Viper jk-2

by Michael Morley

  Jack considered the alternatives. If the cousins were not serial killers, then Bruno Valsi continued to emerge as the main suspect. Valsi and the cousins had all shared much of the psychological profile he'd drawn up of the murderer. Franco and Paolo had both been manual workers. Neither seemed to have had any steady sexual relationships. Both had access to a van – which would be perfect for abducting victims and disposing of corpses. And they'd even lived and worked on the site where the bodies of Petrov, Novello and Valdrano had been found. But to Jack they didn't seem to possess either the expertise to kill efficiently, or the sadistic streak to want to burn women to death. Valsi on the other hand – well, he seemed to have those qualities in spades. Sylvia's voice caught his attention and drew him back to the briefing.

  'Mancini. Tell us about Kristen Petrov – what's new on her?'

  Claudio Mancini cleared his throat and tried to settle his nerves. He'd never spoken at a briefing in front of senior officers before. 'We've been to the call centre where she works – sorry, worked – and we've spoken to some of the girls on the sex lines. Seems that Bruno Valsi visited the centre with some of his thugs and removed the woman running it, Celia Brabantia. Our girl Kristen replaced her.'

  Jack had questions. 'Any suggestions of a sexual relationship between her and Valsi?'

  'Err, yes. One of the girls said that Kristen had bragged about seeing Valsi; she said that one day she would end up owning the sex centre.' He looked towards Sylvia.

  She took up the story. 'The plan with Valsi is this – if necessary we will detain him for questioning in connection with the murder of Kristen Petrov. I know he'll walk, and probably quickly because we have nothing – I repeat nothing – to link him forensically to this killing, or to suggest a motive. But it may buy us time.'

  Jack's attention drifted back to the whiteboards. Valsi certainly fitted his profile in the sense of being capable of immense violence, and no doubt enjoying it. The interview with his wife had confirmed Jack's suspicion that he was capable of anything, including murder.

  And then there was that intriguing gap of five years. Five years in which no more women disappeared. Five years that Valsi spent in prison. But Jack had trouble believing Valsi had killed Kristen. He might have had her killed – that would be more his style – just as he'd had Alberta Tortoricci killed, but he certainly hadn't done it himself. And as for all the other missing women, the endless canvassing of family, friends and neighbours had failed to produce any link between them and Bruno Valsi. Not that many people expected anyone to say anything about one of the country's most notorious Camorristi.

  Jack scanned the whiteboards one final time and hoped for inspiration. His mind was fogged by all the names and dates and twists. But the answer lay there in black and white. Valsi was involved somehow. He just had to figure out how big the some was and exactly what the how was.

  100

  Casonia, Napoli A cop on a retainer was the first to ring Finelli Capo Giotto Fiorentino, and tell him of the Don's murder. Seconds later, Fiorentino rang Ambrogio Rotoletti, his friend of thirty years, and woke him at his mistress's apartment in Casonia. Ambro took his cellphone and walked out into the corridor in his string vest and baggy white underpants. He was crying by the time he rang the third Capo, Angelico d'Arezzo.

  'Angelico, it's Ambro. Listen, the shit's started…' He never finished his sentence. He took two bullets in the stomach before he even saw the shooter. A third bit a hole out of his heart. Blood spurted through the gaps in the string vest. He sank to his knees, then slumped on to his side.

  Vito Ambrossio picked up the phone. 'Don Fredo's dead. So is that fat fuck Rotoletti, and within the hour you will be too.' He tossed the phone away.

  The other end of the line was already empty. Angelico d'Arezzo woke his wife. She sat dazed in the marital bed they'd shared for a quarter of a century. Angelico pulled cases from the top of the oak wardrobe his parents had bought them as a wedding present and hurriedly emptied drawers into them. Within ten minutes they'd be gone.

  Angelico had a stash of cash in a small villa in Greece. They'd go there and stay there. Maybe forever. Certainly until it had all died down. He was too old for gang battles. Too wise to think this war was winnable.

