Licurgo Floris's wife: "Reopen Gisella Orrù's case."

"My husband Licurgo Floris died proclaiming his innocence: he did not kill Gisella Orrù. The man who accused him has disappeared without a trace, and little has been done to find him: the truth must come out. The case must be reopened: Gisella deserves justice, and so does my family." Nearly forty years have passed since the tragic death of the Carbonia student, killed by a stab to the heart after being raped, but for Luciana Cogoni, wife of the man convicted of that atrocious crime, the final word on this story has yet to be written: "Licurgo was innocent," she says. "So many crimes have been clarified after many years, let's do the same in this case."

The story

It was July 7, 1989 , when Gisella's body was found at the bottom of a well, ten days after her disappearance. It was Tore Pirosu, whom Gisella called "Uncle Tore," who, during an interrogation, implicated the alleged perpetrators of the "party" at the end of which she died. He claimed he had driven her in his car to that rendezvous with death, but then placed all the blame on Licurgo Floris, Giampaolo Pintus, and Giannina Pau (the latter two were immediately cleared). "The 'truth' told by Pirosu, despite a thousand contradictions," Luciana Cogoni says today, "was considered the official truth: my husband was sentenced to 30 years, Pirosu obtained a significant sentence reduction, 24 years, but spent much less in prison. He was released with a pardon, then disappeared into thin air. But I 've never believed the truth of his that led to my husband being jailed. I don't even believe Pirosu is dead, and now a persistent rumor places him in the Oristano area. Could it be true? An investigation must be carried out. Like me, many citizens of Carbonia are waiting for justice to finally be served, and I'm sure many people today could help uncover the truth.

Suicide

Luciana Cogoni was 38 at the time and never gave up. Even when Licurgo was already in prison serving a sentence he never accepted, she used every available tool she had: appeals, interviews, private investigations to uncover evidence that could lead to a retrial. Then came the phone call informing her of her husband's suicide: "Until then, she had proclaimed her innocence, but when she learned he would be transferred from Cagliari to a prison in Tuscany, she gave in." Luciana was left alone with her grief and the responsibility of supporting four children with her work at the Carbonia hospital: "They were difficult years," she says, "but I never lost hope of reaching a truth other than the one written by the judges. After his death, I hoped someone would speak out, perhaps out of remorse. I had received so much support, but the code of silence prevailed in Carbonia. Those who knew—and who still know today—kept quiet."

The silence

Throughout these long thirty-seven years, there have been many moments when Luciana hoped someone would come forward to help her: "When Pirosu disappeared, for example, I hoped for a further investigation," she says. "Some say he was killed, but I never believed it. And if so, by whom would he have been killed? And why? By someone who feared he might speak out and reveal new details about people he had been covering up until then?" Licurgo Floris's wife can't seem to find peace: "After almost 40 years, technology has made giant strides. Is it possible that there's nothing to reanalyze with tools that didn't exist back then. Is it possible that whoever closed the case hasn't the slightest doubt that they've overlooked some detail?" The woman's appeal is to the entire community of Carbonia: "I also address the girls from back then, who are now grown women, who were perhaps present at that dinner, the last one Gisella attended before her death. Or perhaps they simply frequented her and gathered her confidences. Let them speak: many people they were probably afraid of are no longer with us today. They must find the courage to come forward, even anonymously: Gisella deserves it, and so does my family, unjustly overwhelmed by this pain.