The Rome Prophecy

by Jon Trace

  Valentina nods.

  ‘The attacker held the weapon with the blade vertical.’ She puts her index finger against Valentina’s stomach. ‘There are a number of slash marks, but the fatal incision is on the victim’s right side.’ She presses until she feels bone. ‘The blade was driven in here, twice I think, and nicked the last rib.’ She draws her finger across to the other side of Valentina’s body. ‘A deep cut was then made horizontally straight across the thoracic diaphragm to the left side of the victim.’ She presses again, this time on the bottom of the other side of Valentina’s rib cage, causing her to wheeze a little. ‘You exhaled because I’m pressing on your diaphragm. You get a slight blow here and we say you’ve had the wind knocked out of you. You get knifed here and it’s going to be fatal.’

  ‘What exactly is the diaphragm?’

  ‘I’m glad you asked. I like officers who ask. The diaphragm is a sheet of internal muscle that extends all the way across the bottom of the rib cage and separates the thoracic cavity – the area containing your lungs and heart, et cetera – from the abdominal cavity – the area that includes the stomach, liver, kidneys and such like. You still with me?’

  Valentina looks down at Schiavone’s finger still stuck painfully just beneath her rib cage. ‘Thankfully, I am.’

  ‘Bene.’ Nonna makes a downward slice with her finger. ‘This second movement of the blade precipitated a shift in the way the attacker held the weapon. The grip needed to be adjusted to get enough force to cut from the thorax to the pelvic brim.’ Once more she presses hard against Valentina. ‘En route, this movement sliced through the spleen and part of the duodenum.’ She moves a little closer and then draws her finger up at an angle towards Valentina’s diaphragm. ‘This final movement completed the dis-embowelment. It came through the outer part of the duodenum and through both the gall bladder and liver. Another ten centimetres and the killer would have carved out a completed triangle.’ She removes her finger and looks at the corpse. ‘As it was, only a flap of skin held the last of the cut flesh together.’

  A triangle?

  Valentina wonders if the shape is a coincidence.

  She’s heard so much about damned triangles, she’s now seeing them everywhere. ‘Is this kind of cutting significant or famous in any way?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Is it a medical procedure? Maybe an old way of doing autopsies?’

  Nonna shakes her head. ‘No. Not to my knowledge.’ She thinks for a second or two. ‘I really can’t recall any medical procedures that resemble this.’

  Valentina looks at the dead man and tries to picture his final moments.

  Instinctively the ME follows the detective’s train of thought. ‘As you just saw from our crude re-enactment, this kind of homicide is very personal. It has to be done at close quarters in order to be so precise. Had I really been attacking you, you would have been going crazy – wriggling, curling up, falling to the ground, fighting for your life – and I would have been hacking at you with the knife and creating wounds elsewhere. There’s no forensic evidence to suggest that anything like that happened.’

  ‘So the victim was restrained?’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  Valentina looks confused.

  ‘He was dead. Or at least very close to death. And judging from the marks of the knife against the bone, I think it fair to say that he was on his back when most of the cutting was done.’

  Valentina’s cell phone rings.

  There’s a strange number on the display.

  Whoever it is, they’ll have to wait.

  ‘Have you seen anything like this before, Professoressa?’

  Nonna half laughs. ‘Of course. Ritually disembowelled eunuchs are turning up all the time here in Rome! Fitting them in around those other plentiful cases of severed hands found in church porticos is a real drain on the unit.’

  ‘Stupid question. Sorry! I was just hoping you might have something more to add.’

  Nonna starts to move things away for her next case. ‘I’m afraid not. I really wish I had some old case notes or a similar experience I could recall to help you, but I don’t.’

  ‘Grazie. You’ve helped a lot.’ Valentina walks round and picks up the report the ME left on the drawers for her.

  ‘A little advice.’

  Valentina stops in the doorway.

  Filomena Schiavone points to the body. ‘Whoever did this is extraordinarily dangerous, Captain. Be careful – really careful. The only way I ever want to see you back in here is standing up and asking questions.’

  51

  On her return to base, Valentina checks her missed phone message.

  It’s from Tom. Made from a hospital pay phone.

  There’s been an accident, a fire at her apartment, and he’s fine but the apartment is not. It’s gutted.

  So is she. Apparently she’s homeless.

  But he’s safe, that’s the main thing.

  She’ll call the hospital and arrange to pick him up just as soon as she’s dealt with a more pressing matter.

  Café Luigi is just around the corner from headquarters. Lots of cops go there for an espresso before work or a beer at the end of the day.

  Some probably even go for a beer before the start of their shift.

  It’s here that she’s told Lieutenant Federico Assante to meet her.

  He’s sitting in the corner.

  His hands are wrapped around a mug of black tea.

  Valentina unbuttons her short dark wool coat, hangs it over the back of the cheap chair and sits down. Assante looks miserable and worried.

  Good.

  He’s every right to feel that way.

  She peels off her black leather gloves. ‘Twenty minutes from now, I’m due to be with Human Resources, reviewing a list of lieutenants who can be freed up to help me.’ She stares sternly into his eyes. ‘I don’t want to make that appointment. I want to give you a second chance and have you help me solve this case. Is that something you want?’

