The Haunted Inspector

by Ruggeri, Claudio; Kerry, Judy;

  “Understood, I’ll book you a flight for tomorrow then. Update me as soon as you get back.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  “Ok, see you soon.”

  “Yes, bye.”

  The meeting was arranged for three in the afternoon outside a café on via Nomentana. The inspector arrived half an hour early and took advantage of this to go over the file once again.

  The woman’s name was Daniela De Lorenzo, now aged forty, who at the time had been a law student in her twenties, and was now a well-established PR executive.

  She was attacked on a November evening on her way home; her assailant waited for her to park her car and get out, then put his hand over her mouth and dragged her away from prying eyes; once he realised that she would not scream it made his game even easier.

  The investigation had concentrated on the victim’s acquaintances, as she did not appear to have been a random target. The rapist must have been very familiar with the building in which she lived, an apartment block with parking places and trees and no lighting; he would certainly have known that she lived alone and was therefore easy prey.

  In spite of the investigations undertaken, nothing specific was discovered; raising his gaze towards the street he recognised her immediately.

  “Hello, Daniela, I’m Vincent, do you recognise me?”

  “My goodness, Detective...you haven’t changed a bit over the last fifteen years.”

  “Well, thanks...”, Germano did not mention that in the meantime he had become an inspector.

  “Shall we sit over there?”

  “Yes, of course...you’ve changed a bit, though.”

  “For the better?”

  “You seem different, I was remembering the young girl with glasses who was going to university, whereas now you’re a career woman.”

  “Don’t be fooled by appearances...can I call you Vincent?”

  “I insist.”

  “Oh well, in my profession you have to put on a bit of a performance, I look after the PR for certain businesses, you know how it is...”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Yes, in fact so many things have changed.”

  “I remember your father, do you still have the funeral directors’ business?”

  “No, thank goodness! He’s retired now.”

  “Good for him.”

  Their coffees arrived as they were chatting, and so Germano decided to make a start.

  “Sorry again, Daniela, that I called you, but...”

  “There’s no need to explain.”

  “Well yes, there is. I’m sure that what we’ll be trying to recall will not be good memories for you.”

  “I read about that girl who was found dead in Castelli Romani, I’ve never blamed you for not catching him, I mean...”

  “Don’t worry, I understand.”

  Germano gestured to the waiter and ordered two glasses of sparkling water before continuing.

  “The thing is, Daniela, I’m still fumbling around in the dark, just as I was then. Sometimes I feel like I’m chasing a ghost.”

  “What I’ve come to conclude is that he struck at random, I’ve scrutinised my life during that period but haven’t managed to think of anything that would give us a clue.”

  “I don’t know...his voice, a smell, any little detail...was there really nothing that reminded you of anyone you’ve met before or since?”

  “Absolutely nothing, believe me, even though I’ve always wanted to forget, I’ve never stopped trying to find him either. If I’d come across him, even years later, I would definitely have recognised him.”

  “He had a moustache, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dark hair in a bob-like style, average build and a pointed nose”.

  “That’s right.”

  “You see...back then, technology wasn’t what it is today, unfortunately...”

  “You keep trying to justify yourself...believe me, it wouldn’t have changed anything, or very little. You would never have been able to cancel out what he did to me.”

  “That’s true...I see you’re wearing a wedding ring, did you get married?”

  “Yes, five years ago.”

  “Any children?”

  “Two, they’re five and eight.”

  Germano smiled as he thought of his own children; they talked about various things for half an hour or so before the inspector realised that he was running late.

  “Can I just ask you one last thing, Daniela...”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “I’ll leave you my card; please call me if you think of anything at all.”

  “Of course...”

  “Do you know that you look much more at ease as a PR executive than as a student?”

  “You’re right, in fact I was different even then; it’s just that I hid it, my father wanted me to get a degree and...he was like a dog with a bone!”

  “Parents, eh?...”

  “But I had other ideas...in fact a couple of times I even went to the Film Studios for some auditions, it would have been great to have been an actress!”

  “Hah...”

  “Anyway...I should thank you, Vincent, and...get that bastard, won’t you, even though it won’t change the past.”

  10

  The departures terminal at Fiumicino airport was deserted. His flight to Paris was due to take off at seven that morning, and Germano made his way to the check-in desk after parking his car in good time.

  Immersed in a quasi-surreal solitude, the inspector decided to have a coffee and breathe in the morning air for a few minutes. He would leave his newspaper for the flight.

  After the previous day’s lack of results, Germano wondered whether it was worth the effort going all the way to France when in all likelihood he would come back with nothing.

  But he soon overcame this disheartened feeling by remembering his father’s words: he should pick up from where he left off, step by step, without forcing the issue.

  He finished his cigarette and walked towards security; getting to the gate before anyone else would give him a few minutes more of solitude and concentration.

  The file on Claudia Ferretti was fairly thick; she was the last girl to have been raped and was also the only one to have seen that tattoo, when she had ripped open part of her attacker’s shirt.

