The Death Mask Murders

by Gabriel Farago

  17

  Florence: 13 October

  Jack went down to the breakfast room in the small hotel he had checked into the night before, near the Firenze Santa Maria Novella railway station. He was one of the first guests to arrive, and carefully chose a particular table near the buffet.

  The choice of hotel had been quite deliberate. It was conveniently located near the station, and close to the Squadra Mobile HQ. But there was another, more important reason for the choice. It was the same hotel Jack had stayed in only a few months earlier during the Stolzfus matter. It had been the place of his dramatic abduction by Spiridon 4 – a notorious hit squad engaged by the Mafia – which had taken him all the way to South America, and almost cost him his life.

  But the choice of the breakfast table had another, more immediate relevance and urgency. It was the very same table where he had been sitting when he spotted the wrist tattoo he thought he had recognised in the Landru murder video. And that was the reason he had come to Florence to talk with Chief Prosecutor Grimaldi and Chief Superintendent Borroni, who had been in charge of the Giordano case and had broken that family’s hold on the drug supply in Florence.

  Jack sat down at the table, ordered a cafe latte and tried to remember that fateful breakfast just over three months ago. As he sipped his coffee, he let his mind drift back to the morning that had changed everything. Satisfied that his memory hadn’t played tricks on him, he finished his breakfast and prepared himself for the meeting arranged for eight am in the chief prosecutor’s office.

  Before going into the familiar building he had visited several times before, Jack crossed the road, went into the small trattoria he knew was Grimaldi’s favourite, and bought half a dozen cornetti. Jack didn’t want to arrive empty-handed. After all, this was Italy, and food an important part of interacting with friends.

  Grimaldi greeted Jack like an old friend, gave him a hug and patted him on the back. ‘Wonderful to see you again, Jack, and so soon. I hope this visit to Florence will not be as eventful as the last one.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be. After all, most of the villains we were after are either dead or in jail.’

  Grimaldi nodded, but as one of the most successful Mafia hunters, who had himself survived several assassination attempts, he knew just too well that the real world was different. ‘Unfortunately, not all of them,’ he said, looking pensively out the window as the familiar church bells began to toll, announcing the hour. ‘Cesaria should be here any moment. Coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Even before the bells of Santa Maria del Fiore, which were always a little behind the others, fell silent, the door opened and Cesaria Borroni, the acting chief superintendent, burst into the room. Grimaldi, Borroni and Jack knew each other well, having closely worked together in 2016 on the notorious Giordano assassinations and the bloody fight against the Mafia in Florence, and then again more recently in the Stolzfus matter.

  ‘Have one of these,’ said Jack and pointed to the paper bag on Grimaldi’s desk. ‘Still hot.’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do. I started at five this morning.’

  Borroni helped herself to a cornetto and, munching happily, looked expectantly at Jack. ‘What brings you here this early? You said it was urgent.’

  Jack opened his briefcase, pulled out his iPad and turned it on. ‘This here,’ he said. He called up the Landru murder video, put the iPad on Grimaldi’s desk and pressed the play button.

  Cesaria stopped eating and stared at the screen. ‘That’s quite something. And we think the Mafia’s bad. Where did you get this?’

  During the next few minutes, Jack provided a brief summary of the Landru case, his curious involvement in the matter, and the meaning and potential ramifications of the video.

  Grimaldi shook his head. ‘No doubt about you, Jack. You seem to become entangled in the strangest cases.’

  ‘And in the weirdest ways. But why are you showing us this?’ asked Borroni. ‘Now?’

  ‘Because of this.’ Jack rewound the video and stopped it at the frame showing the hand with the wrist tattoo.

  Borroni leaned forward for a better look. ‘The tattoo?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. I’ve seen it before.’

  ‘Seriously?’ said Grimaldi. ‘Where?’

  ‘At breakfast in a hotel not far from here, on the morning I was abducted.’

  After a moment of silence Borroni said quietly, ‘Looks like a woman’s hand.’

  Jack nodded. ‘It is.’

  ‘Teodora?’