  He looks surprised. ‘In the office you said—’

  ‘I know what I said. I don’t have short-term memory problems. Now do you want to work this case or not?’

  He doesn’t have to think for long. ‘I want to work it.’

  ‘Bene. Then there are conditions.’

  He thought there might be.

  ‘You work your sexist ass off. You put in more hours than you’ve ever done and you don’t grumble or complain about anything to anyone. Understand?’

  He nods.

  ‘Perfetto. Now I’ll tell you what you get in return. If you put in a hundred per cent effort and a hundred per cent loyalty, I’ll be the first to sing your praises. Credit where credit is due. But if you screw with me – if you go behind my back and start playing politics – then I’ll wreck your career so badly you won’t be able to get a job shining Caesario’s shoes by the time I’m done. Understand?’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Va bene. Then we’re a team again.’

  ‘Grazie.’ There’s an awkward silence, then he adds, ‘Just so you know, the major insisted that I report directly to him. It was his idea, not mine.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She stares at him again, a steely gaze that shows he’s still on thin ice. ‘He won’t do it again, and neither will you. From now on we’re going to be judged by results, not by whether we’re male or female or friends with the major or not.’

  ‘Si.’

  ‘Now in the interests of our new relationship, how about you get me an espresso?’

  He’s up from the table and standing at the bar within seconds.

  Valentina smiles. Her old boss, Vito Carvalho, was right. Rethinking what to do with Assante was a smart move.

  52

  Late afternoon, and a sombre Louisa Verdetti finds herself in Sylvio Valducci’s office.

  He’s tired. His eyes are bloodshot and he needs to keep wiping them with a tissue. Louisa doesn’t care enough to ask if he’s all
right. Besides, mentally she’s still at the graveside of her former school friend, a mother of three, who two hours ago was lowered into the earth less than six months after being diagnosed with breast cancer.

  The big C. The most feared letter in the alphabet.

  They caught it late – far too late – and the tumours had spread all over her body.

  ‘Have you seen it yet?’

  Louisa looks up. ‘I’m sorry. Have I seen what?’

  Valducci triumphantly slips the crayoned drawing across his desk. ‘Suzanna’s latest masterpiece. Or should I say Suzie’s.’ He looks like the cat that got the cream. ‘What do you make of it?’

  Louisa frowns at it. ‘Where did this come from?’

  ‘I saw the patient when you were out. I just wanted to personally look in on her, and she was in the middle of drawing this.’

  ‘You saw her without consulting me?’

  He shrugs. ‘It is my right to. I can see any patient I wish.’ He looks at her challengingly, then adds, ‘It may please you to know that she manifested many of the signs you mentioned, including violence.’

  Louisa now understands the injuries to his face.

  Valducci taps the paper and repeats his question. ‘What do you make of it?’

  She looks at it again. ‘Anger?’ She runs a finger along the hard red and orange crayon ridges. ‘She’s pressed so hard here, you can see where the crayon’s snapped and left thick wax.’ She looks up at her boss and realises she strongly resents him interfering in what she regards as her own special case. But it’s more than that. Worse than that. She feels as though her privacy has been invaded, as though he’s violated her by intruding into the intimacy she was building with her patient. She looks down at the picture again. ‘So what did she tell you about this? What is it, a fire of some kind?’

  ‘Interesting, I didn’t see it as a fire.’ Valducci swivels the paper back. ‘No, she said it was Romans.’

  ‘Romans? It’s always Romans.’

  Valducci can see that she’s distant. ‘Are you all right?’

  It’s a strange question.

  If a friend had asked her, she’d say no.

  She’d most likely open up and discuss the hangover of grief she’s got from the funeral, but she’s not going to mention that to Valducci.

  ‘I’m fine. Just a little down because of the service this afternoon.’

  Valducci jabs a finger in the corner of the drawing. ‘I just realised something. I thought this black mark here was some kind of star, but now you’ve suggested that this is a fire, I can more easily imagine it as a cross, a crucifix, perhaps in a Roman church or temple, with the fire all around it.’

  Louisa finally shows interest.

  It certainly is a fire.

  There’s definitely a religious symbol in there and something else as well. A human shape. ‘Did she say who this figure is? It looks like a man lying down.’

  The administrator is feeling inspired. ‘Maybe a statue on top of a tomb. Perhaps she was drawing a fire in a church where a famous saint is buried.’

  Louisa remembers the prophetic nature of the story about the murder by the bridge over the Tiber. ‘Have you called the Carabinieri?’

  ‘No.’ He kicks himself. Had he not been bathing his stinging eyes, he probably would have done. He certainly should have done. It may even have enabled him to completely hijack her case. ‘I wanted to discuss it with you first,’ he lies.

  ‘I’ll call Morassi, the captain I was with last night.’ She reaches for her handbag and fishes inside for her cell phone.

  ‘I have an idea,’ announces Valducci, his face filled with childish enthusiasm.

  Louisa hooks out her phone and plunges her hand back into the bag to find Valentina’s card. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Forget the cops for now. This is strictly clinical. Doctor–patient confidentiality. If it works, it will help both Suzie and your Carabinieri friends.’