  The man’s reaction had also been the subject of much scrutiny, analysed by top criminologists; studies which often turn out to be extremely helpful when it comes to prioritising one trail over another, but completely useless if you’re fumbling around in the dark.

  Signora Ferretti was now thirty-two years old and had not even been an adult at the time of the attack. She had only been contacted by the erstwhile Detective Germano two months after the incident; a rookie DNA analyst only managed to establish that the three cases were linked a number of weeks after the final attack, and the initial investigations had therefore been proceeding separately for too long.

  In Paris the temperature was just over ten degrees, a French-made saloon car was waiting for the inspector as he stepped out of the arrivals terminal at Charles De Gaulle; a brunette who was leaning on the bonnet began waving at him. They had swapped photos via e-mail the day before, just in case.

  “Hello, Claudia, I have to thank you before anything else...”

  “No, this visit of yours could also be of help to me, I can’t tell you!”

  “Shall we go for some breakfast?”

  “Yes, let’s go. I’d like you to try some French delicacies...”

  “Great.”

  It was Germano’s first visit to France; he would have preferred it to have been under different circumstances of course, but there had been no option.

  Driving in France was very different from in Rome; everyone seemed to be travelling with the handbrake on.

  It was just after ten when they both took their seats in one of the many bistros; Germano dared not order anything, leaving Claudia to choose for him.
r />   “So Claudia, how long ago did you move to France?”

  “Almost ten years ago now; I tried going to university in Italy but things didn’t go that well, so I looked around a bit.”

  “You had a good look around, then?”

  “Let’s just say that Paris offered a few more opportunities, now I’m a partner in an art gallery.”

  “A gallery owner...”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Tell me, out of interest...how do you value a work of art? I mean...what’s the difference between one that’s worth a hundred euros and one worth a hundred thousand?”

  “In reality, the price is set by the market. What I mean is, a work by a painter goes up in price when there are a lot of people around who are prepared to buy it, a bit like everything else.”

  “That figures.”

  “And what about you? How do you do your job, are you a kind of lone hunter?”

  “Yes and no, I’m the head of a police station in the suburbs of Rome; I’m not exactly a maverick, I need to coordinate, be present and everything else, the real work is mainly done by my team.”

  “But is it like in the films?”

  “Sometimes it is...”

  “And the rest of the time?”

  “Let’s say that the hardest thing is often gaining respect. In a country that often sees the State as an unnecessary hindrance, it isn’t easy.”

  “And yet, when I was young you were an institution in my neighbourhood. I remember how before dinner the squad cars would all come out together; people would stop and watch you, fascinated.”

  “Well, things change...but let’s get back to us; as I told you over the phone, that guy has come back to haunt us, but this time it’s even worse.”

  “I read about it in the Italian papers, but it said that he didn’t mean to kill her.”

  ”Yes, we think that the situation got out of hand...do you remember by any chance whether he had any weapons that evening? A box cutter, a knife or anything like that?”

  “No, no, if he’d been carrying anything I think he’d have used it when I started defending myself; to tell the truth, I didn’t get the impression that he was a violent, unscrupulous person. In fact, it seemed as if he almost felt guilty, I don’t know...”

  “When you tore his shirt, how did he react? Do you remember anything in particular?...”

  “He looked like a child who’d been caught with his hands in the cookie jar; as soon as he realised that I’d seen his tattoo he stopped, and a few seconds later he ran off.”

  “We’ve never been able to get to the bottom of that, why he wasn’t afraid to show his face but was worried about the tattoo. We’ve looked into what it might represent, whether there were any groups, gangs or secret societies that could be associated with tattoos showing the Gemini symbol, but we came up with nothing.”

  “I’ve thought a lot about that too, Inspector; I thought that it might have been someone I knew, or that I’d met him somewhere, someone who could be traced by that tattoo, but I also drew a blank.”

  “Sorry to keep asking, but since that evening, have you ever had the feeling of having come across him again? Someone who resembled him...even if only in a certain way?”

  “At first I used to see him everywhere, but I think it was just my mind playing tricks on me, then after that, nothing.”

  “I understand, listen...as we’re in Paris, how about being my guide for while? My flight home isn’t until tonight...”

  “Of course, I’d love to.”

  At a certain point in the conversation, Germano had got the impression that digging up those events had reopened wounds that had not yet fully healed, that this woman was in fact still far more upset than she was letting on. A stroll through Paris would help to lighten the mood.

  On leaving the Louvre, the inspector glanced at his watch. He was beginning to feel hungry and considered suggesting something before he was beaten to it, but he was too late.

  “It’s almost lunchtime, Inspector...”

  “Yes, it is, I was thinking...”

  “I live nearby, it’s only five minutes on the Metro! We could cook ourselves a nice plate of pasta!”

  “Well...”

