by Jon Trace
‘Did you bring the photographs and diaries you spoke of last night?’
‘No. But copies are on their way over to your office. You should have them within the next couple of hours.’
The doctor enters the room first, uncertain of who she’s going to be talking to. Will it be Anna, or one of her many alters?
The patient is asleep in a bed set up at a thirty-degree angle. Her eyes are closed, but begin to flicker open as she responds to the click of the door handle and sounds of people entering her room.
The psychiatrist rolls the dice. ‘Buongiorno, Anna. Come lei è?’
‘Bene.’ Her voice is weak and sleepy. She tries to gather her wits and politely sit up a little.
Louisa lifts a clipboard from the bottom rail of the bed. ‘Do you remember what happened to you yesterday? How you came to be in here?’
Anna looks down at her bandaged arm. ‘I was hiding in my apartment and I cut myself.’ She glances up at the doctor. ‘You know I do that kind of thing.’
There’s shame in her eyes.
‘It makes me feel safe. I just cut too deeply.’ She looks at Valentina and Tom, then back to the doctor. ‘Who are they?’
Louisa reassures her. ‘They’re friends. Valentina Morassi is a Carabinieri captain. You have met her before.’
‘I don’t think so.’
She doesn’t press the issue. ‘The man with her is her friend, Tom. He’s a former priest.’
He steps forward so Anna can see him clearly. ‘Hi, Anna, I’m pleased to meet you.’
She relaxes a little. ‘A priest?’
‘Yes. I was at a parish in Los Angeles for almost a decade.’
Anna looks as though she might cry. ‘I’m very frightened, Father. Do you understand?’
Tom knows better than to correct her. He takes her trembling right hand gently in his big palms and sits on the edge of the bed, facing her. ‘I think so. I saw your apartment last night and the bedroom where you were hiding.’
She grips Tom’s fingers so hard that his skin turns white. ‘Do you think she’ll know I’m talking to you?’ Anna glances nervously towards Valentina and Louisa. ‘That I’m here with all of you?’
‘Who, Anna? Who will know?’
Anna closes her eyes, dips her head and prays. ‘En ego, o bone et dulcissime Iesu, ante conspectum tuum genibus me provolvo, ac maximo animi ardore te oro atque obtestor, ut meum in cor vividos fidei, spei et caritatis sensus, atque veram peccatorum meorum poenitentiam, eaque emendandi firmissimam voluntatem velis imprimere.’
Valentina leans forward and whispers in Tom’s ear. ‘What’s this prayer?’
He keeps focused on Anna’s closed eyes and whispers back. ‘I’ll tell you later.’
Anna’s voice gets louder, almost as though each sentence gives her more strength.
‘Dum magno animi affectu et dolore tua quinque vulnera mecum ipse considero ac mente contemplor, illud prae oculis habens, quod iam in ore ponebat tuo David propheta de te, o bono Iesu: Foderunt manus meas et pedes meos: dinumeraverunt omnia ossa mea. Amen.’
She takes a long breath, then opens her eyes and smiles at Tom. ‘Have you come to save me, to protect me?’
‘We all have,’ says Tom, ‘but you must tell us who we have to protect you from.’
Anna looks surprised. ‘Mother, of course. Our Holy Mother.’
Louisa calls time out. She fears the questioning will trigger the appearance of another alter. Reluctantly, Valentina agrees to adjourn to a staff room down the corridor.
She bites her tongue while the clinician has her say on how and when the interviewing can continue.
‘So what do you suggest?’ Valentina asks impatiently. ‘We leave it another day? Because that’s just not going to happen.’
‘An hour. Or two. Let her feel comfortable and stable in her own state.’
‘I have a major criminal inquiry running. I really can’t make progress if you keep interrupting just as she starts to tell us what or who she’s frightened of.’
‘I know. I understand your situation, but my duty is to protect her mental health.’
‘And mine is to find the person or persons who dumped a body by a river, severed some woman’s hand and is clearly scaring your patient to the point of madness.’
