Viper jk-2

by Michael Morley

  Next stop, Valsi's place. The skunk would have his tail up and would be hiding there. Two miles from the Don's home, Sal became aware that he was being followed. Navy-blue Fiat Strada, new model, maybe a year old, but he couldn't make the plates. Thirty minutes later as he approached Valsi's home in Camaldoli, it was still in his rear-view mirror.

  A white forensic tent jutted out from the frontage of Valsi's place. Carabinieri officers chatted and smoked in front of it. One peered skyward and hoped it wouldn't rain again. The scene confused Sal. He'd expected to see Camorristi outside, not carabinieri. There'd clearly been other casualties that he didn't yet know about.

  The Fiat was three cars back as Sal rolled on past and, fifty metres later, took a right. Around the corner he floored the Merc and pulled a quick left. Tyres squealed. A glance in the mirror just before he finished the turn told him the Fiat was overtaking the second car back. Someone was definitely tailing him, and he had a feeling it wasn't the cops. The Merc straightened up and the smell of rubber wafted through the air con. Sal ripped through the gears along Via Terracina, his speed jumping from 60 to 80 to 120kph. In the rear-view mirror, the Fiat was struggling but still within sight. Ospedale San Paolo flashed past on his left. He was topping 160kph as he approached the sharp left-hander into Via Cupa Vicinale Terracina. Sal swung hard right and then cut left, hoping his racing line wasn't too tight. The Merc redlined and screamed as he changed down gears. The back end kicked out – but, despite what it looked like, Sal still had full control. He sighted the traffic parked up ahead, then deliberately slammed the brakes on and prepared for the Merc to plough into a parked car.

  Sal flipped the driver's door open just before the impact. Air bags ballooned. He found just enough room to slip on to the sidewalk. He kicked the door shut and rolled up tight against the parked car. Seconds later the blue Fiat slid past and slammed on its brakes.

  Lying on the hard stone, Sal slipped off the safeties on both Glocks. A clunk and grind of gears announced that the Fiat was reversing back up to the Merc. Sal had never seen the occupants, but he was sure he knew who they were and what they wanted. Engine still running, they got out.

  Sal lay flat and watched them from beneath the Merc.

  They were both square to the passenger door. The air bags meant they couldn't see anything inside the vehicle.

  Someone tugged at the passenger-door handle to open up for a better view. Within half a second he was vertical, firing through the driver's window with both Glocks.

  Within two beats of their hearts he'd emptied ten rounds from his fists. He stepped quickly on to the crunched nose of the Merc.

  The men were already down. Wounded and bleeding. One was dead, face down, crimson jelly in the grime and grit. The other was on his back, twitching and gargling blood. The Glock in Sal's left hand jerked again, five more rounds. The gargling stopped.

  He dropped over the other side of the Merc and chugged more shots into the bodies and heads of the men on the floor.

  Take no chances. Doubly sure equals doubly dead.

  The bodies didn't move.

  He didn't recognize the guy on his back. He rolled the other stiff to look at him. Romano Ivetta. Dead as a fucking dodo. Hoo-fucking-ray!

  Sal didn't waste any more time. He holstered the Glocks. Walked over Ivetta's body to the still-running Fiat, slipped inside and drove off.

  103

  Stazione dei carabinieri, Castello di Cisterna The closest thing to sympathy that Gina Valsi got was a cup of tea. Even then it was cold. She'd been taken to the carabinieri headquarters on the east of the city where the Murder Squad was based.

  Claudio Mancini spent an hour with her in the Interview Room, tape rolling, questions flying. He kicked off by asking about her father. Where had he been going that morning? Who'd known of his movements? The usual stuff. Then they moved on to the more exotic. His line of work, his enemies, who might have wanted him dead. Every ten minutes Gina demanded to see her son and each outburst got the same deadpan answer: she'd have to wait.

  The door swung open and for the sake of the tape Mancini announced Jack King's entrance.

  'Signora, may I add my own commiserations? I'm very sorry for your loss.' The profiler settled comfortably into a chair opposite her. Her eyes followed a brown folder that he placed on the table. Jack interlocked his fingers and rested his hands on top of it. 'I'm here helping the carabinieri to solve a series of murders of young women. I think you may have known some of them.'

