The Few (34 page)

Scamarcio decided not to say anything; he didn't want to get in the way for now.

‘They'd organise get-togethers every few weeks. Only a select few were invited: figures from the world of high politics and big business.' He paused for a moment. ‘Actually, Andrea Spezzi was one of them until he conveniently killed himself.'

That chimed with Scamarcio's initial instincts.

Zaccardo sighed again. It seemed as if the burden of this knowledge was weighing him down, was getting harder to carry by the second. Sharing it with someone else didn't appear to make it any easier. ‘These get-togethers, well …' He took a deep breath. ‘Imagine the sickest sexual perversion you can find online, and then imagine it catered for to the very last detail, with no expense spared. And I'm not just talking adults, if you get my drift. All tastes were catered for there.'

Scamarcio nodded gently, anxiety churning in his stomach.

Zaccardo continued: ‘The locations were luxurious; the drink and drugs on tap. Preparing for an event took two weeks of around-the-clock organisation. Sometimes it looked like they were creating a film set.' He paused a moment, reflecting. ‘In fact, in some cases I do believe they were.'

Scamarcio leaned forward. ‘And where did you come into all of this?'

‘I supplied the drugs, Detective. I had the contacts, I got them the best, and they paid me … well, they paid me …' He shrugged. ‘I guess “decently” would be the word I'd choose. But, just that — nothing more. In the end, it wasn't enough. When I heard what they were charging the clients to attend, and I compared it with the cut they gave me, I decided to try and make a bit more profit with those photos.'

For Zaccardo to confess so readily to several major crimes, he had indeed to be extremely scared of something, figured Scamarcio. ‘What were they charging the clients?'

‘Twenty grand a night, with 100 grand paid up-front just to be a member. You couldn't attend the get-togethers unless you were a member, and members were extremely highly vetted. Quite a few famous names were rejected.'

‘What were they vetting for?'

‘It wasn't just status, it was discretion. They didn't want people who would talk, brag around too much. Membership was on recommendation from other members. If someone recommended you, and you passed the vetting, then you'd be invited.'

‘Was anyone invited who didn't accept? Wouldn't that have potentially exposed what they were up to?'

‘As far as I know, that never happened. They made quite sure they chose people who would jump at their invitation.'

‘So how did Arthur and his friend in Florence fit in?'

‘They were good-looking boys, well ripped, everything just right, and there were quite a few clients who were into that — Ganza among them — so they were there to cater for that particular preference.'

‘You met Arthur at these get-togethers?'

‘A few times, but usually only at the start of the night, and then I'd head straight off. They didn't like me hanging around, and I didn't want to, anyway.' He paused a moment. ‘One time, quite close to the end — I mean to when Arthur died — we had a particular conversation which has stuck with me, given everything that's happened since.' As if as an afterthought, he added: ‘I sometimes used to have a drink at one of the bar areas; they let me have free beers, and that's where we got talking.'

Scamarcio nodded at him to continue. ‘Arthur had noticed something that upset him. Despite his line of work, in some ways he was quite naïve about the world, and it seemed like he hadn't really developed a thick skin for certain things. Well, to cut a long story short, one time at one of the villas he'd seen two little girls — I mean, when I say little, probably just around seven or eight — being led into a room. And when he saw that, it clicked for him, just what they were up to in there. I think until then he'd just reckoned it was adult stuff for adults only. But that freaked him out, and from that point on he wanted out of this thing, and that night he told me as much. I think he'd had a couple of drinks — they'd loosened his tongue.'

‘And how did you respond when he said he wanted out?'

‘I said I knew where he was coming from.'

‘Did you want out, too?'

Zaccardo weighed this up for several moments. ‘I think, in some ways, maybe I did. I mean, I knew bad stuff went on, and I lived with that, but what was beginning to get to me was their arrogance — the fact that cos they had all this money, they knew they could do whatever the hell they wanted, to whoever they wanted. They could get away with murder.' He looked directly at Scamarcio as he said the word. ‘And when I say murder, I mean murder. Don't think for a second that the whole snuff thing wasn't catered for. That was one of their bestsellers.'

Scamarcio swallowed. He felt bile in his throat. ‘They killed people?'

‘Quite a few people.'

‘How many?'

‘I don't know precisely, but I heard at least ten.'

‘Yeah, but surely those people had been reported missing?'

Zaccardo laughed, but it sounded more like a sigh. ‘Detective, they chose carefully — people who wouldn't be missed.'

A new thought struck Scamarcio, and settled like a blade of ice in his gut. ‘Children?'

‘Sometimes.'

Scamarcio let that sink in for several moments. He took a breath: ‘So, looking back, you think Arthur wanted to let the world know what they were doing to kids there?' He decided not to mention the images they'd found on the camera for now.

‘I'm not sure I'd go that far, but he had doubts and wanted out, and I guess they got wind of it and thought they couldn't trust him. Whether that happened before or after I released the photos, I don't know. But surely once they were out there, their suspicions were confirmed.'

‘But if you knew Arthur had these doubts and wanted out, why did you take those photos of him? Didn't you see what might happen?'

Zaccardo was shaking his head again. ‘I didn't think they'd kill him. I really didn't. He was one of their most popular guys. I didn't think it would end like that.'

‘But they were killing people for snuff movies! Why would they care about some Argentine rentboy?'

‘No, it doesn't work like that. He was a valuable commodity, in demand. I didn't think they'd kill
him
.'

He had his head in his hands now, and Scamarcio understood that the guilt was for Arthur, not the children, and this both disturbed and confused him. ‘But didn't you think you'd get him into trouble?'