‘I respect that. And while I’ll work with you to help clear up your crimes, I won’t do it at the risk of making a very disturbed patient even more traumatised.’ Louisa turns to Tom. ‘What was the prayer all about? What does it mean?’
‘It’s a plea for help, made straight to Christ.’
‘Aren’t all prayers?’ queries the clinician.
‘No, not at all. Some are to God the Father, some to angels, some to the Holy Ghost. There are different prayers, for different bodies and different purposes.’
‘And this one?’
‘It’s an intense one. One said personally and directly to Jesus at desperate times. When perhaps life is in peril or a big problem is being faced. It’s really a cry for faith to be fortified, and a declaration of repentance and devotion.’ Tom repeats its words in his head, then translates the end of the prayer: ‘With deep affection and grief, I reflect upon Thy five wounds, having before my eyes that which Thy prophet David spoke about Thee, O good Jesus: They have pierced my hands and feet, they have counted all my bones. Amen.’
The two women say nothing.
To Louisa, a proud atheist, the words are meaningless, while Valentina’s police training inevitably directs her beyond the elements of devotion, supplication and sacrifice and instead focuses on the key words pierced hands, five wounds and bones.
‘Strictly speaking,’ continues Tom, thoughtfully, ‘this should be said kneeling down in front of a crucifix. The prayer begins, “Behold, O good and most sweet Jesus, I fall upon my knees before Thee …” I guess if she hadn’t been so weak after the sedation and surgery, she’d have got out of bed and knelt.’
Valentina shakes her head. ‘It’s not that. Remember her apartment? All the crucifixes were on the ceiling, not the walls.’ She realises the full implication of her own thoughts and adds speculatively, ‘I think this is something that she would recite over and over in bed. I can easily imagine her lying there every night in the dark in that freaky bible bed, looking up at the shadows of the hanging rosary beads and repeating this until she eventually falls asleep.’
Louisa’s still playing catch-up. ‘She was hoping this prayer would keep her safe throughout her sleep?’
‘She was banking on it,’ answers Tom. ‘But safe from what? The Virgin Mary? That just doesn’t make sense.’
‘In my experience, DID patients often don’t.’
‘She didn’t say Virgin Mary,’ observes Valentina. ‘She said Holy Mother. Is there a difference?’
Tom has to think. ‘Theologically – and pedantically – maybe. Mary was a virgin before she was chosen by God to carry Jesus. At this point she would not have been a mother.’
Louisa interrupts them. ‘I think you’re chasing down the wrong alleyway, or should I say church aisle.’
They look to her to elaborate.
‘I think she meant holy in a sarcastic way. As in her own mother – a mother so holy she’s always right and never does any wrong.’
Valentina sees her point. ‘Could be. You’re thinking she’s traumatised by parental abuse?’
‘It would fit the pattern for dissociative identity disorder.’
‘How?’
‘Long story. Let me try to explain. Briefly, one day Anna gets abused by her mother.’
‘Physically or sexually?’ asks Valentina.
‘Doesn’t matter. Certainly not for the sake of this example. Anyway, she’s shocked and hurt by the abuse. Mother starts to make the abuse routine; this stresses Anna, who develops a mechanism to cope with it. So next time Mother comes seeking her kicks, Anna dissociates.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She imagines that she’s somewhere else and that whatever
horrible thing her mother is doing is not happening to her. It’s happening to some other kid. Someone tough enough to take it.’
Distressing as it sounds, Valentina can see the logic. ‘Go on.’
Louisa does. ‘So, when Mother turns up to routinely abuse Anna, Anna routinely sends out her alter- Anna, a stronger and more detached side of her, to cope with the abuse. The longer this goes on, the more permanent the alter-Anna, probably Little Suzie Fratelli, as we’ve come to know her, becomes.’
‘How do you explain the others?’ asks Tom. ‘Cassandra, the Roman victim; Suzanna Grecoraci, the mother of two children; and Claudia from the Sabines.’
