky smiled at Vivien’s look of surprise. ‘Things have changed a bit since the old days. We used to be a pretty wild bunch of guys. Some of us even had problems with the law. Me too, to be honest. Nothing big, you can check. A few joints, a few fights, a few benders too many.’
For a moment, he stared at one of the windows as if scenes from his youth were projected on it.
‘We were hotheads but we weren’t delinquents. The really heavy guys left of their own accord.’
He made a circular gesture with his hand, taking in both the space around them and his visible sense of pride.
‘Then one day, I decided to open this place. Before too
long, we were one of the biggest centres for sales and personalization in the state. And the Skullbusters became a quiet group of nostalgic old men who still go around on bikes like they were kids.’
Vivien looked at Russell, who so far had kept back and hadn’t introduced himself. She liked that. He knew his place.
She turned her attention back to the man in front of her. ‘Mr Chowsky, I need some information.’
She took the man’s silence as consent.
‘About fifteen years ago, did a member of your group suddenly disappear without a trace?’
The reply came without a moment’s hesitation, and Vivien felt her heart swell with hope.
‘Mitch Sparrow.’
‘Mitch Sparrow?’ Vivien repeated the name, as if afraid it would immediately vanish from their memories.
‘That’s the one. Now let me see, it happened …’
Chowsky removed his bandana. Vivien had been wrong: he still had a full head of hair in spite of his age, although it was clearly dyed. He passed his hand through it, as if that would help him to remember.
‘It happened exactly eighteen years ago.’
Vivien noted that the date fitted the margin of error in the ME’s report. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.
‘One hundred per cent. My youngest son was born a few days later.’
From the inside pocket of her jacket, Vivien took one of the two photographs she had brought with her, the one with the cat, and held it out to Chowsky.
‘Is this Mitch Sparrow?’
He did not even need to take it from her. ‘No. Mitch had fair hair and this guy’s dark. And anyway he was allergic to
cats.’
‘Have you ever seen this person before?’
‘Never saw him in my life.’
For a moment, Vivien considered the implications of that statement. Then she did what her job required and continued with her questions. ‘What kind of a man was Mitch?’
Chowsky smiled. ‘When he first joined us, he was a fanatical biker. Took better care of his bike than his mother. He was a good-looking guy, too, but he treated women like Kleenex. You know, used them, then threw them away.’
Chowsky seemed to be the kind of person who loves the sound of his own voice. Vivien pressed him. ‘And then?’
Chowsky shrugged, as if to say: That’s life. ‘One day he met a girl who wasn’t like the others, and he fell for her. He spent less time with his bike and more time in bed. The girl ended up pregnant. So Mitch found a job and got married. We all went to the wedding. We were drunk for two whole days.’
Vivien didn’t have time for an old biker’s memories of drinking sprees. She tried to stick to the point. ‘Tell me about his disappearance. What happened?’
‘There’s not much to tell. One fine day he vanished. Just like that. His wife told the police. They even came and asked me questions. From the 70th Precinct, I think. But they never got anywhere. You know what the French say.
Cherchez
la femme.
’
He seemed very pleased with himself for saying something in a foreign language.
‘Are you still in touch with his wife?’
‘No. For a while, when she still lived around here, she and my wife used to see each other from time to time. But a couple of years after Mitch disappeared, she found someone
else and moved away.’ Chowsky anticipated the next question. ‘I don’t know where.’
‘Do you remember her name?’
‘Carmen. Montaldo, Montero, something like that. She was Hispanic. A tall woman, quite a looker. If Mitch did run off with another woman, then that was one of the dumbest things he ever did in his life.’
Vivien couldn’t tell Chowsky that this was one dumb thing Mitch probably hadn’t done. Though maybe he had done something even dumber, to end up inside a concrete wall.
She didn’t think she would get any more information from Chowsky for the moment. She had a name, she had a time period, she had a missing persons report filed by a woman called Carmen, Montaldo or Montero or something like that. Now she had to find that report and trace the woman.
