Bella Italia

by Suzanne Vermeer

  He couldn’t lose a single minute now. Without even giving the dying receptionist another glance, he walked to the door and opened it carefully. He could see that there still weren’t any other people in the lobby at the reception desk. He took a room key from the board behind the desk and took the elevator to the third floor. Once he arrived there, he opened the elevator door as quietly as possible and got out. He walked through the hallway as if he’d had too much to drink. “Room 4 … room 34,” he mumbled. “Or was it 36? Why are those numbers so damn small?” As he staggered on and slowly came closer to room 38, he braced himself. It wouldn’t take much longer before the policemen would take action. He stopped, held the key obviously in front of him, and let his other hand slide into his inside pocket of his jacket, while he began mumbling something into his phone.

  Bernardo Esposito began to head toward the drunken hotel guest. The outward appearance of the man seemed off somehow. He didn’t trust it, but he didn’t exactly know why. Why was he digging around his inside pocket when he clearly had the room key in his hand? He heard him mutter something into his phone. Because the drunk wasn’t facing him, he was unable to see his face. This had every indication of a silly hotel guest who had one too many drinks, but still … According to the rules, Bianchi should have signaled to him that someone was making their way to the third floor. Maybe his colleague had drawn the same conclusion as he had and had counted on him to guide this drunken fool to his room?

  Playing it casual, he approached the man. In order not to increase the tension of the situation, he didn’t pull his service gun. He was just going to check things out. “Good evening, sir.” He showed his ID. “Police. Is there something I can help you with?”

  The gloves. That was it. That’s what was bothering him.

  Salvatore had waited until the detective was right near him. He pulled the knife from his inside pocket, turned slightly, and struck him hard.

  Esposito was a fraction of a second too late to pull his gun. Salvatore stabbed him directly in the chest. The detective’s eyes seemed to bulge out. How could he have been so stupid? He dropped to his knees and fell to the floor.

  Salvatore dragged the body to the stairwell. He took off his coat and covered Bernardo Esposito with it.

  He pulled his hand through his hair, adjusted his jacket, and walked straight to room 38.

  42

  Tardelli slowed down well in advance so he wouldn’t race into the parking lot loudly and attract any unwanted attention. That could raise suspicion. He parked diagonally in front of the entrance. They got out and closed the door, quiet and controlled. Martuccia led the way with a fast pace. He had to restrain himself not to run.

  In the hotel lobby, he summed up the situation with one single glance. Giuseppe Bianchi sat slumped over in a chair in the lounge. The bottom of his white shirt was soaked in blood. Martuccia felt his stomach turn. He continued walking. The desk was unmanned, there was no one else present in the lounge or the hallway, and the red light on the security camera was off. This was exactly what he had feared. They were too late.

  “You take the stairs, and I’ll take the elevator,” Tardelli said, who was right behind him.

  Martuccia walked past the reception counter toward the stairs. As he passed the elevator, he saw that it was on the third floor. He did not know what was happening on the third floor. To avoid drawing any attention, they both decided to take the stairs. He rushed to the stairwell. While he jumped on the third tray, he hoped that Esposito had the situation under control.

  Tardelli, meanwhile, called for backup and asked for an ambulance.

  When Martuccia reached the second floor he slowed down. Halfway up the third step, he took his gun from his holster. He had no idea what was waiting for him yet. Only that he knew he was ready for whatever that was. Then he stumbled on Esposito’s covered-up body.

  43

  There was a knock on the door. Petra responded first. “We’re only supposed to open the door for the police.”

  Hans sat upright in bed and looked at the door. Niels was sleeping. He hadn’t heard the knocking at all.

  The fact that Niels had fallen asleep without any problems was quite remarkable considering that he had faced quite a lot today. They had both agreed: tomorrow they would make it clear to Martuccia that they wanted to return to Holland as soon as possible. They had done what they came there to do and that was enough. Staying much longer wouldn’t be good for Niels. They could do the rest by phone, email, or Skype, if needed.

  “Police. Would you mind opening the door?” they heard someone say in English on the other side of the door.

  “That must be Martuccia,” Hans said. He stepped out of bed and walked to the door. He had not really recognized the voice as belonging to the detective, but the distance between them and the door could have distorted his voice somewhat.

  “Are you sure?” Petra asked worriedly.

  Hans nodded, opened the door, and pulled it a few inches toward him. He didn’t take the risk of opening the door completely. Through the opening this created, he could see someone standing there. The man wore a somewhat old-fashioned outfit and was holding up a badge in his right hand. Because of the hat and glasses, he couldn’t see his face very well. The detective kept his left hand in his pants pocket, leaving his jacket somewhat open and showing his gun holster, which clearly had a gun in it.

  “It’s the police,” Hans said to Petra. He did hesitate for a moment. Had he ever seen this man before? Definitely not at the police station.

  “I’m up here to relieve my colleague, and I wanted to introduce myself.”

  “But we just had a replacement?”

  “That’s correct, but my colleague who was up here was called away to a more pressing case. My name is Salvatore Costello.” Salvatore put out his hand.