  ‘Yes—’

  ‘But Teodora’s dead. She died in that car accident at Lake Como,’ interjected Grimaldi.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So, why is this relevant?’

  Jack held up his hand. ‘Please hear me out. I contacted Izabel Santos. She lives in Milan. As you know, Teodora and Izabel were lovers. She confirmed it: Teodora had a number tattooed on her wrist. We can only see a one and a three, but the whole number was 1389, a year.’

  ‘What kind of year?’ asked Borroni.

  ‘Thirteen eighty-nine was the year of the Battle of Kosovo,’ said Jack. ‘Historically, it was a decisive battle between the Catholic Serbian Prince Lazar and Sultan Murad, the ruler of the powerful Ottoman Empire. Both Lazar and Murad were killed during the battle and both armies suffered huge losses, but the Serbian army was annihilated. This defeat marked the beginning of Ottoman rule and the arrival of Islam in the Serbian principalities. To Muslims living in the area, this date has huge significance to this very day, and the recent bloody conflict and persecution of Muslims can be traced back to that battle.’

  Grimaldi lit a small cigar. ‘What are you suggesting here?’ he asked as the implications of what Jack had just said began to sink in.

  ‘What I’m suggesting is this.’ Jack pointed to the screen. ‘If Teodora was present at this killing and took the video, as this picture here seems to suggest, then it follows that the Spiridon 4 were most likely involved and carried out the murder.’

  ‘Not an unreasonable assumption,’ said Borroni, ‘but an assumption, nevertheless. Teodora is dead and so is her twin sister, Nadia. That means two members of Spiridon 4 are no longer with us.’

  ‘But two, namely Aladdin and Silvanus, are. And we know where we can find them.’

  Grimaldi watched the smoke from his cigar curl towards the open window. ‘We do. They are both in the Pagliarelli maximum-security prison in Palermo.’ Grimaldi looked at Jack. ‘Mainly thanks to you, and Tristan.’

  ‘What’s on your mind, Jack?’ asked Borroni.

  ‘I would like to talk to them.’

  ‘You are joking, surely,’ said Grimaldi, looking alarmed.

  ‘No. I’m deadly serious. As we all know, Spiridon 4 were hired guns. Perhaps the most sophisticated and expensive – and successful – hit squad in the business. Just think back to the Stolzfus matter. Can you think of another group who could have pulled off that kidnapping, and what followed?’

  Grimaldi shook his head.

  ‘If Spiridon 4 carried out this killing, then someone hired them to do it, and paid a small fortune for their services.’

  ‘And you want to find out who?’ interjected Borroni.

  ‘Yes. As I told you, there are seven unsolved murders involved here. All seem to be connected and have great similarities.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that Spiridon 4 were somehow responsible for them all?’ Grimaldi reached for a small ashtray on the desk in front of him and stubbed out his cigar.

  ‘A reasonable conclusion, wouldn’t you say? If I’m right, then someone paid millions over a period of several years to have these murders carried out in a carefully choreographed manner. Ritual killings, you could call them. The question is why, and on whose instructions.’

  ‘And even if a meeting with Aladdin and Silvanus could be arranged,’ said Grimaldi, ‘do you really think they would talk to you and tell you about these matters? You of all people? The fact that you and Tristan were willing to t
estify against them was one of the main reasons they pleaded guilty, and there was no trial. They got twenty years, and for that we are all in your debt. Trials are notoriously unreliable. Anything can happen. We’ve seen it many times, haven’t we, Cesaria?’

  Cesaria nodded.

  ‘Oh, I think they would talk,’ said Jack.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ said Borroni, unsure where Jack was coming from.

  ‘They will talk, trust me, if we offer them the right thing in return.’

  ‘We? Come on, Jack. This doesn’t make any sense. Why should “we” go along with this and offer them anything? My superiors would never agree to this. We have a conviction. The matter is closed.’

  Jack took his time before replying. ‘I’m calling in a favour,’ he said quietly. ‘You said yourself, in this very office by the way, that you, no, Florence, owed me a big favour. Isn’t that right, Cesaria?’