‘Thank you, Mr Chowsky – you’ve been a great help.’
‘Don’t mention it, Miss Light.’
They left the man to his bikes and headed for the door. Just as they were about to leave, Russell stopped. He looked at her for a moment, unsure of his next step. Then he turned to Chowsky, who was now back behind the counter.
‘One last thing,’ he said, ‘if you don’t mind.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘What kind of work did Mitch Sparrow do?’
‘He worked in the construction industry. He was really good. He’d have become a site supervisor, if he hadn’t vanished like that.’
As soon as they were some distance from the shop, Vivien took out her BlackBerry and dialled the captain’s direct number. After a couple of rings, he replied.
‘Bellew.’
‘Alan, it’s Vivien. I have something.’
‘Good.’
‘I need you to run a really quick check.’
The captain could hear the thrill of the chase in Vivien’s voice, and it infected him. ‘Quicker than that, if I can. Go on.’
They were both experienced police officers. They both knew that a case like this was, more than anything, a race against time. And the man they were after had time on his side.
‘Write this down.’
Vivien gave the captain a couple of seconds to find pen and paper.
‘Shoot.’
‘In all probability, the name of the guy in the wall is Mitch Sparrow. A witness has confirmed that he belonged to a group of bikers called the Skullbusters. They were based in Coney Island, on Surf Avenue. There should be a missing persons report filed with the 70th Precinct eighteen years ago by a woman named Carmen Montaldo or Montero. A couple of years later she found a new partner and moved to an
unknown address. I need to trace her.’
‘OK. Give me half an hour and I’ll get back to you.’
‘One last thing. This Mitch Sparrow was a construction worker.’
That made the captain understandably excited. ‘Holy shit.’
‘Precisely. We’ll need to take a look at the union registers. Can you get someone on that?’
For a whole lot of reasons, most construction companies only used people supplied by the union. If Sparrow had been a construction worker, he had to have been a union member.
‘Consider it done.’
Vivien hung up.
Russell had been walking in silence beside her, listening to her end of the conversation. ‘I must apologize,’ he said.
‘What for?’
‘For earlier, I mean. The way I butted in. It was instinctive.’
Vivien had in fact been taken by surprise by the question Wade had asked Chowsky, and had regretted the fact that she hadn’t thought of it first. But she was honest enough always to give credit where credit was due.
‘It was a good question, a really good question.’
Russell went on to explain his motivation, as if surprised by his own intuition. ‘It occurred to me that the reason this Sparrow guy ended up in a block of concrete must have been because he found out something he wasn’t supposed to know, or saw something he wasn’t supposed to see.’ He paused for reflection. ‘So I thought again about the letter I gave you.’
A shadow passed over his face, and Vivien was sure he was reliving the circumstances in which he had obtained that letter. She, too, remembered the words clearly, and could see the rough masculine handwriting.
All
my
life
,
before
and
after
the
war
,
I
worked
in
the
construction
industry.
She finished Russell’s line of thought for him. ‘And you
concluded
there’s a strong likelihood the man who killed Sparrow and the man who wrote the letter are one and the same.’
‘Precisely.’
By now they had reached the parking lot. On the other side of it, beyond a small row of trees, they could see the big tents of the amusement park and the skeletal outlines of the rollercoaster and the Parachute Tower. There weren’t many cars parked here, and it occurred to Vivien that Monday probably wasn’t the busiest day of the week for an amusement park, even on a beautiful if strange day like today.
She looked at her watch. ‘With all that’s going down I forgot about food, but now I’m starting to feel hungry. We have to wait for the captain to call back. How about a burger?’
Russell gave a vague, doubtful smile. ‘I’m not eating. But I can keep you company, if you like.’
‘Are you on a diet?’
