Men (maybe) that kill women.
After twenty years of investigations, but no smoking gun, every other day on the job again in Via Poma crime. So why all these fake scoop on DNA? Easy: just take a trip on Google Map
Twenty years later we are still smiling with that curly black and white shot with his legs stretched out on a towel placed on a rather uncomfortable beach of a squalid Roman coast. Twenty years later we are still fine disquisition on the evolution of the investigations, the findings of the scientific credibility of the witnesses and the latest photographic documentation under which prosecutors continue to passionately assess the compatibility of the dental arches of the former boyfriend Roman . Twenty years after the word Cesaroni has even had time to become the headline of a hit television series set in the up and suburb Garbatella, but despite the strong performance of carefree Julie, played by Claudio Amendola, Elena Sofia Ricci and sweet in part of Helen, the truth Cesaroni, which is still the name for the capital that has terrorized for years a whole generation of Roman pischelletti. And when you think of that name in Rome, everything becomes a flash: the Art Nouveau building, the inputs in the form of arcades, pillars covered with travertine marble fountains bound with oleanders and then the goalkeeper, the fiance, the architect on the night of August 7, unfastened her bra, her breasts exposed, the top rolled up, her panties torn, white socks, sneakers and above the name of that small engraved on a marble palaces now the most popular of Rome : Via Poma.
for fifteen years I have lived half a mile from the scene of the most famous ultimi vent’anni. Via Poma è una stradina nel cuore del quartiere residenziale Prati, una zona di vecchi cannetti a due passi da San Pietro, a pochi metri da viale Angelico, a tre fermate dallo stadio Olimpico, piena zeppa di studi di avvocati, di caserme di militari, di licei fricchettoni, di terrazzi di giornalisti, di studi di registi, di agenzie fotografiche, di case cinematografiche e di elegantissime scuole medie ed elementari. E chiunque all’epoca frequentasse quelle scuole, davanti a via Poma ci passava ogni giorno – e solitamente, lo dico per esperienza, ci si pisciava sotto. C’era chi deviava, chi accelerava, chi temporeggiava, chi si scoraggiava e chi semplicemente, ogni volta che sfiorava il cancello del palazzone which was released not long before the cold body of Simon closed his eyes and immediately fled.
For years and years, Cesaroni the case in Rome was the symbol of the belly of a city suffering from that decade he was condemned to live every day with the unbearable weight of its unsolved mysteries: a steady stream of indecipherable riddles that often forces the Roman find themselves like a big yellow star of those crimes in which all those living together without it being possible to distinguish the individual parts: Via Poma Olgiata, Emanuela Orlandi Marta Russo and so on. And in that period, who lived in the neighborhood of large yellow, yellow Simonetta, it was easy have a friend who lived in via Poma, a friend who was the daughter of one of the doormen, a teacher who lived near the house of Simon, an acquaintance with the studio next to the scene of the crime. And it is easy to imagine how each of us, every one of his companions, on Via Poma had left a flash: there was someone in the street swore he saw a shadow over suspects, who mistook a threat to every rustle, who told of a Confidence in secret and who every day folded into a folder crumpled the details of that story so troubled. A story set in Rome in those days was terribly thirsty for news. That was the Rome of the urban revolution, the Rome of the first phones with Montezemolo phones, but was above its historical Rome, the magical nights of the World Cup: with Zenga, Schillaci, Maradona, Matthäus, Brehme, Caniggia, Taffarel and all the others. And it was the end of the epic nazionalpopolare of the newly-concluded World championship in those early days of August had helped to create a demand for news after the news that football would be met only if there was another great story to tell. Every summer, you know, the newspapers are no big ideas suggested by current take refuge in the swamps of the chronicle to find useful information to satisfy readers hungry for more and more stories that are worth the price of the ticket, and fill pages with news on the beaches closed due to sudden invasions of jellyfish, or dramatic reportage on the latest examples of whales found off the coast of Guinea Pope, may be useful for a few weeks but in the long run a little bit tired and also for this, and especially at that time, the mysteries of Via Poma came at a time just right. But there's more. How many reporters today cynically point out that twenty years ago the long trek between the