Hans nodded. “We will see about that later. Right now all I want is a warm bath and a soft bed.”
Tardelli made a reassuring gesture with both of his hands. “You will have more than enough time for that later. First we have a few questions.”
Martuccia took over. “Why in the hell would you take such a risk? I thought we made it very clear that if you needed us, you should let us know right away. We are doing everything we can to protect you, but then you go chasing after him on your own, also bringing other people in danger.”
“I know, I know. But what would you have done if it was your child?”
Martuccia nodded. “It’s fine, but from now on I need you to stay unnoticed and in the background. It is best that you remain in your hotel. We cannot take a single risk, certainly not now that the suspect has seen you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Good. Would you ask Niels if he is sure that he saw the same exact man tonight that he saw in the bushes at Lake Garda?”
Petra translated quickly, and Niels indicated that he understood what they had said in English. He nodded decisively. “It was the same guy.”
“Okay, what is happening at this very moment is unique in the history of Peschiera. After today’s events, we have contacted the department of justice prosecutor. Our plan got the green light right away. Usually this takes hours or sometimes days between the request and permission. This shows how important this case is to everyone involved and that we see possibilities in solving the case.”
Hans looked at him questioningly. “So, what is going to happen then?”
“From this moment on, a large-scale police search is getting started. I wouldn’t call it an all-out city raid just yet, but it comes damn close. We are basically locking down Peschiera. Blockades are being set up on all the highways, so anyone leaving the city will be checked. If anyone matches the description of the suspect, they will be brought into the police station for questioning. Different teams are doing a neighborhood search all around the city, both in the streets and door to door. We are starting in the area where you lost the man, and we will broaden the circle from there to the edge of the city. We will knock on every single door.
Petra translated quickly. Niels nodded.
“What if someone isn’t home?” he wanted to know.
Martuccia put his thumb up. “That’s a very good question. When no one answers, it will be noted and the next day a police officer will come by again.”
Tardelli took over the conversation and turned to Niels. “You did a great job today, young man.”
“But … he also saw me. Now he knows I’m here. What if he comes to our hotel?”
Tardelli nodded slowly. “In order to get to your hotel you have to get past a lot of police officers first. But imagine that he does succeed, that he is very smart, then he will be making the biggest mistake of his life, because your hotel, specifically your room, is being guarded and watched by undercover policemen. If he does manage to get to your room somehow, we will handcuff him on the spot and throw him in jail.”
“Really?”
“You have my word,” Martuccia said.
“Good,” Niels answered.
The doctor grabbed his bag, said good-bye to everyone by nodding his head, and left the office.
Hans stretched out his arms. “Come on, let’s go. The prospect of a bed in my near future sounds heavenly.”
They said good-bye to the detectives. They would see them again tomorrow. When they arrived at the hotel, they could see that Niels started to relax once the undercover police officers introduced themselves to him.
35
Salvatore sat behind his desk and stared straight ahead. The fear had slowly subsided after the chase. He was breathing calmly and his heart had a normal rhythm again. After he had stormed back into his apartment, the fear had taken over. Lying down spread out on the floor, he had waited to see if he’d hear the man who’d been chasing him at his door. Now that he was beginning to calm down, he realized that his response had been quite ridiculous. He had almost lost the control over the situation and hoped he would never experience that again.
Meanwhile, he started thinking rationally again. He realized that danger could come from unexpected places. In order to avoid unpleasant situations like this in the future, he had to think of something. What that would be, he had no idea, but he had proven that he could be unpredictable before. He had to rely on that now. He was smarter than the rest; he had to make use of that now.
The boy at the table who had recognized him was the kid who had walked into the bushes earlier that year when he had just finished. He had motioned for him to come over, and the boy had come over. He had covered his mouth and looked him dead in the eye. He couldn’t believe how stupid he had been now.
Because the boy’s sudden appearance had startled and surprised him and made him want to go home as quickly as possible to relax, he had made the decision to let the boy live. He wasn’t the kind of killer who killed at random. Such an intense and unplanned event went against the way he worked. He could have easily killed the boy, but the risks had seemed far too great at that moment. Besides, he had assumed that his threatening manner had been enough to scare the boy into shutting up and that it had been far too dark in those bushes for the boy to ever recognize him again.
The next day he followed the story in the local media. He had realized quickly that a certain Ottavio Galli had been a gift from heaven to him. To the justice department and to the general public, Galli was the Monster of Garda. And according to the general public’s opinion, no sane human being mourned his death. Problem solved. Case solved and closed. The news had confirmed his pure genius.
But what had happened in the meantime to the boy he had let live remained a mystery to him. If the boy had talked, apparently the police could do very little with the information. If he hadn’t talked, it was even better, until now. They must have a lot of trust in him as a witness to bring him all the way back here after all this time. Given how he had seriously threatened the boy, they may have had to work very hard to get him to talk.