‘No, he wasn't to know I was in the wardrobe taking photos and, anyway, I thought maybe this could be his way out, you know?'

‘But you just said he was a valuable commodity. It doesn't sound like they'd let him go easily.'

‘No, but if he felt like his identity had been compromised, they might see his point of view, and it could get all get settled amicably. They might have offered him a painless exit.'

In that moment, Scamarcio got it. ‘You were in love with him, weren't you?'

Zaccardo took a sip of the small slither of whisky still left in his glass. ‘Love is a big word, Detective.'

‘So why the other guy, too? And why Spezzi?'

‘The other guy was in the picture with Arthur. I guess they figured they shared the same doubts, I don't know — they were close, always together, those two.' He sighed. ‘Spezzi, well, there's an interesting one. When it came out on the grapevine that Arthur had died, Spezzi was gutted, cos he'd been one of his most loyal clients and still was, even though he was about to marry that French girl. He got really scared that it was all about to come out again. From what I heard, he actually
was
suicidal, but I think they gave him a helpful push because they worried about his state of mind — worried that if he got into a confessional mood, he might spill all to the girlfriend before she could read it in the papers.'

‘And the bookie, Geppo?'

‘Poor old Geppo had a problem, and of late it was getting a lot worse. He supplied fags and booze to the parties, and was touting for more trade; but, unlike me, he was getting high on his own supply. If you ask me, long before the Ganza thing came out, they were thinking of letting him go; they were concerned about him being indiscreet. It just so happened that that coincided with a whole lot of other shit hitting the fan.' He paused a moment. ‘But I know that he got on with Arthur. They seemed to be friendly, so that could have worried them, too.'

‘For a group of people who want to keep their activities under the radar, they seem a bit heavy-handed to me.'

Zaccardo nodded. ‘They never were in the past, before the brothers, but they certainly are now, and
that
is going to be their downfall, Detective. It's just a matter of time. When the brothers got into this, they took it down a road that, if you ask me, it would have been better to avoid.'

For the past few minutes, Scamarcio had had the sense that all this was building to the one dreadful, inevitable conclusion, and now he felt sure that his instinct was about to be confirmed. He was struggling to process the concept that these parties were where Stacey Baker might have been headed — that this was where she would finish up. He prayed to an inner god he didn't quite believe in that he'd soon be proved wrong.

‘You're talking about the Moltisanti?' He almost crossed his fingers when he posed the question, desperate for Zaccardo to utter the one word, ‘No.'

Zaccardo paled slightly, and then just nodded. Scamarcio felt like properly throwing up now. Eventually, he said: ‘Too many of their heavies running around sorting out cock-ups?'

Zaccardo nodded again.

‘So it's just the brothers?'

‘There's another guy who had the initial idea, but I don't know much about him. Lately it's just the brothers I hear mentioned — I chat with the private drivers they use for the parties, as well as a few of the staff. I know there's been trouble of late because they farmed out some of the operation to a group of Albanians, but they haven't been up to scratch. It's causing friction and, if the gossip is to be believed, they're about to ditch them.'

Scamarcio nodded. ‘And the great and the good who attend these get-togethers, can you give me any names?'

Zaccardo looked him squarely in the eye, but his voice was shaky now. ‘Can we leave the names for later? What I will say is that you're looking at another cabinet minister, a couple of regional police and intelligence chiefs, and a few of our heavy hitters in industry, a la Spezzi. There's a mayor in there, too, of a big northern town.'

Scamarcio exhaled. ‘Are there many of them?'

‘No, it's very exclusive.'

‘All men?'

‘Yes.'

‘Does the PM know, you think?'

Zaccardo exhaled, and shook his head sharply. ‘He's never been invited because his tastes are plain vanilla. Plus he's renowned for getting over-excited: he likes nothing more than to brag about his achievements, as we all know. They figured it would be best to leave him to his little harems at home with his geriatric buddies.' He paused a moment. ‘Besides, I heard that there's some bad blood between him and the brothers.'

‘That so?'

Zaccardo shrugged. ‘I don't have the details.'

‘So why are
you
so worried, Zaccardo? Why would they kill
you
? You're just their dealer.'

‘Look at it from my point of view: they seemed to know that Arthur had doubts, so they had him done in, along with Simon and Spezzi. Geppo is also now out of the picture. I was often seen chatting to Arthur — they knew we were friendly. The way I see it is that they seem to be cleaning up after themselves, clearing the slate of problem people, and I guess I could fit into that. They'll just want some new guy to take my place who doesn't know about any of this past stuff. Someone uncompromised — someone cheaper, probably.'

‘And if you're wrong, and they're perfectly happy with you?'

Zaccardo's gaze was unflinching. ‘Then I've just made the biggest mistake of my life talking to you, Detective.'

52

SCAMARCIO PULLED
his fag packet from his pocket. ‘You mind if I smoke in here?'

‘Actually, I'd prefer it if you went outside. I'm kind of house proud.'

Scamarcio thought that none of this would matter now if Zaccardo was about to be spirited to a new life up north. Or bumped off. But instead he said: ‘Yeah, nice place you've got here. I'll be a couple of minutes.'

Zaccardo showed him to the front door, and he stepped out onto the patio where the two cats were still sunning themselves. His captives remained where he'd left them, except they now seemed to be engaged in an animated conversation which, from where he was standing, sounded more like an argument. Zaccardo squinted into the sunlight behind him. ‘Is that Rossi in the car there? What's going on?'