‘Sometimes a second or third abuser – or different levels of abuse – enters the dimension, and therefore a second or third alter is needed. As layers of trauma are added, more layers of alters – protection – are necessary.’
Tom hasn’t bought totally into the theory. ‘I know child abuse is one of the horrors of our modern-day world, but isn’t it usually the father, not the mother, who’s the offender? And isn’t it highly unusual for a mother to sexually abuse her own daughter?’
Valentina interrupts. ‘Yes, but not unheard of. And remember, it can be a stepmother as much as a mother. There’s a famous case in Britain of a serial killer who abused her daughter sexually, physically and psychologically for years. She and the girl’s father even killed her sister and buried her under a patio.’ Louisa becomes practical. ‘As I said earlier, now that we have her real name, we’ll search all the local doctors’ records for any history of physical, mental or sexual abuse.’
‘We’ll do the same,’ counters Valentina. ‘We’ll trace her mother and father and search for criminal records, social reports, anything that suggests incest or sexual assault from neighbours or extended family.’
Tom says nothing. He’s lost in his thoughts. Thoughts that suggest what’s going on could be even more than child abuse.
64
Guilio Brygus Angelis is brought into the interview room with handcuffs around his wrists and chains around his ankles.
Federico Assante introduces himself, sets a voice recorder whirring, reads him his rights and sits back without saying anything.
He wants to take stock.
This is an unusual case, with unusual victims. Now he’s face to face with an unusual suspect.
Angelis looks slender and harmless.
Certainly no giant.
At a guess, he weighs in at less than eleven stone. That said, he’s not carrying any body fat, and his arms are rippling with sinewy muscles. He certainly keeps himself fit; no doubt with some form of fight training. Federico wonders if there’s even a special martial art for eunuchs, like there is for Shaolin monks.
He studies the guy’s face.
No eyebrows.
Amazing how one missing feature messes up your whole appearance.
No beard line either. It gives him a strange softness that male models have. Metrosexuality.
The goon has the skin of a ten-year-old boy. Federico runs fingers over his own stubbly beard. It would be great not to shave again.
But not at the price of having your nuts cut off.
Then there are his eyes.
Federico has seen eyes like that before.
Many times before.
Savage eyes.
Criminal eyes.
Eyes that don’t blink when a fight’s about to break out. Eyes that don’t look away when there’s blood spilling and knives flashing under the street lights.
Now Federico’s got the measure of him.
He’s ready to start the interview.
‘So, Guilio, do you feel like talking to us today? Or do we just send your silent ass for trial on charges of breaking and entering, assault and maybe even the attempted murder of Anna Fratelli?’
Angelis is using his index finger to doodle in the dust on top of the interview table.
He finishes a line, lifts his eyes and lets a cold stare settle on the detective’s face.
Smug bastard.
A hard-working cop, but not that bright.
The fool thinks he’s much cleverer than he really is.
Thinks he knows what’s going on, but he doesn’t have a clue. He certainly has no idea about how wrong he’s got it. Okay, he’s smart enough and energetic enough to take some prints and use them to pull a rap sheet.
Big deal.
Sooner or later that was always going to happen.
And by now he’s probably also traced his home address and got some other fools to pull the place apart.
No matter.
They won’t find anything. Certainly nothing that will make any sense to them.
But they know about Anna.
And that’s a shame.
Anna should be invisible.
She shouldn’t be seen by jerks like the one sitting opposite him, or that woman detective and her big thug.
It would have been good to have spent more time with them.
To have dealt with them properly.
‘What’s it to be, Guilio? We talk, maybe try to work in some mitigation to the charges, or you go straight to court and look forward to an eternity of being ass-fucked in prison?’
Angelis lets a smug smile spread across his face. ‘I’d like a lawyer. Get me a brief within the hour and maybe I’ll be good to you when I file my own charges.’
Federico laughs. ‘Of what?’
He leans back and crosses his arms. ‘False arrest. Assault. Defamation of character.’
‘That’s funny. Ha ha. We caught you right in the middle of the apartment, Guilio. Hiding in the damned dark.’