  Hans didn’t understand why Bernardo Esposito hadn’t personally checked in with them when he left, but he opened the door farther so he could shake the man’s hand. Only then did he notice the gloves. Why would this man wear gloves inside?

  Salvatore grabbed his hand and pulled him toward him. Then he pushed Hans backward with his whole body and let go. Hans fell back into the room.

  Without hesitation, Salvatore stepped into the room and kicked the door shut behind him. The father, who had brought him so many problems in the streets of Peschiera, had hit his head against the wall and now lay dazed on the ground. He grunted and slowly raised his upper body.

  Hans felt a pounding headache. He put his hand on the back of his head and felt something warm and wet.

  Salvatore stood next to him. With a very fast motion, he took the fake badge and put it back in his inside pocket and pulled his gun from the holster.

  Niels was startled awake from all the commotion. When he sat up, Petra immediately placed her arm around him. She felt him tense up.

  “That’s him!”

  Salvatore pointed the gun barrel straight at Niels and Petra. “Quiet!” he hissed in English.

  “What … what is going … on here?” Hans stammered. He made an attempt to stand up.

  Salvatore now pointed the gun at Hans, who was slowly standing up.

  “Quiet! Move over to the bed!” Patronello demanded. Hans looked directly into the barrel of the gun and calmly moved backward to sit on the bed. Salvatore was now mostly worried about the woman. A mother would give her life for her child.

  This is why he kept the pistol pointed at the mother and son, while giving the father a cautionary look. The man had to understand clearly that one wrong move would immediately lead to the death of his wife and child. He had to keep an eye on the man, but didn’t expect him to do anything stupid. He took the razor-sharp knife from his jacket and placed the gun back in the holster.

  Hans knew who this man was and what he had come here to do. If he didn’t take action, this man would kill them. All three of them, because this time he wasn’t going to leave any witnesses behind. Why did he put his gun away, when one sim
ple shot would be far easier and more effective?

  When he saw the knife in the man’s hand, it became clear. Gunshots made a lot of noise. That would draw attention, which is exactly what he wanted to prevent. He had only used the gun to intimidate him, but would use the knife to kill them. He may very well be injured, but he should be able to overpower someone with a knife, especially because the bastard had to get closer to be able to touch him at all. He had to use that to his advantage—he had to use that against him.

  He got back on his feet. Because he got up so fast, his head spun for a moment, but he had to be fast now in order to surprise the man. The knife in the killer’s hand instilled no fear in him whatsoever. The lives of his family were at stake. After tonight, this bastard would wish he had never been born.

  Salvatore hadn’t taken into account that the man would recover so quickly and would remain so determined. He saw the man rise up and started to become irritated that he didn’t have this situation under control completely. He lashed out with the knife when the man came too close and cut the idiot on his right shoulder.

  The wound was so painful that Hans grabbed his shoulder and instinctively retreated. He tried to fight through the pain and to not let his knees buckle. But he was staggering and trying to get away from the killer who was now headed toward him.

  “Daddy!” Niels screamed, petrified. “Daddy, run away!”

  His son’s voice revived him. He took a deep breath, moved beyond the pain, and gave his attacker a challenging look.

  Salvatore slashed around wildly with the knife, ensuring that Hans couldn’t get any closer to him. When he attempted to do so anyway, Salvatore kicked him in the belly. He couldn’t take much more and sank to his knees. His opponent now had free reign.

  Something inside of Petra snapped. She grabbed the lamp from the nightstand next to the bed, yanked the plug from the electrical socket with one swift pull, and threw it with all of her might at the head of the man who was about to kill her husband.

  The lamp hit Salvatore on the head, hard. He cried out, stepped aside, and tried to find his balance against the wall.

  Hans managed to draw new strength from Petra’s fast action. He got back up, ignored the pain in his stomach, head, and shoulder, and lunged at his attacker. He missed his head, but hit him directly in his sternum, which caused the Italian to feel as if all the air was being pushed out of his lungs. Gasping for oxygen, he stepped to the side and tried to catch his breath.

  Hans barely gave him a chance to recover. He grabbed Salvatore and held him tightly in a violent embrace as they staggered a few steps back, finally landing in the curtains.

  Salvatore felt his control of the situation slipping away fast, and he didn’t have sight of his weapon. The knife cut through the curtain, but because he held it so tightly, he lost his balance. In an attempt to regain that balance, he turned a quarter turn and grabbed the curtain with his one free hand. When he put his full weight on it, the curtain rod came down. Hans stepped back just in time, but Salvatore was covered by a blanket of heavy, Bordeaux-red material.

  While the Italian wrestled with the curtain, Hans didn’t think twice and started to kick immediately. The man screamed out in pain.

  “This is for the boys you killed, you bastard,” he kicked the pile of curtains again.

  Petra could see that Hans was losing control and wanted to intervene. This was their chance to overpower the murderer, but it had to be done with some self-control. If they lost their minds in a blind rage now, it could end badly for everyone involved.

