Without realizing it, Petra had held her breath. She took a deep breath. “Very good. That was very brave.”
“I was afraid to look. I had my eyes closed and thought he was coming back to get me. But that didn’t happen. I peeked, very carefully. There was a man there, but it was a completely different man. He leaned over Mats. That’s when I heard Daddy calling my name.”
Petra hugged him tight. “You are so unbelievably brave. I am so incredibly proud of you.”
Niels didn’t respond.
“You have to remember one thing, Niels. We will always be here for you. When you are afraid, you always have to tell us, no matter how silly it seems. Then we can help you. You don’t have to hide in your own little world anymore.”
He didn’t appear very relieved, as if he hadn’t fully realized yet that this was the moment that he had finally told his story. That he had finally let it out. Obviously, his fear wouldn’t just evaporate; he would have to continue to work on that with Irene—they would all have to keep working on that—but this was the big breakthrough they had all been waiting for.
“I’m going to get us all something to drink.” Petra got up and Hans put his arm around Niels, who instantly leaned and fell into him. As if he was completely empty. Hans had let Petra carry the conversation; he had also been too dumbfounded to say anything. The story had hurt him. He could imagine Niels’s fear, and he had been right in his assumption that there had been more to the story than Niels finding Mats’s dead body.
After Petra returned with a tray, Niels sat upright. He took a deep breath. Petra sat back down and rubbed his leg, while she handed him his glass. Niels gulped down his soda and asked if he could go to his room and play games on his computer. They let him go right away, because any form of relaxation was good for him now.
Once he was in his room, their eyes met.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Hans asked.
Petra shook her head despondently. “I’m not sure what to think anymore. On the one hand, I am relieved that we finally know exactly what happened, but at the same time I am shaken to my core. We really have to do something with this information, but maybe we need to take a break and take a day to think about this? Also, let’s see how he is doing tomorrow?”
Hans nodded. “You’re right. First, let’s see how he processes it. But I do think we need to inform both Irene and the detective that was on the case.”
“Of course. Maybe it will help solve this new case as well, but it would be nice if Niels didn’t have to live through it all again.”
“As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t have to go that far. We will just call him and tell him the story and let them figure out the rest. But I do think Niels should know that we are going to tell them. I’m sure it will do him some good to know that we’re helping to catch this bastard.”
“Let’s hope so. But we can’t force anything.”
Hans nodded.
29
Carlo Martuccia grabbed the report on the top of the pile of files on his desk and began to read it. It was a witness report made on the scene by a police officer, but after he’d read the first few lines he already knew it wasn’t going be helpful. He grabbed the next one from the pile and put it away just as fast. He had to read through them all, and he would, but he knew it was useless. Nobody had gotten even a slight glimpse of the perpetrator. Before the reports had landed on his desk, his colleagues had already checked them, making the likelihood pretty much zero that he would find a breakthrough clue now.
He sat upright, stretched his arms, and turned his head a few times back and forth to relax his muscles somewhat. Just like most of his colleagues, he hadn’t gone to bed last night and the lack of sleep was slowly beginning to take its toll.
After he had been woken up early in the morning yesterday by a call informing him that a report had come in about a dead boy, presumably murdered, he had told Ciara that he would most likely not be sleeping at home that night and had driven to the crime scene immediately. He had received the information firsthand. In the bushes on the outskirts of the campground La Trotta di Lago (“the lake trout”), the body of twelve-year-old Evan Bellington had been found by tourists who’d had too much to drink wanted to empty their bladders in a secluded place. Although an extensive investigation still had to take place, strangulation appeared to be the cause of death and as far as could be seen there were no traces of any sexual abuse. A case that was obviously eerily similar to the murder of the German boy Mats. La Trotta di Lago was within walking distance from La Regina di Garda, and there was no trace of the perpetrator again. Were they dealing with a serial killer of children here? All signs pointed to it.
After he processed the first bits of information available, he realized that they had never gotten this close to the gates of hell before. Their biggest nightmare had come true. This relegated the umpteenth Mafia hit from the front page to an article somewhere in the back of the national newspapers, and the latest political bribe scandal seemed nothing in comparison to this story. This murder was the subject of the day throughout all of Italy, and now the foreign press was also starting to focus on the story. Crowds were forming at the crime scene, which had been sealed off as quickly as possible by the forensics department. News media, disaster tourists, and the local population all crowded around the barriers and police tape, trying to catch a glimpse of the crime scene.
Martuccia sighed. What was wrong with these people? How sick did you have to be?
But heads were going to roll. At very high levels, maybe even higher than anyone could imagine right now.
This was Italy, a country with a very passionate population. After all, many people did stupid things as emotional impulses every once in a while, right? This was the country where everyone chuckled when someone had managed to deceive the tax department again. In the end, all of the tax collectors in Rome were thieves, right? And you were allowed to steal from thieves. But it was also the country of close family ties, and children played a very important role in that. If you interfered with that, you had a very big problem. You could say what you wanted about this strange, corrupt little country, but here, no one hurt innocent children. At least, that’s what people thought. That’s what made this case so especially horrible.