  Meanwhile, Vito Ambrossio stepped over the corpse in the corridor. One Capo Zona down. Two more to go. Centro citta, Napoli They breakfasted at Rocco's, the place the Don had been eating at since he was old enough to buy his own food. Just an espresso for Mazerelli. Steak for Valsi. The new head of the Family didn't leave a scrap. Both Rocco, the owner, and Myletti, the chef, visited the table to check everything had been all right. Valsi told them it was shit. Said he wasn't Finelli and warned them he wouldn't eat their crap again unless it improved. He picked up the check. Surprised he'd even been asked to pay. Unaware the Don had always settled in full, plus a generous tip. 'And do you know what, Rocco? To make sure your food gets better I'm going to invest in your business.' He peeled a twenty off a roll. 'This covers the shit you served and gets me fifty per cent of your business. My friend Ricardo will be round with the paperwork.'

  Mazerelli couldn't look them in the eye. He'd sat in the restaurant a thousand times with Don Fredo. All the memories were now worthless. Blown away by a murderous bad-mannered oaf. 'Ciao,' he managed sadly, as the old doorbell clanged on the way out.

  Though it was grey outside, verging on fog and rain again, Valsi slipped his shades on as they walked through the Piazza Nazionale and back to the Lexus. 'Now, take me to the Don's tailor. By the time I've been fitted for a new suit, the bloodshed will be over. Then you and I can talk of the future.' Capaccio Scalo, La Baia di Napoli Salvatore Giacomo sat frozen in his car, his cellphone on his lap. Giotto Fiorentino had just told him the Don was dead. The Cicerone clan was clearly on the rampage. Giotto had been in the process of adding that the Don's driver, Armando, was also dead, when the sound of a door breaking and automatic gunfire completed the story. He was dead as well.

  Sal sat and figured things out. Valsi would be in the thick of it. Stirring up bad blood. Serving his own purposes.

  He should have killed the young piece of shit, instead of Donatello. If only he'd trusted his instincts instead of doing as the Don had instructed him. But that's what Sal did. He followed orders. Always did as he was told. And now loyalty to the Family was going to get him killed.

  Well, not if he could help it. Certainly not without taking some of the bastards down with him.

  What about Gina? What about Enzo? Valsi wouldn't hurt his kid, not the boy. But he wasn't sure about Gina. He'd seen him with women, seen the violence, seen the brutality in his fists and in his heart.

  The Don would want her protected. Keep an eye on her, Sal. Look after her like she was your own daughter. That's what the Don had asked him to do in the past. And he had done it. Best he could.

  Now there was only one way to truly protect her. And it didn't involve running, or hiding. It involved what Sal did best.

  Killing.

  101

  Stazione dei carabinieri, Castello di Cisterna The case conference continued at a slow, methodical pace. Nothing was to be missed. Every link scrupulously examined. A mistake now could prove fatal.

  Sylvia was growing tired and short-tempered. 'I asked for checks on Celia Brabantia, the former manager of the Finelli sex centre. Is she dead or alive?'

  Claudio Mancini hesitated. 'Alive. We think.'

  'You think?' queried Sylvia. 'Alive is when you breathe, dead is when you don't. Which is it, Claudio?'

  'One of the women said she'd quit and moved home to Sansepolcro. She gave us a number and we spoke to a woman who said she was her, but we haven't yet had a chance to physically ID her, so we think she is alive but can't be certain.'

  'Okay, we get the picture, thanks.' Sylvia rubbed at her hair and paced while she thought. 'Susanna, update us on the body count and body IDs. Where do we stand? Who's linked to whom?'

  Susanna Martinelli was a tall, thin confident w
oman in her late twenties with long black curly hair that shook from side to side as she walked to the front. She picked up the projector control and began with the slides of the dead cousins, Paolo Falconi and Franco Castellani. 'Their deaths now seem like a single planned suicide by the elder cousin, Franco, a heroin user, that went wrong and ended in a double tragedy. Onlookers say the younger cousin, Paolo, tried to stop him and was accidentally killed.'

  Sylvia stepped across the conversation. 'We've been considering these two as suspects in our murder cases. It could be that Franco Castellani had planned to kill himself out of shame or guilt and he bungled the suicide and shot Paolo Falconi as well.'