The turmoil in the streets below startled him and woke him from his deep thoughts. He got up and walked over to the window. A quick glance out the window made his knees buckle, and he continued to watch, hunched down and peeking over the windowsill. There was some commotion. A man was being handcuffed by two police officers. The man screamed that they had the wrong guy. The police officer that was farthest away, as far as he could see from his window, looked down at a piece of paper quickly and nodded decisively. His colleague grabbed the man by the arms and pulled him along. The curious crowd that had surrounded the three men was now scattered in a circle around them. A few seconds later the police officers and their detainee disappeared from his sight.
He stayed in the same position. With just a little imagination, the man they had just picked up could easily pass as him. So they had his description. That meant that the streets were crawling with police officers in uniform and probably undercover detectives too. Yes, he needed to conclude that for now, the streets were a no-go area.
The sound of the doorbell shocked him to his core. He remained quiet as a mouse. Opening the door was not an option. Family or friends never showed up at his place unannounced; he had made it clear to them that they always needed to make an appointment. He hated unexpected visitors, and everyone respected that.
His heart was pounding in his throat. He was clearly not himself yet. But who could be at his door now, during this situation? He had just been hunted down by a raging bull in the streets. His knowledge of the city and a little bit of luck had saved him. It had to be the police at his door; who else could it be?
He remained in the same position for well over thirty minutes before he stretched out and returned to his desk. Much to his relief, his heartbeat had lowered and he could think clearly again.
He had to come up with a strategy quickly. Something had to happen; he couldn’t just sit aro
und and wait for them to find him and bring him to the slaughterhouse like a meek little lamb. He was no law expert, but he thought it to be highly unlikely that the police would break down every single unanswered door in Peschiera. But he also couldn’t stay here. What if his neighbors recognized him in the sketch? Then the police would definitely be back.
They probably wouldn’t limit themselves to this neighborhood alone, but they would probably also check traffic. He sniffled. It all seemed a little surreal. Something like this must cost the city truckloads of money. Besides, they might finger him for the crime, but they’d have no proof. But still, he had to consider all options. The only one who could identify him properly was the boy. The boy was the key. He had to figure out how he could get close to him. He could only succeed in doing so if he could somehow avoid all of his opponents.
A year ago he had made the mistake of letting the boy live. He had to correct that mistake now. The boy was their key witness; without him they would be powerless. They would have nothing. So, the boy had to die. He had no other choice.
36
As they had agreed upon with Carlo Martuccia, the Kolwijns came to the Verona police station promptly at six o’clock in the evening. They were met this time by a desk clerk who escorted them straight to a room. Tonight, there would be a lineup, and everyone was a little bit nervous. Martuccia, Tardelli, and Karin greeted them warmly. They were in a room much larger than any of the offices they had seen so far. They sat at a long table with two microphones on a stand. Martuccia sat behind a panel with an impressive number of buttons. This made him seem more like a sound technician than a detective.
Straight ahead of them was a large, rectangular two-way mirror. The space behind it was lit and about as large as the space in which they found themselves now. On the floor were two white Xs made with tape, one in line with the only entrance’s doorway and the other right in front of the two-way mirror. Besides the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and some track lighting in the wall, the room was completely empty.
Tardelli pointed to the mirror. “This is a mirror that you can only see through from one side. From here, we can see exactly what’s happening in the other room. But from the other room you can only see a black wall.”
Niels nodded; he understood after Karin’s fast translation. “Yes, I’ve seen it on TV lots of times,” he said.
Tardelli and Martuccia laughed.
“See, some of the things you see in those police shows are real!” the younger of the two detectives said, chuckling.
Tardelli nodded to Karin. “Will you take Niels and his parents there?”
A moment later, the four of them were in the other room. The description was accurate. They were looking right at a black wall.
“Niels, don’t bite your nails,” they heard someone say in English, probably Martuccia. The sound came from the speakers, which were hanging up high.
Niels stopped biting down on his cuticle and grinned at the black wall.
“That’s better,” sounded from the speakers.
Moments later, they were back in the other room. Tardelli turned to Karin. “Yesterday and today, we arrested a total of twenty-four men who matched the profile based on Niels’s description. We’re going to bring them out in groups of four and will pick each one of them out individually. Niels should take his time when he looks at these men. I know he is a smart kid, but please reiterate to him that the men in the other room absolutely cannot see him. When he is done, you can signal Inspector Baldone to send in the next group.”
Karin did exactly what she was asked to do and the first group of men appeared a few minutes after she had left the room. Apparently they were instructed in advance, because they were all standing side by side neatly with their faces toward the black wall.
Tardelli pushed the microphone button. “Number one, please stand on the X.”
The man did what he was asked right away. Petra could see from the corner of her eye that Niels was taking the man in slowly and that he was concentrating very hard. No sign of any recognition whatsoever. The night before, she had only caught a quick glimpse of the man. She had tried today to remember more details but without any results.