The smile turned into an expression of unconditional surrender. ‘The truth is, I don’t have a cent on me. And my cards have been pretty much worthless for a while now. In the city there are places that’d give me credit, but here I’m in Comanche territory. Not sure how I’m going to survive.’
In spite of all she knew about Russell Wade’s erratic lifestyle, Vivien couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, a feeling that immediately relegated him to a place where he couldn’t cause trouble.
‘You’ve had it bad lately, I guess?’
‘Everyone’s feeling the pinch right now. You’re a police officer, you must know about that forger they arrested in New Jersey.’
‘What forger?’
‘He’s been making twenty-five-dollar bills, because these days he can’t make his costs back with just twenty-dollar bills.’
In spite of herself, Vivien burst out laughing. A couple of young black men dressed in strict hip-hop style who were crossing the parking lot turned to stare at them.
She looked Russell Wade in the eyes as if seeing him for the first time. Behind the look of amusement, she saw him as someone who was used to being on the margins, and she wondered if, after a certain point in his life, it hadn’t been something he’d chosen for himself rather than having it imposed on him by the world.
‘How about if it’s on me?’
Russell made a desolate gesture with his head. ‘I’m in no position to refuse. I admit I’m so hungry, you just need to give me a jar of mayonnaise and I could eat the tyres of this car.’
‘Come on, then. We still need those tyres. And standing you for lunch will cost me less than replacing them.’
They crossed the parking lot to the seashore. There was nobody on the beach, apart from a few people walking their dogs and a few indomitable joggers. The reflection of the sun and clouds on the water made for a magical interplay of air, light and shade. Vivien stopped to look at it, her face to the wind, the same wind that moved the waves and flecked them with foam. There were occasional moments in her life like this. Moments when, faced with the indifferent splendour of the world, she would have liked to sit down, close her eyes and forget everything.
And hope that everyone would forget her.
They continued along the boardwalk until they came to a stand selling hot dogs, souvlaki and hamburgers. The smell of the grilled meat, carried on the wind, had preceded and
guided them. Next to it was a canopy with a wooden table and chairs under it, allowing customers to eat in the shade when the weather was hot and look out at the sea.
‘What would you like?’
‘Maybe a cheeseburger.’
‘One or two?’
Russell gave her a sheepish look. ‘Two would be great.’
Again, Vivien found herself smiling. There was no reason to, but this man seemed to have the ability at times to bring out her lighter side, in a way that could triumph over any mood.
‘Okay, little orphan boy. Sit down and wait for me.’
She went up to the counter and gave the order, while Russell sat down in the shade of the canopy. Vivien soon joined him, holding a tray with the food containers and two bottles of mineral water. She pushed the cheeseburgers towards Russell and ostentatiously placed one of the bottles in front of him.
‘I got this to drink. I assume you would have preferred a beer. But seeing as how you’re with me, we can both consider ourselves on duty, so no alcohol.’
Russell smiled. ‘A period on the wagon won’t do me any harm. I think I may have overdone it a bit lately …’ He left the sentence hanging, with all that it implied. Suddenly his
expression
and tone of voice changed. ‘I’m sorry about all this.’
‘What?’
‘Forcing you to pay.’
Vivien replied with a nonchalant gesture. ‘You’ll be able to pay me back with dinner. My choice. If this thing works out the way we hope, you’ll have a great story to tell. And great stories usually bring fame and money.’
‘I’m not doing this for the money.’
He had uttered these words in a low voice, almost casually. Vivien was sure he hadn’t spoken them only for her. In his mind, he was talking to someone else. Or maybe lots of people.
For a while they ate in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
‘Would you like to know the truth about
The
Second
Passion
?’
Russell’s words had come suddenly, out of nowhere. Vivien raised her head to look at him. His face was turned towards the sea, his dark hair blowing in the wind. From the tone of his voice, she realized that this was an important moment for him. It was the end of a long journey, like coming home and at last seeing a face in the mirror you’re happy to call your own.
Russell did not wait for her to reply. He launched straight into his story, following the thread of a memory.
