Free The Colombian Mule by Massimo Carlotto, Christopher Woodall

recommended in the instructions. Then I got dressed.
    There was a time when I used to dress like a blues singer from Louisiana: garish shirts made of raw silk, blue jeans, and python or alligator boots. Unfortunately, this made me too conspicuous and the cops got me in their sights. In the end I was forced to change my look. I now wore corduroy suits, sea-blue shirts and glove-leather shoes. Virna was in charge of my wardrobe. Every now and then she would drag me along to a store and choose my clothes.
    I stepped out of my flat cursing the icy weather and got into my Skoda. Twenty minutes later I parked outside Bonotto’s law office. The secretary told him I was waiting to see him and he came out to greet me. His office was tastefully furnished with antique furniture and the walls were decorated with old prints. I told him what we had found out.
    â€˜Is your source reliable?’ he asked.
    â€˜Completely. He’s a prison officer at Santa Maria Maggiore. I’m confident that events unfolded precisely as I have described. Unfortunately, I can’t give you his name. I’m sure you can imagine the reasons why.’
    â€˜Of course, Buratti, of course. I’ll go to Venice later this morning and have a word with the prison governor and his deputy. I’m sure we can find a way of safeguarding their careers, while obviating the need for my client to stand trial.’
    I lit a cigarette. ‘This evening we’re going to start making some enquiries among drug dealers, checking out those who sell Colombian cocaine. We want to see if we can identify the mule’s Italian contact. It’s something of a long shot, but right now we have no other leads. Actually, that’s not altogether true. There is one other lead I haven’t yet mentioned to you. We thought it best to rule it out right from the outset given that it involves both the police and the Guardia di Finanza.’
    The lawyer knit his brows. Before he had time to take offence, I related to him everything that the owner of the Pen­sione Zodiaco had told us.
    â€˜Do you think he could be useful to us if we put him on the stand and cross-examined him?’
    I shook my head. ‘He doesn’t pay his taxes and is terrified of a visit from the Finanza. He’ll say whatever the cops want him to say. I’m afraid you can put him down as a hostile witness.’
    Bonotto said nothing for a couple of minutes. Then he suddenly thumped the table. ‘I can’t make any damn sense of all the comings and goings of the investigators at the hotel. I have to tell you, Buratti, this case has got me really worried. I’ve always steered clear of defending drug dealers and as a result have no experience in this kind of trial. Any mistake I make could ruin Corradi’s chances.’
    I shrugged. It was time for some plain speaking. ‘Venice Police headquarters have received hard information to the effect that your client did in fact kill the two cops outside the jeweler’s shop in Caorle. This is the real nub of it. If Corradi goes to trial on these trafficking charges, you can bet your life that some high-ranking official or other will slip the court judges the information on the killing just before they retire to consider their verdict, and Corradi will get the maximum sentence. The only way we can save him is if we turn up some really incontrovertible evidence of his innocence, leaving the judge no choice but to release him. In Italy, as you said yourself, trials are won or lost at the investigation stage. After that, it’s too late.’
    Bonotto looked troubled. He removed his glasses and cleaned them with a white handkerchief. ‘I was so sure he was innocent. I defended him with passion . . .’
    â€˜It was my duty to inform you, Avvocato. Does it change anything, now that you know?’
    â€˜No, it doesn’t. The evidence brought against him was entirely circumstantial. Besides, as a lawyer,