The Rome Prophecy

by Sam Christer

  Suzanna looks confused.

  She peers at Louisa as though she’s a complete stranger. Someone who’s just stopped her in the street. ‘Signora, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.’ She wheels around to Valducci, who still has hold of her wrist. ‘Vaffanculo! Get your filthy hands off me, you pervert.’

  The administrator is struck dumb.

  Wham!

  Suzanna punches him hard in the face.

  He’s shocked and stinging but still holding on.

  ‘Suzanna!’ shouts Louisa.

  Suzanna punches Valducci again. This time she adds a shuddering jerk of her left knee to his balls.

  The administrator doubles up and loses his grip.

  ‘Testa di cazzo!’ Suzanna walks casually away, her back to the church.

  Louisa freezes.

  Should she help Valducci, or run after Suzanna?

  No choice.

  ‘Suzanna, wait!’

  It takes close to ten seconds for Louisa to get level – and a safe half a metre to one side. ‘Why did you do that?’

  Suzanna shoots her a look of disbelief. ‘Why? The greasy pig was grabbing at me. You didn’t see him? He wanted to get me in his car and crawl all over me. No way, sister. That doesn’t happen to Anna Fratelli, no way.’

  ‘Anna?’

  ‘What?’

  Louisa hadn’t got a question; she’d just repeated the name out loud because it was new.

  Unfamiliar and yet distantly familiar.

  Finally her memory gets off its ass and helps out.

  Suzie Fratelli is the name of one of the alters.

  This new personality is combining an old surname, that of little Suzie, with a whole new and profoundly aggressive personality, Anna. Anna itself being a root form of Suzanna.

  ‘Do I know you?’ She’s walking quickly, striding away from the square down a back street that she seems to recognise.

  ‘I’m a doctor from the hospital you were at. I’m Louisa Verdetti.’

  ‘Naah. I ain’t been at a hospital. I been working my ass off. Two jobs a day, that’s what I been doin’. Louisa, you say? That’s a nice name.’

  Verdetti goes with the flow. ‘Grazie. Anna’s nice too. That a family name?’

  ‘You’re joking, right?’ Anna veers left down an adjacent alley.

  ‘Why would I be joking?’

  ‘Well, if you’re supposed to be my doctor, then you should know my family history – like I don’t have any.’ She takes another sharp turn into a road facing a large stretch of old parkland.

  Louisa is almost breathless trying to keep up.

  She turns the corner and feels something slam into her face.

  The force of the blow drops her on her back and leaves her seeing stars and spitting blood.

  Tears come streaming to her eyes.

  By the time she’s moved her hands from her face, Anna is gone.

  55

  Tom and Valentina grab groceries and toiletries from a small supermercato near the hospital and prepare to spend the night in a Carabinieri-owned apartment in the north of the city. It’s a safe house. One used by the serious crime squad to guard witnesses about to testify in major trials.

  The place is cold and smells of cigarettes and alcohol. Valentina pushes open the windows and searches for an air freshener. Tom finds a central heating switch and turns it all the way up. Neither of them yet feels brave enough to look into the bedroom.

  The place is sparsely furnished – a well-worn brown velour settee and chair are staked out around an old black box of a TV, while at the other end of the room there’s a teak-effect fold-up dining table filled with squashed beer cans, a full ashtray and a set of dog-eared playing cards. ‘Strictly a men-only set-up,’ pronounces Valentina, as she surveys the evidence. ‘I was warned that the cleaners hadn’t yet been in, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.’

  ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Tom replies from a small annex off the lounge that passes as a kitchen. ‘At least there’s a coffee machine.’ He holds up a small Gaggia that he’s found in a cupboard.

  Valentina claps her hands. ‘Yay! Get that working and I may just forgive you for burning down my apartment.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Valentina opens the fridge and reels back. It smells like she just prised the lid off a coffin. The cooler box holds a mush of long-forgotten vegetables and enough gas to blow up a small country. ‘Yuck! I haven’t seen inside a fridge this bad since I was at college.’