The door to his office opened, and Tardelli entered. He looked beat. “So? Did you find out anything useful?”
Martuccia shook his head despondently and nodded toward the pile of reports on his desk. “All of them are witness accounts, each one of them without even the smallest clue. I may as well throw them all in the recycling bin.” He looked at Tardelli again. “What about you?”
“I don’t have any news about the case. But I do have other news.” He pointed up with his finger. “Three staff members have resigned.”
“Are you kidding me? Now that it comes down to the wire, they take the easy way out. What a bunch of cowards!” He sniffed his nose in anger. “Who are they?”
Tardelli shrugged his shoulders. “No idea. It doesn’t really matter anyway. This is only the beginning; many more heads are going to roll, voluntarily or involuntarily.”
Martuccia nodded. “I kind of figured that too. We have quite a task ahead of us. All this misery could have been prevented if those arrogant idiots had only listened to us. Then that German boy’s case would never have been closed and, with a little bit of luck, we would have been on our way to finding some real clues by now. Not to mention Ottavio Galli. They publicly labeled him as a child killer, while now it’s beginning to look a lot like he may have been completely innocent.” He made a large gesture with his arm. “Everyone please take note: this is the result of mismanagement. Another child murder, a case that is already cold as ice, before it even begins.”
Tardelli smiled sadly. “That may be a little shortsighted, but in the bigger picture, you are absolutely right. Although I do wonder if we would have found any new clues by now.”
“Well, we would have at least had a chance
to find them. I’m telling you right now, this is not going to happen again. We will never allow it again—coming up empty handed. Public opinion won’t allow it,” Martuccia answered.
“That’s right,” Tardelli agreed, “You can already assume that those at the top will now take every precaution necessary. And by ‘those at the top’ I don’t mean that bunch of incompetent losers who seemed to know better and who closed the case before, but I mean the real people at the top. Meaning, Rome. They will send reinforcement quickly to show us little provincials how you work a case like this properly. You better prepare yourself; we’re going to be working for the special teams from the state police department.”
Irritated, Martuccia slammed his open hand on the table. “This is not our fault, dammit. It was forced upon us. But I am not going to let them walk all over me. We are going to solve this case, even if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“We keep turning over every leaf while praying for a lucky break,” his colleague grumbled. “It might not be a bad idea to ask the pope to conduct a special mass for us. Because that is what we need right about now: divine intervention.” He turned around and said: “In the meantime, I’m going to go and see what they’ve dumped on my desk.”
Martuccia excused him and took the next report on top of the pile. Just then, his cellphone began to buzz in his shirt’s breast pocket. On his display he could see a number from the Netherlands.
30
“Finished for today, Salvatore? You happy to go home? Or do you dread coming home to an empty house?”
Salvatore Patronello stood next to the front desk counter and shrugged his shoulders. He detested this almost daily ritual, but refused to stop doing it. If he did, he’d run the risk of bringing unwanted attention on to himself, something someone like him couldn’t afford. He considered the meaningless chats that he often had with receptionist Perla Belmonte to be part of his job.
“I’ve gotten used to coming home to an empty house by now,” he said in a pleasant conversational tone, smiling faintly. “Besides, it has its advantages. Nobody can tell me what to do or not to do.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway of city hall. They belonged to an overexcited official who wanted to leave the building as quickly as possible. His workday, spent being stuck between four walls, was over. Freedom beckoned him.
“See you tomorrow, Perla,” the man said as he passed. While he continued his fast pace, he turned around. “Right before I shut down the computer for the evening, it started acting up again, Salvatore. Can you come by tomorrow?”
Patronello nodded. “No problem, Giancomo.”
The housing department official stuck his thumb up and walked out.
“They sure keep you busy,” Perla said. “It’s always something with those computers.”
Salvatore smiled shyly. “Well, it’s my job. They’re usually small problems that I can fix easily.”
For so long now, he had been playing the role of city hall’s friendly and shy IT guy, the one who was never too busy to make small talk with someone. It had all become second nature to him. In his younger days, he had also been shy, and he knew all too well how to make himself invisible. He was the nerd and the shy bachelor, who ran a one-man web-design company in his spare time from his rented room in Peschiera. Whenever anything went wrong with a computer or with the city hall system, all it took was one quick phone call and he would come. When he showed up there was never a touch of irritation or any hint of fatigue on his face. He came as soon as he could, did his job, and left again with the same friendly, understated attitude that he’d had when he arrived. Everyone appreciated this about him. He was quite different from most of the grumpy and overexcited coworkers that surrounded them. But what mattered most to him is that they all trusted him blindly.
Next to his usual work duties at the office, it was fairly common for a coworker from another department to take him aside and hand him a laptop, usually their personal computer, with a glitch of some sort and then they would ask him if he would be so nice as to take a look at it when he had a moment. He would give them a friendly smile and take the computer home and get it going again. If they offered to compensate him, he always refused to accept anything. They should just see it as a simple favor. He enjoyed doing it.