  Susanna continued her narrative. 'I've been asked to put up these slides as well.' She clicked on to several images of the cousins' bodies being examined by a well-built, middle-aged man in a grey suit.

  'Salvatore Giacomo, aka Sal the Snake,' explained Lorenzo from the shadows of the room. 'Fredo Finelli's personal muscle. We want to know why he was there. What's his connection with the cousins? Had he been told to threaten them, abduct them or even kill them? We have information – which, unfortunately, I can't go into at this moment – that suggests there was bad blood between Sal's boss, Fredo Finelli, and their grandfather, Antonio Castellani. Was Sal following the cousins on Finelli's instructions?'

  Jack's eyes were glued to the frame of Giacomo. This was a man who had slipped under their radar for most of the inquiry. No criminal record. Yet he was a career criminal who was certainly smart and efficient. He ticked a lot of boxes on Jack's profile. 'Lorenzo, is this Sal a local? Was he born and bred around here?'

  Pisano didn't need any notes to help him. He knew the background on the Finelli Family as well as he knew the history of his own family. 'Giacomo is Neapolitan. As local as they come. Born and bred in Herculaneum. Lives alone in a one-bed in Napoli Capodichino. He's been there since we've been keeping tracks on him.'

  Jack mentally reran the profile he'd drawn up. White male, knows how to control violence, probably aged thirties to fifties, single or divorced, born locally, has good local knowledge, holds driving licence, comfortable with a gun, perhaps a career criminal, a Camorrista with a history of violence. But what the hell was Giacomo's connection to Valsi? The two men seemed more enemies than friends. Sal the Snake was unlikely to kill on Valsi's orders. And there was no way Jack could imagine the two sharing some joint sexual pleasure in sadistically murdering women.

  The slide show moved on. They reran the start of the sequence where Sal first appeared on the scene. He walked coolly into frame, checked the cousins' bodies for signs of life and then disappeared again. 'Can you flick through all those shots of him again, please? Maybe magnify by two and jog them back and forth?'

  Susanna did as Jack asked. The quality dipped as the picture doubled in size. Sal moved in a near comical, jerky slow motion around the bodies, checking for pulses, wiping his hands.

  'Okay, you can stop there.' Jack turned sideways to Professoressa Marianna Della Fratte. 'Ballistics say the same ammo was used in the murders of Rosa Novello, Filippo Valdrano, Kristen Petrov and Bernardo Sorrentino. Two different sites, the same ammo, correct?'

  Marianna nodded. 'Yes, correct. Jacketed Hollow Point. And before you ask,' she glanced at Sylvia, 'yes, I'm absolutely certain that there were two separate guns. Both Glocks, both the same calibre, but the barrel markings and firing-pin impressions were entirely different. We double-checked.'

  Jack held up a hand. 'Okay, can we run those last few slides again, please? I just want to see something, maybe it ties in with what the Professoressa just told us.'

  Susanna repeated the shuffle and Jack moved close to the projector screen. Bright light caught his face and cast a giant shadow of his head on the screen before he backed off. 'As you can see, Sal is right-handed. Look here, when he checks Franco's neck for a pulse.' The slide moved on. 'Now, when he stoops to move Franco to check on Paolo – see the flash of leather strapping? That's because he's wearing a shoulder holster under his right arm. Not his left arm. This is so he can pull a gun left-handed. Probably means it's a twin holster rig and this is his back-up gun. Only rednecks and real pros carry two weapons. And as you don't have too many rednecks out here, we can assume this guy is a pro and knows how to use them both. Most likely – very likely – this guy's carrying twin handguns.'

  'Ten minutes' break everyone,' shouted Sylvia. Jack didn't have to say what he was thinking. Everyone was on the same wavelength. Find Sal the Snake. Find out if his guns are Glocks and whether the bullets match the murders.

  The room emptied, but Jack hung back and asked for ten minutes. He wanted some time on his own. Time to figure out the link between Sal and Valsi.

  He could hear the overhead neon strip lights buzzing as he forced himself to focus.

  Nothing came.