‘My brother Robert was ten years older than me. He was a very special person, the kind of person who makes everything he comes in contact with his own.’
Vivien decided that the best thing to do at a moment like this was to listen.
‘He was my idol. He was everyone’s idol: the school, girls, his family. He didn’t try to be, it was just the way he was. I don’t think I’ve often heard in anyone the kind of pride my father had in his voice whenever he talked about Robert.’
He paused, and in that pause was the fate of the world and the meaning of his life.
‘Even when I was around.’
Indirectly, words and images started to crowd into Vivien’s mind. As Russell continued with his story, voices and faces from her own life slotted right in beside his.
…
and
of
course
Greta
has
been
made
head
cheerleader.
Not
because
she’s
my
daughter
,
but
really
I
don’t
see
who
else
,
apart
from
her
,
could
have
…
‘I tried to copy everything he did, but he was inimitable. And he was crazy. He loved taking risks, putting himself to the test. He was very competitive. Looking back now, I think I know why. It’s because he was competing against himself.’
…
Nathan
Green?
Greta
,
you
mean
that
Nathan
Green
is
coming
to
pick
you
up
tonight?
I
can’t
believe
it.
Of
all
the
boys
at
school,
he’s
the
most
…
‘Robert was unstoppable. He always seemed to be looking for something. And I think he found it when he became interested in photography. At first, it seemed to be just another of the thousand things he’d tried out, but it wasn’t long before he showed that he had a real talent. He had this innate ability to get to the heart of things and people with his camera.
Looking
at his photographs, you had the feeling he saw beyond the surface, that his eyes went further than most people’s.’
…
you’re
beautiful
,
Greta.
And
I
don’t
think
there’s
ever
been
a
more
beautiful
bride
around
here.
In
the
whole
world
,
I
think.
I’m
so
proud
of
you
,
my
dear
…
‘The rest is well known. His love of extreme situations led gradually to his becoming one of the best-known war reporters. Wherever there was a conflict, he was there. Anyone who questioned why the heir to one of the richest families in Boston was risking his life going around the world with a Nikon in his hand just had to look at the results. His photographs were published by newspapers all over America and around the world.’
…
Police
academy
,
you
say?
Are
you
sure?
Apart
from
the
fact
that
it’s
a
dangerous
job
,
I
don’t
think
…
With an effort, Vivien wiped the images from her mind, before Greta’s beautiful face appeared out of the past to
remind her of the pain of the present.
‘And you?’
She had interrupted Russell’s story with that simple question, although she couldn’t explain to him that she was asking it of both of them.
‘Me?’
Russell said this as if only now remembering that he, too, had a place in the story he was telling. A place of his own, which he had sought for a long time to no avail. A shy smile appeared on his face, and Vivien realized that he was smiling at his own past naivety.
‘To copy him, I also started messing around with cameras. When I told my father I’d bought a few cameras, he looked like someone who sees his own money being thrown out the window. Robert, on the other hand, was really supportive. He helped and encouraged me in every way he could. And he taught me everything I know.’
Vivien noticed that, even though he had said he was hungry, he hadn’t finished even one of his two cheeseburgers. She knew from personal experience how easily powerful memories could take away your appetite.
As Russell continued, Vivien had the impression that this was the first time he had talked about these things to anyone. She wondered why he had chosen her.
‘I wanted to be like him. I wanted to show my father and mother and all their friends that I amounted to something, too. So when he left for Kosovo, I asked him to take me with him.’
So far, he had been looking away, but now he turned to her, with a new familiarity.
‘Do you remember the war in the Balkans?’
Vivien didn’t know that much about it. For a moment she
felt embarrassed by her own ignorance. ‘More or less.’
‘At the end of the Nineties, Kosovo was an autonomous province of former Yugoslavia, with an Albanian Muslim majority, ruled with a rod of iron by a Serb minority that suppressed the separatists who wanted to join Albania.’