  “Yes, come on, you can sort out the dessert and fruit and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Ok, that’s a deal. I’d give you a hand with the rest, but...”

  “I know, I know, you’re a disaster in the kitchen.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I remember when you were interviewing me all those years ago, you were always rubbing your stomach and to get a smile out of me you started telling me about the matriciana sauce that you’d made...that you’d eaten two hours earlier!”

  “So you still remember...but I’ve improved a lot since then, I can now even cook for my wife if I need to.”

  “Yes, I’m sure, let’s go.”

  They got up from the table to make the coffee; it was almost four in the afternoon and Germano was due back at the airport in three hours. He decided that now was the time to make a move.

  “Ok, Inspector, let’s have a coffee and then I’ll take you back to Charles De Gaulle.”

  “You’ve already done more than enough...I’ll get a taxi; I just need you to call me one, my French isn’t up to it.”

  “Ha ha, ok, the phone’s through there in the bedroom.”

  Claudia asked Germano to pass her the phone book; it was resting on a chair, and as he did so, the inspector noticed a framed photo of her. It had been taken a few years earlier and she looked as if she was posing.

  “Have you also done some modelling, by any chance?”

  “No, no, I just did a fashion show once for fun...but I was very young, they told me my face would be more suited to the movies, but I didn’t really believe them.”

  “In what sense?”

  “In the sense that acting wasn’t a career that I ever felt like pursuing. Many years ago, when I was still in Rome, I also went for an audition, for an American production, but I didn’t get through...”

  Those words continued to bounce around the room and around the inspector’s head; he froze, with the phone directory in his hand.

  “Inspector? Is everything ok, Inspector?”

  “Forget the taxi, can I call Rome from here?”

  “Of course.”

  Germano, in his flustered state, initially dialled the wrong country code, before getting through successfully.

  “Police Station...”

  “It’s Germano speaking, is Di Girolamo there?”

  “Yes, just a moment, I’ll get him.”

  “Tell him it’s urgent.”

  Claudia Ferretti, standing beside him with her arms crossed, dared not ask any questions.

  “I’m here, Inspector.”

  “Listen, do you remember that check that I asked you to run a few days ago on the cell network?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “How far have you got?”

  “We’ve been lucky, it turns out that there were no more than four hundred mobiles operating within that cell that evening between nine fifteen and ten fifteen.”

  “Do you have a record of the owners’ occupations?”

  “Job done.”

  “Do me a favour: check them all and see if there’s anyone who works in the film industry, in any capacity, and as soon as you find anything, call me straight back on this number.”

  “Will do.”

  Claudia remained motionless in front of Germano, who, after lighting a cigarette, sat down slowly on the bed.”

  “What are we looking for, Inspector?”

  “Nothing, Claudia, I’m just curious.”

  He was not that convincing, but at that precise moment he did not care.

  Meanwhile, Claudia had started pacing nervously around the room; short, slow steps, like the second hand of a clock, ticking relentlessly.

  Germano became aware of the embarrassing silence and tension that would probably
lead to nothing, so he decided to say something, but the phone rang before he had chance.

  “Hello.”

  “Ge...”, the caller did not manage to finish his sentence before the connection was lost; Germano lit another cigarette, and the phone rang again..

  “Hello.”

  “It’s me, Inspector...”

  “Fire away.”

  “There’s one who might work in the movies, he’s a make-up artist.”

  “A make-up artist, for God’s sake...”

  “Wait a second, we’re still checking...listen, the company he works for is actually based inside the film studios.”

  “Call them immediately! Actually, no...what did you say his name was?”

  “I didn’t, his name is Carlo Ricci.”

  “Any previous?”

  “No, he’s clean.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Forty-three, and he lives in Via Casilina.”

  “Listen carefully, I won’t be able to get back to Rome before ten, but in the meantime get all the information you can on him, notify Parisi too. I’m going to see if I can get a flight immediately, and try to get a photo as well, we’ll all meet in my office as soon as I can get there.”

  “Ok, let us know when you’ve landed and we’ll come and pick you up.”

  “Ok, see you later.”

  Germano landed at Fiumicino just after nine, and Detective Parisi was waiting for him.

  “Hey, Vincent, what happened in France?”

  “I don’t know yet, it may be out of desperation that I’m grasping at the slightest clue; it may not come to anything.”

  “Sorry to ask, but...”

  “There’s no need to be sorry.”

  “I went home after lunch, it seemed a fairly quiet day until my phone started ringing; at one point they were all in a frenzy, they said you were on the right track.”

  “It’s too early to say, what time have you told everyone to meet?”

  “At ten at the station.”

  “Good.”

  It was just before ten but they were all there waiting in Germano’s office, sharing their ideas without even whispering, abandoning for a moment the strict rules of confidentiality.

  When the inspector arrived he was almost set upon by his colleagues, who were not easily placated, although deep down, their keenness gave him great hope, in a case that had so far been dominated by melancholy.