  ‘It is. I was there.’

  Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Grimaldi lit another cigar. ‘Before we go any further with this, there’s something you need to know first. We were about to contact you and tell you, but since you’re here ... Cesaria, please tell him, but this stays strictly between us, understood?’

  Jack nodded.

  ‘We’ve heard from one of our Mafia informers that Alessandro Giordano is planning something,’ began Borroni.

  ‘Planning what?’

  ‘Some kind of revenge attack. The fallout from the Stolzfus matter has all but ruined him and his family. The lucrative South American drug supply came to an abrupt end, and the only reason he isn’t in jail is because nobody is talking, but he has lost a lot of face. And in Mafia circles that’s bad. Really bad. And the only way to regain face and respect is by hitting back.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’ asked Jack, frowning.

  ‘We know that Venice is part of what used to be Giordano territory. The family still has a lot of influence and business interests there.’

  Jack felt his stomach begin to churn as a wave of fear washed over him. Venice, he thought. Oh my God!

  ‘And who lives in Venice?’ continued Cesaria. ‘Who played a major part in bringing about the Giordano family’s downfall?’

  ‘Tristan,’ whispered Jack, turning pale.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Are you saying he’s in danger?’

  ‘We are not sure. But you know how these things work. Rumours like this don’t start without a reason, and our sources are usually very reliable.’

  ‘Jesus, Cesaria, what do you suggest we should do?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Not much you can do, except take this seriously and be careful, and that goes for you too, Jack. Your books have trodden on many toes, and embarrassed the Mafia. You are not a popular guy in certain circles here in Italy, that’s for sure. But for now, you must warn Tristan. We can’t, but you can. After all, this is only a rumour that officially doesn’t exist because of where it comes from and why, if you get my drift.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Now, what about Aladdin and Silvanus, and calling in that favour you mentioned?’ said Grimaldi, ‘Would it perhaps be fair to say that I no longer owe you anything, or doesn’t this warning count? What do you think?’

  ‘I want to think about it. Can we discuss this another time? I have to go to Venice. Right away.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Grimaldi, sounding relieved, and stood up, signalling that the meeting was over.

  ‘I’m sorry it has come to this, Jack,’ said Cesaria as they walked down the stairs together. ‘Don’t be too hard on him, but you must take this seriously.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘What exactly did you mean by offering Silvanus and Aladdin something in return?’

  ‘This is not the right time ...’

  ‘But you have something in mind, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  Cesaria reached for Jack’s arm and squeezed it. ‘I understand. We’ve been through a lot together. You know you can always count on my support, night or day.’

  ‘Thanks, Cesaria, I know.’

  ‘Grimaldi is under a lot of pressure right now. A lot of it is self-inflicted. He hasn’t forgiven himself for not being able to nail Alessandro for his part in the Stolzfus matter ...’

  Jack shrugged. ‘He’s done his best.’

  ‘Often for a man like him, that’s just not enough. He feels responsible.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For this threat. Didn’t you see it? He was embarrassed.’

  ‘I could never hold him responsible for this threat. He’s achieved more than most.’

  ‘Perhaps. But we are talking about Chief Prosecutor Grimaldi here. A legend. And he’s a changed man since his friend’s death in Istanbul.’

  ‘Conti?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That changed you too, didn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it has. Conti saved my life. You were there and saw it all. There are certain things you can never forget.’

  ‘That showdown in the cisterns in Istanbul?’

  Jack nodded. ‘Yes.’ He too had been deeply affected by Fabio Conti’s dramatic death two years earlier. Conti had been Borroni’s superior officer at the time, and they had a close bond. They had been hunting down a notorious Mafia hit man, Luigi Belmonte, working for the Gambios – another Florentine Mafia family – and had cornered him in the Basilica Cisterns, where everything came to a dramatic climax and left two men dead.

  Borroni embraced Jack and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Good luck, Jack, and give my regards to Tristan and Lorenza.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘I’m sure this isn’t the end of this Landru case of yours.’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’

  ‘I didn’t think so. Take care of yourself.’