“Move your head slowly to the left and then to the right,” Tardelli said. After the man had done so, Martuccia placed his hands on the panel that was on the table in front of him.
“Now, pay close attention, Niels. We are going to try to recreate the circumstances of last year. Go back in your mind and return to that night at Lake Garda when you first saw the man you recognized last night.”
Karin translated rapidly. In anticipation of what was about to happen, Niels squinted, which made it seem as if he was concentrating even harder.
The fluorescent lights on the ceiling went out. While Martuccia was busy pushing all kinds of buttons, the room slowly lit up before them. Because some of the side spotlights lit up more, the man was being lit up from all different angles. Much like the moonlight coming through the branches, but with enough light to still see.
“Once again, move your head from left to right,” Tardelli said.
The man on the X had black hair and a normal build, and wore a red T-shirt and blue jeans. Petra estimated him to be about thirty years old. He could certainly pass for the man in the drawing Niels had helped create.
Martuccia looked at Niels questioningly.
“It’s not him,” Niels answered resolutely.
“Yes, I don’t think it’s him either,” Hans added.
Martuccia lit the room up again. Tardelli pushed the microphone button. “Number one, walk back to your spot in line and stay there. Number two, stand on the X.”
Petra looked at this number two. Her first impression was that he looked much like the predecessor in his face and build. But when she looked closer, she could see that this man had a broader face, and she estimated him to be a few years younger than number one. He wore a white shirt, gray pants, and black leather shoes.
“That’s not him either,” Niels said a moment later.
Hans shook his head sadly. “Unfortunately,” he said, sighing.
The last group of four men left the room at a quarter to eight. None of them was fingered as the killer, but they didn’t know that yet. They would be informed later that evening individually, and could then leave the police station.
Martuccia made a broad arm gesture and looked at Niels. “Too bad. Better luck next time!”
“When will the next time be?”
“That I cannot say for sure right now. Especially now that this first group has not resulted in anything. We just have to keep looking. I’m going to consult with your parents if it is possible for you to stay a few more days. It is possible that after we have that conversation, we may also have to change our approach somewhat.”
Niels looked at Karin for the translation. “But what is going to happen now?” he asked. “That man wasn’t with them. So he is still out there somewhere. Maybe he will come to our hotel!”
“The hotel is still heavily guarded, Niels. The moment we feel that we have to move you somewhere else then we will,” Tardelli said in a very reassuring tone. “The policemen will stay at your hotel. If that man shows up there, he will be arrested on the spot.”
37
A taxi stopped in front of the Hotel La Ninfa around eleven o’clock in the evening. The man who got out walked straight to the entrance. He had black hair, was thin, wore an ill-fitting suit, and held a cheerfully wrapped box with a blue bow on top. He opened the door to the hotel and walked at a steady pace through the lobby up to the front desk.
“I have a package for the Kolwijn family, room 38, third floor. Is that correct?”
The receptionist looked up somewhat bored by his television program, which he found far more interesting than a deliveryman who needed him to check something. He had worked as a receptionist for well over twenty years at this hotel and had seen more than enough weirdos come through the door. A quick glance at the composite d
rawing confirmed that the deliveryman wasn’t the guy they were looking for. Should the guy take longer than the usual amount of time for his delivery, he could always contact the police. He knew they were nearby, because they had told him so.
He found the name followed by the room number on his computer screen. “Correct,” he answered curtly and focused all of his attention back on his television program.
“Thanks,” said the deliveryman, and continued on to the elevator and pressed the button. The display above the elevator door indicated that the elevator was on the fourth floor. Patiently, he waited for the elevator door to come back down and open its doors for him.
“Package for our room, coming up in the elevator,” Luca Mandelli whispered in the microphone attached to the lapel of his suit jacket. “He resembles our suspect somewhat and is carrying a brightly colored box with a blue blow on top.”
Out of the three detectives guarding the hotel and, more importantly, the room belonging to the Kolwijn family, he was the oldest and the one who was the least physically fit. But there was nothing wrong with his ability to observe and to fully take in his surroundings. The two detectives posted on the third floor, however, were much younger and in top physical condition.
Roberto Parolo and Antonio Ranocchia made eye contact quickly. Parolo stood directly across from room 34 and Ranocchia was in the stairwell on the far side of the third floor. They had made an airtight plan and decided which position was strategically best. Parolo would always remain in the area of room 38, and Ranocchia would block the only available escape route. If the suspect wanted to take the elevator, he would have to pass Parolo first. He was six foot two, very muscled, and a champion kickboxer in his weight class. Antonio Ranocchia was of a smaller stature and not nearly as muscled as his colleague. He was a quiet thirty-four-year-old man and got on well with most of his colleagues. However, he had quite an unexpected temper. If things didn’t quite go his way during an arrest, the suspect could sometimes suffer some quick and unforeseen hits, ones they never saw coming from a detective of his size and posture.
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