  Tom abandons plugging the Gaggia in and wanders over. ‘How about we just stick the groceries in there in their bags and go to bed.’ He puts his hands on her hips. ‘I just want to curl up beside you and see the end to this day.’

  Valentina kisses him lightly. ‘You go. It’ll take me ten minutes to sort this. A little boiling water and some washing-up liquid will make all the difference.’ She kisses him again and heads for the sink, but never gets there.

  Her cell phone rings.

  Surely there’s no way such a bad day could get worse?

  Within thirty seconds it has.

  She hangs up and relays the news. ‘Suzanna has disappeared.’ She flaps her arms in impotent protest. ‘Verdetti and her administrator took her back to Cosmedin for what they call cognitive recognition therapy and she overpowered them and ran off.’ She flaps some more. ‘Can you believe it? Like this woman wasn’t dangerous. Why did they think we posted a guard outside of her door, just for fun?’ She punches Assante’s number in her phone and vents some more of her frustration.

  Tom busies himself working the Gaggia and emptying the putrid remains of the cooler box.

  By the time she’s finished her call, he’s drummed up a couple of decent cups of coffee and an almost clean fridge.

  ‘You’re an angel.’ She takes a small espresso cup from him and cradles it in her hands.

  He chinks his cup against hers and wishes it were a glass of red. ‘You going to have to go out?’

  ‘Maybe not.’ She doesn’t look convinced. ‘Federico is issuing an alert to all our units, plus the Polizia. Louisa and her boss are on their way to the station to be interviewed.’

  ‘Do you want to be there to do it?’

  Her face says she does. ‘I want to be here to make sure you’re all right.’

  ‘Hey, I’ve learned my lesson. I swear I won’t touch anything electrical after you’ve gone.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that.’ She puts a hand to his face, ‘You just look wiped out.’

  ‘I am. You must be too.’

  She nods and takes another hit of the syrupy coffee. ‘Nothing that caffeine – or you – can’t cure.’

  Her cell phone rings again. ‘God give me strength!’ She snatches it off the counter top. ‘Pronto!’

  Tom watches as the sternness washes from her face and is replaced by something more worrying.

  Disbelief.

  ‘Grazie.’ Valentina ends the call and lets the phone dangle from her hand.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  She looks at him like he’s standing on ice and might fall through at any moment. ‘It was Federico’s friend in the fire department.’

  ‘And?’

  She moves closer. ‘You didn’t start the fire, Tom. Someone else did.’

  He frowns. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Petrol was poured through the letter box and then set on fire. The investigators could tell from the intensity of the burns on the ceiling and floor where it was started. And it wasn’t the kitchen. It wasn’t your fault. The seat of the fire was the doorway.’

  Valentina sees the shock on his face and hugs him tight.

  They stand silently together. Minds racing, both thinking the same thing.

  Who did it? Why? And who exactly were they trying to kill?

  56

  Not even the safe house seems particularly safe any more.

  Nowhere does.

  Tom and Valentina travel to the police station together. />
  There’s no way he’s going to let her go out alone. And there’s no way she’s going to leave him in on his own.

  It’s just before midnight and the night has turned chilly. A frosty reminder that winter is a long way from over.

  Only by the time they’re parking the Fiat at the police station has the little car’s heater managed to kick out some warmth.

  Through a glazed partition Valentina sees Louisa Verdetti and Sylvio Valducci sitting in the drab Carabinieri reception area looking cold and drawn. They’re like those old married couples who stopped talking to each other about half a century ago but still go out and spend speechless meals together. Valentina takes them through to her office and en route introduces Tom – or in Louisa’s case, reintroduces him. It’s only partway through these civilities that Tom once more becomes aware that he’s still dressed in the pink parachute of a shirt and tank-sized grey pants recovered from dead men at the hospital. Fortunately, the grave and urgent task of trying to find their missing prisoner seems to divert attention away from his crimes against fashion.