  'I don't think so.' Gina looked confused.

  He opened up the folder, slid out a photograph and turned it towards her. 'This is Francesca Di Lauro. Name mean anything to you?'

  Gina shook her head. 'No. Why, should it?'

  Jack didn't say anything. He took out several other photographs and lined them up in a separate row. Luisa Banotti, Patricia Calvi, Donna Rizzi and Gloria Pirandello.

  Gina's gaze slid over them, their dark eyes and mixed expressions looking back up from the table at her. She bit at a thumbnail then turned the picture of Francesca back towards Jack. 'I don't know her but I've seen her face. In the papers, right? On television. She's the woman they found somewhere out near Pompeii.'

  Jack steepled his fingers again. 'A pretty young woman. Like all the others. Much prettier than you. Do you think that's why Bruno chose her?'

  Gina looked away. She knew she looked stressed. She could feel her face flush, her heartbeat quicken. She understood what he was driving at. He hadn't said it, but she knew.

  'Gina. Gina, look at me.'

  Her eyes locked on his.

  Defiance? Pressure? Certainly not complete innocence. Jack decoded the signals. 'Lady, the way you just reacted, the fact that you can't say anything, tells me that I'm right. You do know this woman.' He slapped his hand firmly down on Francesca's photograph. Gina flinched. 'You know her and you know all the others on this table. Francesca Di Lauro had an affair with your husband and you killed her.'

  'No!' snapped Gina. 'That's ridiculous. I'm not going to say anything else until I have a lawyer. I want a lawyer here.' She chewed hard on another nail. Jack sat in silence and let her stew. 'I agreed to answer questions about my father, but not this. This is ridiculous.'

  Still Jack said nothing. He leaned back, tilted his chair on to the rear legs, drummed his fingers on the edge of the table and watched the pressure grow. Only when Gina looked straight into his eyes did he play his final card.

  'Kris-ten Pet-rov.' He said the name slowly as he put the photograph down. Watched the reaction in her eyes. The pain caused a twitch in the corner of her mouth. Gina couldn't help but glance down at the photograph. Her face said it all. So that's what she looked like. Bruno's latest. The little bitch he'd sent text messages to.

  'I've no problem getting you that lawyer,' said Jack calmly, 'but here's the deal. If we stop now and he turns you into Sleeping Beauty, then I promise you, you'll never see your son again.'

  Gina looked up from Kristen's picture and glared at him. Could he do that? Would he do that?

  'Worse than that, Gina, your husband will get custody of Enzo, while you go to prison for a long time. A very long time.'

  Gina's head was aching, throbbing like crazy. So much in one day. So much in the future – that she could lose.

  Now Jack wouldn't rest. Wouldn't give her a moment to think. He just piled on the pressure. 'Listen, Gina. I know you were involved in the murders of Kristen and Francesca, just as you were involved in the murders of all the other women. But I also know you didn't actually take their lives. You had someone do it for you, didn't you? Give up the real killer and maybe you can come out of this with the kind of sentence that will give you a chance to see some of the rest of your son's life.'

  Gina looked up at him. She was about to make the biggest decision of her life.

  'What's it to be, Gina? You going to roll the dice and risk spending the rest of your life without Enzo? Or do we get the name?' Centro citta, Napoli A navy-blue carabinieri s
quad car fell into the traffic behind the Lexus.

  'Amateurs. They don't have a fucking clue.' Valsi scoffed at them as he watched in the passenger-door mirror. 'Fucking morons.'

  'They want to be seen,' snapped Mazerelli. 'They've been glued to us since Rocco's. Waited outside the tailor's until we came out.'

  'I'll glue their heads to the top of their car, then they'll be able to see.'

  Mazerelli ignored the remark. 'They want you to know that they're going to breathe down your neck every minute of your day now.' He checked the rear-view and could see the squad car had at least two officers in it. 'They'll turn up the pressure any chance they get. Hope you'll crack, make a mistake.'

  Valsi turned towards the consigliere. 'I can't even spell mistake, let alone make one.'

  'Seriously, Bruno, they're going to be all over you. Pisano will have taps on your phones. They'll have spooks with laser listening devices in every parked car you go past. You can trust no one.'

  'And you, Ricardo?'

