wax seal and took out of the envelope a rim of papers. The very first sheet was the letter Palmira Bevilacqua had written only days before dying. Father Camillo read it aloud.
Dear Father Camillo,
if you read this letter, both Doctor Sciaccaluga and I are dead. Don’t misjudge Doctor Sciaccaluga based on the contents of this envelope. He’s a good man and a good doctor. He did what he did to follow in the footsteps of his father and along the way was tempted by greed. I copied these papers from the originals Doctor Sciaccaluga kept in his office. Those originals no longer exist: I saw Doctor Sciaccaluga burn them and dispose of the ashes. I made a copy of the documents because I believe that what Doctor Sciaccaluga and his father did is wrong and the children should be rejoined with their legitimate parents or, at least, be acquainted with their origins. I know you’ll agree with me that only then justice will be served. I’m confident you will use this information in the best interest of humankind.
Your devoted,
Palmira Bevilacqua
Finished, Father Camillo handed Antonio the papers. It took Antonio several minutes to understand that those notes described the sales, carried out by Damiano and Federico Sciaccaluga, of twenty-five babies. One of the papers was a perfect copy of Giuseppe’s birth record, the one Damiano Sciaccaluga had pulled out of his pocket at the palazzina. The only part missing in the copy was Federico’s signature. “This is unbelievable,” Antonio murmured. “I thought Giuseppe Berilli’s case was unique. Instead, it’s one of many. Twenty-five children grew up with the wrong parents!”
“I wouldn’t say that, Mister Sobrero,” Father Camillo said. “Perhaps these children grew up with people who loved them rather than with parents who didn’t want them.”
“Nevertheless, from what I see, the doctors who acted as intermediaries gained money from the sales,” Antonio pointed out. “Furthermore, they falsified the birth certificates. These men broke the law many times. More charges will be pressed against Damiano Sciaccaluga. I’ll make sure of that.”
“What will you do with these documents, Mister Sobrero?” Father Camillo asked.
“Right now,” Antonio admitted, “I have no idea.” He stood up. “You can go, Father. You’ll hear from me if I need you.”
Alone, Antonio examined the documents thoroughly, jotting down names and dates and rearranging the sheets in chronological order. Then he called upon three of his most reliable men and informed them of the documents and their meaning.
“We have hard work ahead of us,” he said at the end of his briefing. “First of all, we must prove that these documents are real. You understand, gentlemen, that these aren’t the originals. They were copied and handwritten by Palmira Bevilacqua, and anyone could argue that she invented everything. I don’t believe she did, but we need some solid evidence. We have the names of the people Damiano Sciaccaluga sold three babies to. They may be willing to talk. Federico Sciaccaluga is dead, but some of the parents who bought children from him may still be alive, and if we’re lucky, they’ll be willing to help us. This, by the way, is only half the job. If we succeed in proving that these documents tell the truth, we’ll have twenty-five birth records to update.”
16
IT TOOK THE POLICE TIME and patience to build a complete case against Doctor Sciaccaluga. In the end all the loose ends came together. First, Antonio had a notice published in Il Secolo XIX asking anyone with information on the whereabouts of three women named Teresa Percato, Wanda Martelli, and Marcella Benassi to come forward. Those, according to Palmira’s documents, were the names of the biological mothers of the three babies Damiano Sciaccaluga had sold. A young woman named Clarissa came forward right away.
“Teresa was my friend,” she said. “We worked together at Caffe’ del Gambero. I entertained customers, she cleaned. Then she became pregnant and, all of a sudden, very sick. She could no longer work. So she went to Doctor Sciaccaluga to get rid of the baby, but Doctor Sciaccaluga told her, ‘Why don’t you deliver the baby instead? I’ll pay you well.’ Teresa said yes. With the money the doctor gave her she left her cleaning job at Caffe’ del Gambero and moved to Benevento, the town where she was born. She started a business there, selling notions. Teresa is Francesca Barone’s daughter, sir, but Miss Barone treated her like a servant. No special consideration.”
Asked about her daughter, Francesca Barone shrugged. “She’s a troublemaker. She’s been