  53

  By pure coincidence, Tom Shaman ends up being treated at the Policlinico, the same hospital where Valentina spent much of the morning with the ME.

  Valentina learns of his whereabouts on the phone and tells him she has a few things to take care of before coming to collect him.

  Sitting in A&E reception nursing a brown plastic cup of poor coffee, Tom is pleased to have emerged from his ordeal relatively unscathed.

  Apart from a gashed shoulder, a cut foot, a little nausea and a raw cough, he’s in good shape. And he’s dressed again.

  Albeit in dead men’s clothes.

  One of the porters got them for him. They’d tried the charity store, but Tom’s height and width was too tall an order. Most Italian males are considerably smaller and narrower than he is. No matter. He is now modelling some grey cotton trousers that are okay in length but were clearly worn by someone who was clinically obese. He’s gathered six inches of spare cloth around the top and choked it off with an old plastic belt. The plain pink shirt with frayed collar and cuffs may well have come from the same guy. It’s fine across the neck and shoulders but then billows out into a parachute. Brown socks and black plastic boots with elasticated sides complete his less than fashionable ensemble.

  Sometime around four p.m., he falls asleep in the dozy warmth of the reception area, and stirs almost an hour later to find Valentina staring down at him.

  He’s been dreaming about the burning apartment.

  Valentina sees the panic in his eyes. ‘Hey, are you all right?’

  He breathes deeply.

  Yes, he’s all right.

  The place isn’t on fire.

  He’s absolutely fine.

  ‘Sure,’ he answers sleepily, then stretches his long legs. ‘You like my new clothes?’

  She sees the funny side.

  She sits on the hard wooden chair beside him, puts her arms around his neck and kisses him. ‘They’re very you.’

  He pulls her tight.

  Her skin is cool and smells of the fresh air.

  Her kiss is warm and soft and the touch of her hair against his face melts his stress away.

  The very public kiss is shorter and more polite than either of them would have liked.

  Valentina pulls slowly away and takes a long look at him. ‘Okay, who dressed you? I can get them a six stretch in maximum security for this. Or was it a blind guy? I could show mercy to a blind guy.’

  ‘A dead guy, I think.’

  She screws up her face. ‘Oooh. I wish you hadn’t said that. I’ve spent too much of the day in the mortuary.’ She grabs his hand and tries to pull him to his feet. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  Tom heaves himself up from the chair where he’s spent the last three hours. ‘Where are we going? Your place is really badly damaged.’

  She folds her fingers between his and leads him to the exit. ‘I know. Federico has friends in the fire department; they’re scooping up whatever is salvageable before the looters move in.’

  ‘Looters?’

  ‘Sure. Romans burned and looted most of the world. You don’t think they’ll be all over a newly gutted apartment seeing if there’s something worth having?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  Tom walks groggily to Valentina’s car.

  She zaps the door open.

  He gets in, rolls down the window and clunks on his seat belt. ‘I’m really sorry about your place.’

  ‘You should be,’ she teases. ‘Do you have any idea what it will cost to replace my wardrobe?’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘The shoes alone will be a year’s salary. Not to mention my dresses, skirts, tops, bags, jumpers, coats and lingerie.’

  ‘Oh God, I feel so bad. I really don’t know what happened.’ He rubs his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. ‘I’m sure I didn’t leave anything on the cooker. I didn’t use it after you’d gone. I just made coffee, that’s all.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She leans over and kisses him. ‘You’re safe, that’s all
I care about. The rest is covered by insurance.’ She kisses him again. ‘But as punishment, you’re going to have to come shopping with me. Lots of shopping!’

  54

  Louisa can’t believe she’s going along with it.

  All of her training tells her this is a bad idea, especially after Suzanna’s attack on Valducci.

  Then again, it could be exactly the right moment.

  She supposes she’s being compliant because the initiative has come from her boss and it’s not her neck on the line if it goes wrong, which it very well could. Then again, Valducci could really hit the bullseye, and she’d like to be in on that happening.

  And so it is that she finds herself in the back of the hospital administrator’s Alfa, accompanying Suzanna on a trip to Cosmedin.

  Cognitive therapy.

  Returning to a scene of central psychological importance while the patient is in a high emotional state. Risky but potentially promising.

  They park just off the square and Suzanna is already acting nervously.

  Her face is pressed to the car window and her eyes are glued to the iconic bell tower of the Santa Maria.

  Louisa touches her hand. ‘We thought it might be a good idea to bring you back here. See if anything surfaces in your memory that can help us to help you.’

  The rear door has a child lock on it, which is a good job, otherwise Suzanna would already have been out of the car and probably killed by passing traffic.

  ‘Hang on! Wait a second!’ shouts Valducci from the front seat.

  He turns off the engine and cranks up the parking brake.

  He gets out of the car, walks around to the rear passenger side and opens the door for Suzanna.

  He takes her arm to help her out.

  Or at least it looks like he’s helping.

  In fact he has a grip on her wrist that is tighter than a pair of army handcuffs, and he’s sure as hell not letting go. Suzanna feels him restraining her and looks into his bloodshot eyes.