Waiting To Be Heard - A Memoir Part 17

"Where did you meet him?"

"I don't remember."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't know-at the basketball court."

"Why did he kill her? Why did he kill her?"

I said, "I don't know."

"Did he have s.e.x with Meredith? Did he go into the room with Meredith?"

"I don't know, I guess so. I'm confused."

They started treating me like someone who'd been taken advantage of. They told me they were helping me, that they were trying to get to the truth. "We're trying to do our best for you."

They were softer, but I was no longer sure of anything-of what was real, of what I feared, of what I imagined.

I wept for a long time.

At 1:45 A.M. they gave me a piece of paper written in Italian and told me to sign it.

On Thursday, November 1, on a day when I normally work, while I was at my boyfriend Raffaele's place, at about 20:30, I received a message on my cell phone from Patrik, who told me the club would remain closed that night because there weren't any customers and therefore I would not have to go to work.

I replied to the message telling him that we'd see each other right away. Then I left the house, saying to my boyfriend that I had to go to work. Given that during the afternoon with Raffaele I had smoked a joint, I felt confused because I do not make frequent use of drugs that strong.

I met Patrick immediately at the basketball court in Piazza Grimana and we went to the house together. I do not remember if Meredith was there or came shortly afterward. I have a hard time remembering those moments but Patrick had s.e.x with Meredith, with whom he was infatuated, but I cannot remember clearly whether he threatened Meredith first. I remember confusedly that he killed her.

As soon as I signed it, they whooped and high-fived each other.

Then, a few minutes later, they demanded my sneakers. As soon as I took them off, someone left the room with them.

Eventually they told me the pubblico ministero would be coming in. I didn't know this translated as prosecutor, or that this was the magistrate that Rita Ficarra had been referring to a few days earlier when she said they'd have to wait to see what he said, to see if I could go to Germany. I thought the "public minister" was the mayor or someone in a similarly high "public" position in the town and that somehow he would help me.

They said, "You need to talk to the pubblico ministero about what you remember."

I told them, "I don't feel like this is remembering. I'm really confused right now." I even told them, "I don't remember this. I can imagine this happening, and I'm not sure if it's a memory or if I'm making this up, but this is what's coming to mind and I don't know. I just don't know."

They said, "Your memories will come back. It's the truth. Just wait and your memories will come back."

The pubblico ministero came in.

Before he started questioning me, I said, "Look, I'm really confused, and I don't know what I'm remembering, and it doesn't seem right."

One of the other police officers said, "We'll work through it."

Despite the emotional sieve I'd just been squeezed through, it occurred to me that I was a witness and this was official testimony, that maybe I should have a lawyer. "Do I need a lawyer?" I asked.

He said, "No, no, that will only make it worse. It will make it seem like you don't want to help us."

It was a much more solemn, official affair than my earlier questioning had been, though the pubblico ministero was asking me the same questions as before: "What happened? What did you see?"

I said, "I didn't see anything."

"What do you mean you didn't see anything? When did you meet him?"

"I don't know," I said.

"Where did you meet him?"

"I think by the basketball court." I had imagined the basketball court in Piazza Grimana, just across the street from the University for Foreigners.

"I have an image of the basketball court in Piazza Grimana near my house."

"What was he wearing?"

"I don't know."

"Was he wearing a jacket?"

"I think so."

"What color was it?"

"I think it was brown."

"What did he do?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I'm confused!"

"Are you scared of him?"

"I guess."

I felt as if I were almost in a trance. The pubblico ministero led me through the scenario, and I meekly agreed to his suggestions.

"This is what happened, right? You met him?"

"I guess so."

"Where did you meet?"

"I don't know. I guess at the basketball court."