His arms stay crossed and his eyes remain fixed on the lieutenant’s face.
Federico gets a bad feeling.
‘Have you asked Anna about me?’ Angelis pauses and reads the detective’s face. ‘I thought not. When you do, you’ll find out why I was there.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She wanted me there. She asked me to be there.’ He uncrosses his arms and leans across the table. ‘I was protecting her, you idiot. Not attacking her.’
65
To everyone’s relief, Anna is still Anna.
Louisa Verdetti passes out a tray of drinks. Cola Lite for Valentina and Anna, espresso doppio and water for Tom and herself.
Valentina’s phone rings. She apologises and ducks outside the patient’s room to take the call.
Louisa hopes she stays there.
Getting through the layers of alters and down to the host is something of a clinical breakthrough. The chance of an uncluttered discussion with a DID sufferer is precious, and she’s scared to death that questions about crimes and investigations are going to send Anna plunging back behind the cover of one of the alternative personalities.
‘Do you feel okay to continue with our chat?’she asks kindly.
‘Of course.’ Anna sounds as sprightly as if she were being asked directions on a warm summer Sunday. ‘What is it you want to know?’
Valentina’s sudden return interrupts them.
She smiles apologetically, clicks the door quietly behind her and despite seeing that Louisa is in mid-conversation, addresses Anna directly. ‘Do you know a man called Guilio Angelis?’
‘Yes. Guilio works with me.’
Valentina makes her way to a chair alongside Anna’s. ‘We discovered him in your apartment yesterday, before we found you. Did you invite him inside?’
Now Anna has to think. A lot has happened since yesterday. She remembers doctors leaning over her, masked faces, blood everywhere, her blood, and before that – only blackness.
Blackness in the wardrobe, where she was frightened. Blackness in that safe place in her own mind where she goes when terrible things start to happen.
And before that?
Slowly she starts to remember.
‘Guilio came from work to help me.’
Valentina lets out a deep sigh. ‘You asked him into your home?’
‘How do you know this man, Anna?’
‘Like I said, I work with him.’
‘Where?’
‘Rosati’s, in the Piazza del Popolo.’
‘How long have you worked there?’
‘Three, four years. I started in the cafeteria and was there for – oh, maybe a year, perhaps a little more, then I’ve been in the ristorante part of it ever since.’
‘And Guilio?’
Another pause. ‘About the same time. I think we even started the same week. He is a very good waiter.’
Valentina has one more attempt to shake a story that she knows is going to result in the guy who assaulted her being released. ‘Anna, this is really important. Are you absolutely sure that you invited Guilio Angelis into your apartment yesterday and that he had the right to be there? He didn’t force himself in? He wasn’t threatening you in any way?’
‘No.’ She looks offended. ‘Guilio’s my friend. He’s always been my friend. Why would he want to hurt me?’
Valentina curses softly to herself and stares into Anna’s eyes.
The woman’s not going to change her story, that much is clear.
She glances towards Louisa. ‘Give me a minute. I have to ring my colleague.’
‘Sure.’
As Valentina leaves, Louisa hands out glasses for the drinks, pops the tab on Anna’s cola and pours it. ‘You don’t have to carry on with this session, you know. If you’re too tired, or you find talking to us distressing, we can put it off until another time.’
Anna squeezes out a smile. ‘No, I’m fine.’ She puts her hand on her bandaged arm. ‘Apart from this.’ She turns her head towards the door where Valentina exited. ‘Have I said something wrong?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Is Guilio in trouble?’
Louisa doesn’t know how to answer. ‘You’d best ask the capitano when she comes back.’
Several more minutes pass until Valentina reopens the door.
It’s clear something unpleasant has happened.
Her cheeks are flushed and there’s no trace of a smile.
Anna looks agitated. ‘Why were you asking me about Guilio?’
Valentina settles back into a chair next to her. ‘We had to check that his story was the same as yours. We had to make sure he didn’t force his way into your apartment and try to harm you.’