  He looked again at the victims' names. Their lives reduced to black ink on white boards. He dismissed the male victims. Sex was usually the key. Usually the area where offenders left their clearest psychological clues. He switched to the board listing all the murdered and missing women. * Francesca Di Lauro (24) – dead (burned) * Gloria Pirandello (19) – dead (burned) * Patricia Calvi (19) – dead (burned) * Luisa Banotti (20) – dead (burned) * Kristen Petrov (24) – dead (burned) * Alberta Tortoricci (38) – dead (burned) * Donna Rizzi (19) – Missing, presumed dead No matter how hard Jack tried he couldn't see a connection to Salvatore Giacomo, or a reason for the burnings. And the only obvious connections to Valsi were Tortoricci, who'd testified against him, and Petrov, who worked for him and may well have had an affair with him. According to Lorenzo, Sal was fifty. It was unlikely he'd have moved in the same social circles as the women. But, of course, it was possible that Valsi would have done. Valsi was, what? Twenty-seven? At the time of their disappearances he could have been pretty much the same age.

  There was another thing that couldn't be ignored. A gap of five years between the most recent murders – Tortoricci and Petrov – and the last victim, Francesca Di Lauro. That morning Sylvia had told him what Bernadetta Di Lauro had said about her daughter dating a married man. Was Valsi that man? A married man. The father of the unborn child she carried? There was no evidence to support it, but it was certainly possible. Sylvia said she could never have imagined Creed and Francesca together, but it wasn't so hard to picture the handsome Valsi with the beautiful Francesca. But why kill her? Jack was sure many Camorristi had bastard children all over the place. Hardly a killing matter.

  And then it hit him.

  The missing piece.

  The mystery link that pulled it all together.

  102

  Capo di Posillipo, La Baia di Napoli Gina Valsi arrived at her father's home at the same time that a police search team with a warrant was arresting a security guard who'd tried to stop them getting in.

  Claudio Mancini had been dispatched with Jack in tow. Other search teams were crawling all over Valsi's home in Camaldoli and Sal's apartment in Napoli Capodichino.

  'What's this? What the fuck's going on?' Gina barked at them as she slammed the driver's door of the X5.

  'We've got a warrant.' Mancini pulled the paperwork from inside his jacket.

  Gina waved him away. 'That won't be worth wiping your ass on when my father comes.' The look on his face pulled her up.

  It was true. The stuff that Sal had been saying was really true. Her knees went weak, then buckled.

  'Here, let me help you.' Mancini took her arm and steadied her.

  Somehow she made it to a metal seat beneath a window near the front door. She sat there in shock as the carabinieri officers filed into her father's home.

  Mancini lowered himself down beside her. 'Signora Valsi, your father and his driver have been killed. Their car was destroyed in an explosion, a car bomb, about three kilometres from here. I'm very sorry.'

  Gina heard him through some kind of cotton wool. She knew what he was saying and knew that it was true, but the shock was so great, sh
e felt nothing.

  He'd never be killed, her father had promised her that. Everything would be all right. Everything would be fine. He'd reassured her so many times that she'd actually believed it.

  And now? Now he was gone. Bam! As quick as that.

  What next? What were she and Enzo to do?

  Enzo.

  'My child! Where's my child?'

  Gina was in the house in seconds. 'Enzo! Enzo, where are you?' She hit the stairs two at a time. 'Elena! Elena, are you there?' Where was that damned childminder?

  Mancini and Jack waited patiently in the hallway.

  Eventually, Gina came down, her face grey with fear. 'Where's my son?'

  Jack watched her every move. Watched her eyes settle on him and work out that he was the key to everything that happened next. It had been his suggestion to take her child away, keep the boy separated from his mother. Not nice. Not compassionate. Jack knew all that. But he also knew he was going to need every ounce of leverage for what was going to come next. The cops were still all over the Don's home when Sal drove up the hillside. There was just too much heat to go all the way up to the place and see for himself what had happened. He hit the brakes and did a U-turn. Thumped the steering wheel as he straightened up. His whole world was upside down. Crazy shit was happening now. And it would get crazier. It always did after a Capo had been killed. At times like this you either watched, or you played. Sal was a player.