  Tom sits back in the corner of the office and tries not to fall asleep.

  He occupies himself with an out-of-date newspaper left on a low table, but for the most part he just listens and watches Valentina interview the two medics.

  The body language between Verdetti and Valducci is more than just interesting.

  It’s quite hostile.

  At one point he tries to comfort her and she squirms away so violently it’s almost like they’re in an abusive relationship.

  Half an hour later, Valentina beckons Tom over to her desk. ‘Look at this.’ Her tone is sombre.

  She smoothes out a creased piece of paper, a child’s crayon drawing. ‘Our prisoner did this – just hours before she escaped.’

  At first it appears to be no more than scribbles of oranges and reds; then he sees what Valentina saw.

  A sleeping man under the cross of God consumed by fire.

  Every nerve in his body prickles.

  Did the patient really foresee what would happen?

  He looks at Louisa and Valducci, then back at Valentina. She shakes her head. She doesn’t want him to mention anything in front of the medics, especially Valducci, whom she knows even Louisa doesn’t trust.

  Tom carries his heavy thoughts back to his corner.

  Maybe he’s reading too much into the picture.

  It could be anything.

  More likely it’s meant to be a Roman battle scene, a picture of soldiers burning a village to the ground and crucifying locals or slaves.

  As soon as Valducci and Verdetti leave, Federico arrives.

  He gives Tom a courteous nod and then falls into a long, intense and hushed conversation with Valentina.

  Tom has another go at the now well-thumbed paper, and then struggles to fight back a tsunami of sleep.

  Bleary-eyed, he watches them both note-taking, tapping computer keys and making calls.

  Suddenly it’s all over.

  They both grab coats, turn off desk lights and fire ciaos across the room – Federico even manages a wave and a forced smile to Tom.

  ‘Home!’ says Valentina, clapping her beautifully slim hands in a symbol of triumph. ‘Or at least, what for now passes as home.’

  Tom gets to his feet and finds he’s bone weary, the kind of tired that seeps through to your marrow and makes you groan whenever you sit or rise.

  ‘What do you make of the drawing?’ asks Valentina as they take the stairs.

  ‘Maybe nothing. We’re both tired, and that makes you see spooks everywhere. Let’s talk about it tomorrow, when we’ve got fresh brains.’

  Valentina thinks he’s dismissing it too easily, but she can see that right now it’s not something he wants to dwell on.

  They only need to take one step outside to notice that the temperature’s dropped further and their breath quickly frosts in the early-morning air. Thankfully there’s still a little heat hanging around in the Fiat. Valentina starts her up, pulls out of the car park and moves the conversation smoothly on. ‘Seems our lady has quite a new personality.’

  ‘Let me guess, another legendary Roman.’

  ‘No, not this time.’ Valentina corrects herself. ‘Well, actually it probably is Roman, just not historic.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Anna Fratelli, that’s the name of the latest alter. Apparently a real foul-mouthed she-cat. She was in the control of this personality when she escaped from Louisa and her boss.’

  Both Tom and Valentina think the same thing at exactly the same time, but he’s the first to say it. ‘Maybe that’s not an alter. Maybe that’s her real personality. She sounds tough enough to survive.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Why not? There has to be a default, an original person still existing deep down in there somewhere.’

  ‘Right. Louisa called it a host.’

  Tom wipes condensation from the small passenger window and looks out into the cold darkness of the night. ‘I had a friend in the LAPD helped me out at the community centre in Compton. A big black guy called Danny Moses.’

  ‘Moses?’

  ‘Yeah. His name always raised a laugh from the gangbangers down there. They’d call out, “Here comes Moses and the Jesus guy!” They’d slap their sides and hoot like it had never been said before. Anyway, Danny was a dab hand at finding runaways. Creatures of habit, he’d say. They run for home, they run to friends or they run to somewhere they go regularly. We even found several kids who’d stolen stuff from the church actually hiding out in the church community hall.’

  Valentina catches his drift. ‘So you think what? Anna’s gone back to the hospital? Or back to Cosmedin?’