  ‘I will do that too,’ said Jack and hurried to the door.

  18

  Venice: 14 October

  Jack stepped out onto the terrace on the first floor of the Palazzo da Baggio, and looked pensively down to the Grand Canal below, bustling with early morning traffic. It was just after sunrise. With the stage-like facades of the palazzos on the opposite side of the canal still shrouded in morning mist, it was a timeless scene that hadn’t changed for centuries. A scene that would have prompted painters like Canaletto, Bellini or Carpaccio to reach for their sketchbooks to capture a fleeting moment of perfection.

  Jack had arrived by train from Florence late the night before and, feeling exhausted, had gone to bed early. The palazzo was full of guests and Tristan and Lorenza were both busy working in the restaurant – Osman’s Kitchen – which as usual was booked out.

  Jack hadn’t slept well. In fact, he had hardly slept at all. Grimaldi’s warning had kept him awake and Jack was trying to work out how best to talk about the warning to both Tristan and Lorenza, on the one hand without alarming them, and on the other playing down the threat and making it appear far-fetched and trivial. Then again, he thought, there could be a little silver lining in all this. Suggesting that Tristan should come with him for a few days to help him with the Landru case might not be such a difficult subject to broach after all, and may well be supported by Lorenza in the circumstances.

  As Jack watched the first rays of morning sun melt away the mist and climb slowly up the moist, moss-covered walls like ghostly fingers reaching for the sky, he remembered his conversation with Izabel about Teodora on that very same terrace only a few months earlier. A strong believer in destiny, Jack shook his head. Izabel had been telling him about Teodora, her new lover she had only just met, and the first shoots of happiness she had felt after the tragic death of Soul, the jazz singer and love of her life, whom Jack had saved in Central Park in New York years before.

  No-one could have imagined on that idyllic morning what was to come. A few weeks later, Teodora was lying dead in the wreck of her Lamborghini Centenaro at the bottom of Lake Como, Izabel was trying to mend a second broken heart, and Jack himself had only escaped death becaus
e of the fortuitous intervention and support of friends who cared.

  Instead of soaking up the sun and feeling calm and relaxed in the stunning, familiar surroundings, Jack felt uneasy, unable to shake off an unsettling sense of foreboding. And it had to do with one word in Grimaldi’s unexpected warning that refused to go away: imminent.

  ‘You’re up early,’ said Lorenza, walking out onto the terrace.

  ‘So are you,’ said Jack, grateful for the interruption.

  Lorenza tossed back her lush hair and looked at Jack. ‘The relentless siren call of the kitchen. A true chef can never stray far from the stove.’

  ‘I suppose not, especially when you are running a restaurant like this, with adoring guests devouring the last crumbs on their plates, hoping for more.’

  ‘Every dream has its price.’

  ‘I know all about that.’

  ‘I know you do.’

  ‘How is he?’ asked Jack, changing the subject.

  ‘Better. You saw him last night. He’s very good with the guests.’

  ‘Good. I’m sure he’ll settle in. Just give him time.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  ‘I’m sure I am. You know why?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Because he loves you; simple.’

  Lorenza walked over to Jack and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘You always find the right words, don’t you?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘It’s never the right time, but I have something important I want to talk to you about.’

  ‘Oh? What?’ Lorenza pulled a chair across to the table and sat down facing Jack.

  ‘I don’t want to alarm you, but something’s come up. Something important we can’t ignore.’

  ‘Oh? Tell me! What is it?’ asked Lorenza, unable to suppress a sudden shiver.

  ‘A warning.’

  ‘A warning? What kind of warning?’

  Jack reached for Lorenza’s hand and, holding it tight, told her about the Alessandro rumours and Grimaldi’s warning.

  Lorenza listened without interrupting. She felt a wave of fear like an icy wind on a bleak winter’s morning as she remembered the death of her mother and brother. They had both been killed in a car crash, which it was strongly suspected had been caused by the Mafia as a warning gone wrong.