  Mazerelli pretended not to understand. 'And me, what?'

  Valsi smiled. 'You know what I mean. Can I trust you? But you choose to avoid answering. That means you haven't made your mind up yet. You're not quite sure where the balance of power truly lies. You're a cautious man, Ricardo. Maybe that makes you a good one to have around. Or maybe it makes you a danger – and one that should be quickly eliminated.'

  Mazerelli swallowed. He knew Valsi was unarmed, but given his psychopathic tendencies anything was still possible. 'Like I just said, you're going to have to assume that the carabinieri are listening to everything you say, everywhere you say it. And that includes right here and right now. Those amateurs as you call them might be recording this conversation. This car might even be bugged.'

  The Capo fell silent. The creepy lawyer was right. Pisano's nose was up and he was sniffing for a bitch like a dog on heat. He found himself patting the headrest, searching the visors, the dashboard, the door frames, the floor carpets.

  Mazerelli pulled out his portable electronic bug detector. 'It's been swept. This thing beeps if there are bugs within a mile. We're safe.' He pulled the Lexus into the avenue where his penthouse was. The squad car was still on their tail. 'There's a security expert I use for the apartment; I will get him to give you one of these hand-helds as well.'

  'Your place is safe to speak?'

  'Safe as can be. Besides, we do have client-lawyer privilege, but I need to talk to you about that.'

  Valsi relaxed as they pulled up to the security gates of the apartment block. Mazerelli thumbed the remote to open the gates. He felt reassured by seeing Ivetta's car parked outside on the street. He'd done a good job. Very soon he'd buy him a Ferrari or a Lamborghini.

  The carabinieri patrol cruised level. Valsi leaned over and jammed down the horn on the Lexus. 'Fuck you all!' He flicked a finger at them as they carried on past. 'Fucking amateurs,' he said to a horrified Mazerelli.

  The lawyer's eyes widened. Not out of shock at Valsi's outburst. But at the sight of the guns at his window.

  Sal the Snake opened up with both Glocks.

  Mazerelli and Valsi were dead before the gates had swung open. They were history long before the squad car screeched to a halt and jammed up the traffic as they tried to turn around.

  Before he left, Sal pulled a third gun. The one Valsi had made fun of him with on his birthday. The bullet from the limited edition pearl-handled Ultimate Vaquero blew a hole right through the Capo's viper tattoo and down through his heart.

  104

  Stazione dei carabinieri, Castello di Cisterna The wall clock in the Interview Room made a deep bass clunk every time the minute hand moved on. It drummed several times before Gina Valsi gave up the name that everyone was waiting for.

  'Salvatore Giacomo.'

  There. She'd said it. It was over.

  Somehow she felt better. Maybe there was a way out after all. 'He works for my father.' Gina bit her lip and corrected herself. 'Worked for my father.'

  'Tell me how.' Jack's voice was soft and sympathetic. 'What did you say to him?'

  Gina looked left and right across the room, like she was about to cross a road. Her eyes seemed to be searching for some unseen danger that she sensed. 'Like you said, Bruno was having affairs with these women.' She gestured to them all but then pushed at the edge of Francesca's photograph, flicked it away as though it was contaminated. 'Bruno got the bitch pregnant.' Her eyes flared. 'And he'd done this so soon after I'd had our baby. Can you believe that?' She pinched the end of her nose with her thumb and forefinger and sniffed. 'He taunted me with it. Said it was good to have children everywhere. Lots of sons with lots of lovers, that's what he said.'

  'And you turned to Salvatore?'

  Gina nodded. 'He's always been like an uncle to me. No kids himself. I called him Uncle Sal, worshipped him when I was a child, and he knew it.' She sniffed again and looked embarrassed. 'You got a tissue?'

  Mancini went to the back of the room and brought a box of Kleenex. She pulled one and took a minute sorting herself out. 'I told Sal about her. Told him I couldn't go to my father because it would cause trouble with Bruno. He asked me what I wanted him to do. Make her go away, I said. Just make the puttana go away.'

  Jack placed a hand on Kristen's photograph. 'And you did the same with this girl?'

  Gina nodded, then realized the full implication of her tiny body movement. 'But I didn't know how. I thought he'd just got her to leave Naples. Leave my husband alone and leave the city. That's what I thought Sal had made them all do.'