  Tom’s not sure.

  He’s almost sorry he came out with the anecdote now. ‘I don’t know. Tonight is cold enough to freeze hell over, and she was on foot, so she must be holed up somewhere local. Maybe she’s not far from wherever she left Louisa and that pervert-looking boss of hers.’

  ‘Valducci? You think he looks like a pervert?’

  ‘God forgive me, I shouldn’t be so judgemental. But yes, he looks very pervy – and believe me, I’ve been around enough Catholic priests to know.’

  Valentina laughs and swings the Punto west towards Cosmedin. ‘You mind if we quickly visit the place Louisa last saw her? We’re only a couple of kilometres away and I’ll sleep better if we take a look.’

  Tom scratches his head. ‘Sure. Though it’s not necessary.’

  Valentina frowns across to him.

  ‘I’ve already discovered there are other ways to make sure you sleep very soundly.’

  57

  En route to Cosmedin, Valentina makes a series of calls to the overnight team working Central Control. She keeps Tom busy writing down several addresses that she calls out.

  By the time they reach the Piazza della Bocca della Verità, he’s recorded five separate locations for variously aged Anna Fratellis, but only one for a twenty-seven-year-old living in Cosmedin.

  Valentina turns off the engine and has a pang of guilt.

  Despite the lateness of the hour, she calls Federico’s cell to tell him where she is and what she’s up to. She feels better that it’s turned off and coolly leaves a message promising to update him in the morning. There are several reasons why she’s relieved he hasn’t picked up, not least because she’s simply too tired to wait around for him to drive out and join them. He’ll be pissed when he gets the message, but so what?

  After everything he’s done, he’s damned lucky she even thought to ring him.

  The address is south of the small basilica. It’s off a series of back streets behind a thick clump of parkland that surrounds a tiny three-star hotel.

  Valentina drives with her lights off and parks up at the end of the street, a good way from the target address.

  It’s a ground-floor apartment in a four-storey block.

  The position of Anna’s name on the
bell block shows the apartment is on the left-hand side. Valentina cups a hand to Tom’s ear and whispers, ‘Stay outside, in the side road, and watch those windows.’ She points out two frames. ‘The frosted one is a bathroom; the other may be the bedroom or lounge. If she bolts again, it will have to be through one of those.’

  Tom nods and rubs cold from his arms. His parachute of a shirt is not suitable attire for a sub-zero stake-out.

  As she feared, Valentina finds the front door to the apartment block is on a magnetic lock. She buzzes several fourth-floor addresses until someone swears through the intercom and then opens up for her.

  She moves quickly inside.

  Anna’s apartment is just a few metres away to her left.

  She knocks hard three times and shouts, ‘Carabinieri! Open up!’

  She puts her finger on the buzzer to the right of the door and presses long and hard, then bangs again with her fist. ‘Rapidamente!’

  She puts her ear to the door.

  She can’t hear anything.

  Nor can she wait any longer. She’s made enough noise to wake the whole block, so if someone’s in there they’ve had plenty of chance to get to the door.

  She pulls out her Beretta and takes a well-practised running kick at the door.

  It splinters below the lock, but holds firm around the mortise.

  ‘Cazzo!’ It’s deadlocked.

  She backs up and hits it again.

  This time the jamb splits and the door booms back on its hinges.

  Valentina put so much effort into the kick, she stumbles to a stop in the middle of a strange dark room.

  Instinctively she sweeps the gun in a protective arc and tries to get her bearings.

  A door is opening.

  Yellow street light starts bleeding in from somewhere off to her left.

  A ball of shadow and noise hurtles towards her.

  Valentina sidesteps and knocks something over.

  A glass lamp crashes behind her.

  The shadow ball smashes into her legs, sends her tumbling backwards into a wall.

  Her Beretta spills into the darkness.

  Arms and hands close like monstrous tentacles around her knees.

  She slams her elbow down hard and feels it connect with the bone of a skull.