  Before she had the chance to calm Hans down and make it clear to him that they needed to work together, the pile of curtains came back to life. Salvatore had managed to get untangled from part of the curtain and was making wild stabbing motions with his knife. Hans almost got hit again but avoided the knife just in time and Petra was so startled that she stepped back. Salvatore now freed himself from the curtain completely and, while he got back up, he looked at Hans and Petra to decide which one of the two he would attack first.

  Before he was back on his feet completely, the door flew open with a loud bang. Martuccia and Tardelli had forced the door open by breaking it down with the full weight of their shoulders. The door had flown off its hinges immediately, and because of the sheer force and speed it came crashing into the room, with the detectives falling down on the floor.

  Martuccia managed to get up first. They all looked at him and Tardelli with pure astonishment. The boy and his mother were at a reasonably safe distance, but the father was still in the line of fire and entirely too close to the man with the knife. Tardelli pointed the barrel of his gun at the killer, who froze like a deer in the headlights.

  “Don’t move,” he said in Italian, while he stared sternly at Salvatore. “I need you all to lie down,” he added in English, letting his gaze glide across the room quickly to indicate that his words were only meant for the Dutch family.

  Hans and Petra did what was asked of them right away. Petra stepped back and lay down protectively in front of Niels. Hans squatted and lay down on his side, keeping his eye on the man with the knife.

  Salvatore realized it was over. He was being held at gunpoint by someone with a real weapon, and the other detective was back on his feet now too, and also had his service weapon drawn. These men would arrest him and from that moment on his life would become a living hell. People like him didn’t stand a chance in jail.

  I need to escape, echoed through his mind. Anything is better than jail. There is only one way out of this.

  He dropped the knife and showed the detectives his empty hands. He tightened his muscles and waited for the moment. When Tardelli took the first step in his direction, he didn’t hesitate. He turned around and with full conviction took the only way out.

  “Don’t move!” Tardelli fired a warning shot in the air. “Don’t move!”

  Salvatore didn’t let it stop him and had pulled open the window. At the exact moment that he wanted to jump, Martuccia fired his gun. When the bullet hit him, he seemed to freeze for a moment, but the force of the shot forced him forward even more and he fell out the window. Martuccia and Tardelli raced to the window.

  There he was. The Monster of Garda. Dead on the sidewalk.

  “Don’t look,” Martuccia said to Petra, as she and Niels tried to walk to the window together. He was surprised when the Dutch woman grabbed her son by the hand and still moved toward him. He turned around and looked at her sternly. “Do not look,” he said once again. This time with some force.

  His stern response made no impression on Petra.

  “We will absolutely look,” she answered coldly. “Otherwise we will never have closure.”

  44

  June

  “This one looks like it would be fun,” Hans said. He and Petra sat at the coffee table, looking at holiday destinations on her laptop. After a quick search through European destinations, they ended up in the Caribbean. There were gazing at beautiful images of Curaçao on the screen.

  “The sun, the ocean, palm trees, every single imaginable water sport,” Hans continued enthusiastically. “That has to be irresistible for someone his age.”

  “I’m not so sure. But I do think it is irresistible to a father of a child that age.”

  “Very funny. … But are you serious? I mean, you don’t think Niels will like it?”

  Petra nodded slowly. She had her suspicions, but that didn’t necessarily mean they were right. If Hans really wanted to show this idyllic picture of paradise to Niels, she thought that would be fine. Without saying much more about it to Hans, she was actually quite curious how their son would react.

  Hans started to doubt himself. “It does sort of seem a lot like those vacations we took before Italy. The sun, the ocean, gorgeous hotels and bungalows … Maybe we better not do this. I don’t want to take the risk; things have been going so well that past few weeks.”

  He made an attempt to close the page, but Petra stopped him. “Don�
��t exaggerate,” she said firmly. “A picture of the Caribbean isn’t going to upset him. If it does, then it is proof that we haven’t come as far as we would like to think and hope.”

  Hans pulled his hand back. “You’re right,” he mumbled.

  After that awful night in the hotel room, they flew back to Holland after giving another statement and cooperating with the crime reconstruction. Even though Martuccia’s protective response was more understandable and logical than Petra’s decision to allow Niels to look at the dead body of the child killer, it seemed to have done Niels a lot of good. Of course, Niels would still suffer from everything that had happened, but the fact that he had seen him dead would be vital to his recovery process. He would never have to be afraid again that the killer had gotten away. He was relieved. Death was something permanent. That horrible man could never harm them or anyone else. Of course, they had no idea how all of this would affect him in the long run. At first, Irene had been rather skeptical when she found out how Petra had handled the situation, but after talking to Niels she discovered that Niels had wanted to see it for himself.

  In the days after their return home, the media had sought contact with them. This time they chose a different approach. Openness could also help them in their healing process. With a spokesperson at their side, they decided ahead of time whom they would speak to. The story of the family from Baarn, who helped intensively at unmasking and bringing down a child killer, eventually faded, swallowed up by other world news events. After a month they were able to pick up their old lives again. They could really use peace and quiet after all they had gone through.