ramps of the wide hallways of the Liberty building in Via Poma, well, the murder of Simon came not only at the right time but also the right place. Why anyone had a chance to walk around in the nineties that way that seemed Haunted knew that one of the reasons why street Poma had such a great, if not maniacal, journalistic coverage of the forces was easy to understand: Via Poma was just a few meters from the tower blocks of Viale Mazzini, the historic headquarters of Rai , and is therefore not that complicated to understand what was wonderful opportunity for the reporters to follow the crime of the century two-step two from your desk. But, in addition to meeting the demanding public darn eager for news, that extraordinary media coverage helped to create a true short circuit around the murder. The murder of Simon has been one of the first cases in which investigators found themselves confronted with such a massive public opinion that did not ask for more police officers and investigators to come up with some fast, damn murderer. And you know: When the audience roars their teeth into the neck of the investigators - er monster give us, give us the ogre, just give us the damn-murderess who is directing the investigation finds himself in a position to give an occasional bone to the hungry dog. And bones, the streets of Via Poma, are busy for almost two decades.
The first bone is called Peter Vanacore: it was the caretaker of the building of Simon, was accused of having cleared the scene of the crime, was stuck for a couple of blood stains found on the fabric of his pants and was arrested for twenty-six days, then it was discovered that those spots were not of Simon Peter, but they were just in (yes, he suffered from hemorrhoids), and then Pietrino released from prison, he continued to live for a while 'in Rome, then moved to Puglia and vent 'years after the arrest, on March 9 this year, three days before his testimony at the first hearing (yes yes, the first) of the process via Poma, Pietrino was found dead on the beach in Torre Ovo, near Torricella, in the province of Taranto, and not far from the place where he was fished out of the body were also recovered two tickets on the seat of his car. The first: "Twenty years of suffering and suspicion will lead suicide. " And then the second:''Twenty years of persecution: they are tired of the harassment.''
The second bone thrown to the reporters called instead Raniero Busco: 44 years old, two children, a wife and a murder charge on his shoulders. Busco was the last boyfriend Simon, met the girl the night before the murder el'indizio primary against him turns out to be the mark of a bite found on the left breast of the girl photographed during the autopsy and considered by 'accuses its former boyfriend corresponding to the teeth. This, only this: that after twenty years via more Poma does not exist: only a trace genetic extracted from the saliva of a person who with the best will possible it is hard to consider a smoking gun. Here, yes, difficult not to admit anyone who is somehow in contact in recent years with the universe in which it was generated via the mysterious case of Poma was able to notice a detail that can not be escaped even at ' most casual observer's eye. No getting around it: over time the crime of Simonetta has become the perfect example of what the most poisonous in the ingredients with which a judicial inquiry can turn into a poisoned meatball: endless investigations, inadequate testing, testing irrelevant, misleading interrogation, suspects and innocent ski more often than not completely lock. And that if Simon would have been almost impossible to solve one morning realizing it fifteen years ago, when among the items collected in the special event organized by students in the district shot up a story that we hoped was false and that instead, damn, was really true. The news related to the results of what was then called an "investigative technique revolutionary" and which, ultimately, turned out to be half a creep. The history of genetic comparison with blood taken from the veins of fifteen suspects, and the subsequent enthusiastic investigators who repeated statements to the press that they now "next to the capture of the Assassin" turned into a boomerang for straight in the eyes of investigators. And the famous red traces left by the murderer at the door of the room where Simon was tortured were blatantly not kept for a whole day in the cool of a specialized laboratory but in the humid heat of a Roman morgue. Perhaps few remember it today, but that mess investigators noticed it only on August 23, thirteen days after the murder when the blood was in fact indicted evaporated just like that the only trail of curly black and white photo.
Claudio Cerasa
Rolling Stone, August 2010
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