But what he left out was that he had not only fixed their computers’ problems, but had also gathered all the information on them. Throughout the years, he had gathered a wealth of information from both the city hall system and the private computers he was asked to repair. If he was ever forced into a corner, he had a backup plan. A plan that would cause a massacre among the city hall employees.
He let that last thought go. It would never get that far. He was far too smart for that and had both his feet firmly on the ground. He chided himself for even having these types of thoughts. It was a sign of weakness and that was the last thing he was or wanted to be. He would rise above it all.
“My cousin Rafaela from Turin is coming to stay with me for a few days next week,” Perla said suggestively. “Why don’t you go two go on a date one night? I think you would make a great couple.”
He grinned uncomfortably. “Hmm, it’s hard to say right now. I may have to work. I’m pretty busy with my own company at night.”
“Life is not just about work, Salvatore,” Perla said in a motherly tone. “You also have to think about yourself once in a while.”
He nodded shyly, as if he was considering her offer. In reality it didn’t interest him one bit. He wasn’t attracted to women, though he would never show or admit that publicly. But this chat was taking far too long already. It was time for the humble man from Peschiera to leave.
“Let me think about it,” he lied and said good-bye to Perla, who offered him a wide smile. Once outside he had to control himself to keep from running. The urge to return to his own world was strong.
31
He turned off his computer. The screen went black and the most difficult part of the day had just begun. His duties as web designer were finished for tonight. He knew the endless possibilities the computer and the Internet offered him like no other. With just a few mouse clicks, he could retreat into a world that would instantly brighten up his existence. He could also let a few people know that he, Salvatore Patronello, was above it all. That he had the power, the man who did what others only fantasized about. Then he would undoubtedly be crowned emperor by all the men in that world. The emperor who made all his dreams come true and also got away with it. He was the chosen one, who was above the law. Yes he would achieve that status among those losers, who were all talk and no action. Emperor Salvatore the First. He chuckled. Now that would be something.
But he didn’t do it. He might accidentally give himself away. Thankfully, his ego and fantasy were no match for his sense of reality. He was a professional who knew how to find his way around the Internet better than anyone else. For years he excelled in this area, and he could honestly say that he was one of the best around. But he never stopped reminding himself that his opponents were keeping up with the latest technology just like he was. They were in a different category, bought out by the various governments across the world. People like him were considered to be one the greatest enemies of society. If you had a sexual abnormality like he did, then you would end up on a blacklist fast. He always remained painfully aware of this.
The fact that he wasn’t on a blacklist yet he owed to his own vigilance and knowledge. He was ruled by his imagination, but couldn’t share his thoughts with anyone. For years he had managed to satisfy and control himself. But eventually something snapped inside. The thought that he would never experience the ultimate orgasm before his death became too much for him to bear. You couldn’t ask that from anyone, not even someone with an unacceptable sexual preference like him. What he did, society considered unacceptable, punishable by law even. But he had no choice in the matter. If he didn’t act on his impulses, the moment would come where he couldn’t go on any longer, with all th
e grave consequences to follow. In order to stay alive he had to choose for himself.
He closed his eyes and brought back the glorious moment in his mind. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but it had felt far more intense the last time when he had reached his ultimate climax. Before he had forced his will onto the first boy, he had already been through a lifetime of longing for that sublime moment. Everything was new now, from the long preparation to the very last moment where he applied all that pressure around that pale white throat, followed by the total surrender and the moment where his eyes let go and he blew out his last breath. He had enjoyed it thoroughly. The feeling of having absolute power over someone was an experience that had up until that point been unparalleled; at least that’s what he thought then. But that orgasm wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been with his last partner. He had literally blacked out for a moment. It was hard to fathom that he would ever get to experience anything so amazing. The need to experience it again soon grew stronger each day. For years he had lived like a monk. But one day he would make his fantasies a reality. That thought alone had kept him going. Maybe this second experience had been so much better because there had been no surprises; he had been completely alone with the boy. With his first partner, the German boy, everything went according to plan at first. He had waited patiently in the bushes and when a suitable partner was finally presented, he had struck right away. But then that other boy appeared. At first he was shocked to find out someone else was watching, but when he saw that it was another boy, he couldn’t believe his luck. But it had still made him nervous, and he didn’t dare stay any longer than what was absolutely necessary. He had threatened that other boy and had felt so powerful when he stared into his petrified eyes. Even if the boy did talk, they would never find him anyway. He had left no traces behind. His gloves had immediately disappeared into a hidden backpack, which he had taken with him when he left. All the clothes he had worn and the things he used were destroyed the next day so that no evidence could ever be found. Because forensics would comb through every inch of the area, he couldn’t leave even the smallest trace behind. Especially no bodily fluids, because then they would have his DNA in hand.
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