  Jack wasn't buying it. He was sure Gina hadn't thought Sal had only carried the women's bags to the train station.

  'Scusi,' said Mancini, pointing to the door. 'I'll be back in a moment.' He slipped outside and both Jack and Gina knew why. The information on Sal would be relayed to Sylvia and the teams hunting him.

  'You had no idea any of these women had been killed?' asked Jack as the door closed.

  Gina shook her head. 'No, none at all.' She looked as guilty as hell, but this wasn't the moment to push her. That time would come. He was also sure she'd had no say in how the women had been killed. The use of fire had been Sal's own invention. Purification, no doubt. In his sick mind he was probably using fire to cleanse them from the sin of adultery. And it undoubtedly turned him on as well. In the minds of sadists, morality and sexuality often got mixed up in the most monstrous of ways.

  'I want to see my son,' said Gina. 'You have no right to keep me away from my child.'

  Jack's calmness almost cracked. 'Hey, take a look down at the pictures of Francesca, Kristen and those other dead women in front of you, then tell me again about your rights.' He paused to let the sharpness cut through her indignation. 'Right, Gina, here's how we're going to play it. I'm going to get an Italian officer in here. You're going to give full verbal and written statements. First about Francesca, and then Kristen. Then about each and every one of these other women. And then – and only then – do we even discuss you getting to see Enzo.' He let the ultimatum sink in. 'Your boy's been on his own for quite a while now, Gina. You ready to get this done?'

  She nodded. She was ready. Ready as she would ever be. Sal was on a roll. Donatello, Ivetta and Valsi all dead. Shame about Mazerelli; he'd had him down as a good guy. Even bigger shame the Don hadn't let him clean house earlier. He'd have been alive if he had.

  What now?

  He asked himself the question as he threw the Fiat through a labyrinth of backstreets. The cop car was still caught up in the gridlock. But it wasn't too far away.

  Sal was running but he wasn't sure where to. The Don was dead. The other Capi Zona were probably dead. And he was sure that the Cicerone clan had bodies on the street as well. He dialled Gina's number. That was dead too. There were no obvious allies, no longer any Camorra safe houses that he could trust to hide him.

  He headed north towards Palazzo Reale, then east along the Tangenziale di Napoli towards Poggioreale. He cut off the A56 and wo
ve back and forth through the backstreets, buying time, trying to think.

  He lost his concentration round a corner off the Via della Stadera. The rear end drifted and slammed into a mountain of rubbish. Sacks and bottles crashed on to the trunk. He held it in third and threw a tight right on to the Autostrada del Sole, forcing a young couple on a scooter to bang into a barrier. In short, he was barely in control.

  He'd outrun the carabinieri patrol car but he knew they'd be tracking the Fiat by now, relaying information to central control, young women peering into computer monitors in the dark, passing route info to other squad cars.

  Sal hammered the horn as the Fiat redlined and screamed its guts out. Traffic moved over. He was doing close to 200kph as he flew past the signs for Ponticelli.

  The fog that had haunted Naples for most of the day soon thickened again in the darkening evening sky. Off in the distance he thought he could hear horns and sirens, perhaps even the thud and thwack of helicopter blades. If the police had a chopper up it wouldn't last long. For once the bad weather would be a blessing. Minutes later the if was over. Nightsun searchlights blazed from a carabinieri helicopter. A pool of wobbling white light flooded black hillsides and roadsides.

  They'd have thermal cameras too.

  The bird in the sky was either the Raggruppamento Operativo Speciale, or maybe even the heavyweight Gruppo Intervento Speciale. It didn't matter which. Both were probably eight-man teams. Trained and eager to shoot to kill. Well, so was he.

  And he was willing to bet he'd killed a lot more than any of them had.

  105

  Stazione dei carabinieri, Castello di Cisterna Six-year-old Enzo Valsi ran down the grey carabinieri corridor and clung like a rugby player to his mother's legs. Clara Sofri, the social worker who'd been caring for him, looked disinterested at the emotional mother-and-child reunion. She'd seen it all before. Dozens of times. Young woman comes off the rails, commits a serious crime and her family life is suddenly shattered. The kid will be better off in care.