The grandfather clock in the living room struck three.
At two minutes past six, the telephone rang.
They had found the fourth body.
'Near the amphitheatre in the Parco delle Cascine, there's a man lying on the ground, covered in blood. He's not moving. Come quickly'
The emergency call had come in at six in the morning.
The patrol car had got there a few minutes later, almost simultaneously with the ambulance. The man who had made the call was waiting for them. He was a pensioner, and had been walking his dog in the park, as he did every morning. A man lay face down on the ground, covered in stab wounds.
About twenty feet from the body, in full view under a tree, the police had found a bloodstained knife. The blade was about six inches long and had a mother-of-pearl handle.
Ferrara, Rizzo and Sergi soon arrived, immediately joined by Deputy Prosecutor Giulietti, who, in accordance with instructions, intended to take an active part in the scene of crime investigation and follow the operations of the forensics team in person.
The dead man was wearing a pair of old jeans and a polo-neck sweater. On his left wrist he had a watch with a metal strap: it had stopped at 3.10. On his feet were a pair of brown moccasins which showed no traces of having been dragged over the ground. Nor were there signs that there had been a struggle. The only traces of blood were where the corpse lay.
'He hasn't been moved,' Ferrara remarked. 'This is where he was killed.'
'Yes, it looks like it,' Sergi replied, crouching to have a closer look at the ground. In the meantime, Inspector Pino Fabrizi had arrived. Fabrizi was very familiar with night-time activities in the Cascine.
There were three holes in the back of the sweater, corresponding to the same number of wounds. The holes were quite close together. The sweater was soaked with blood, and blood was dripping from the sides of the body onto the ground.
Francesco Leone touched the body. The parts of it which had been exposed to the air were cold, whereas where it had been in contact with the ground, it was still slightly warm. It was also still possible to move the joints, which were not in an advanced stage of rigor mortis. Then he turned over the corpse. The blood that gushed out was still quite liquid. The front of the body showed the characteristic blue-red hypostatic marks, which are concentrated in the lower parts of a corpse. There were none on the rest of the body. As had been the case with the previous victims, the face and neck were heavily disfigured with knife wounds.
'He hasn't been dead for long,' Leone said. 'Three to four hours at the most. The hypostatic marks have only just appeared. But we'll have a more precise idea after we've done the post-mortem and determined the body temperature.'
The dead man must have been about thirty. He was of normal build and medium height.
The scene of crime officers put on their gloves and started searching the dead man's trouser pockets, under the vigilant eyes of Ferrara and Anna Giulietti. In the right pocket they found a gold key-ring with two keys, one clearly from a car, the other most likely from a house or an apartment. In the same pocket there was also a wallet containing a few banknotes, and a driving licence with the man's photo. His name was Giovanni Biagini: born in Florence, thirty-three years old. A subsequent search in the Ministry of the Interior database would show that he had no criminal record.
'Fabrizi,' Ferrara said, 'I want the whole of the surrounding area searched, including under the trees.'
Inspector Fabrizi split his men into two teams. He gave the keys found in the dead man's pocket to a couple of the men, and told them to check the cars parked in the area. There weren't many at that hour, and one of them could well be the victim's car.
In the meantime, the forensics team had started photographing the scene. They took samples of the blood present on the knife, especially on the blade, using pads soaked in a physiological solution, which they then placed in special bags. The knife itself was sealed in a separate bag.
What bothered Ferrara was the fact that the killer had abandoned the weapon at the crime scene. Why? If this killing was the work of the same person - and he was sure it was - was this another surprise move in the bizarre game he was playing with Ferrara?
As if reading his thoughts, Anna Giulietti came up to him. 'So you were right. Your killer took his time, but he struck in the end, as you predicted.'
She was wearing a grey overcoat made less forbidding by an aquamarine silk blouse the same shade as her luminous, smiling eyes. There was a sprig of mimosa in the buttonhole of her coat: Ferrara remembered that today was International Women's Day.
'A bit early to say'
'But you'd bet on it, right?'
Td bet my shirt,' Ferrara said.
'Not your career?' she joked. 'That's cautious of you.' Ferrara brushed aside her joke. He wondered what was so special about women that they should have their own day when men didn't. Petra was an exception, of course. He mustn't forget to buy her flowers.
The search of the park proved fruitless, but the two officers sent to look for the car had better luck. They found it parked near the Viale dell'Aeronautica. A white Fiat Punto, with a Florence number plate. Inside was the registration, in the name of Giovanni Biagini, a pocket diary containing a number of names and telephone numbers, and a few pornographic magazines hidden under the seat covers in the back.
'We're sequestrating the car,' Anna Giulietti said immediately, turning to Ferrara. 'Take it to the garage at Headquarters and have forensics take a look at it.'
Ferrara gave the order.
Then he called Sergi. 'Take a team to search Biagini's apartment and interview his family, if he has any. Try to find out what he was doing in the hours before he was killed and what kind of man he was.'
The house was in Galluzzo, on the edge of the city: a small house with a garden, where Giovanni Biagini had lived with his brother and sister, both unmarried. Biagini wasn't married either.
They had to wait a few minutes before the door was opened.
When at last the Biaginis came to the door, Sergi showed his badge and said, 'Sorry to disturb you, but is Giovanni Biagini a relative of yours?'
'Our brother,' the man said. The woman looked worried.
‘I’m sorry . . . May I come in? I'm afraid we have some bad news for you
When they were sitting down inside, Sergi told them the news. Biagini's sister burst into tears. The brother looked stunned.
'But. . . are you sure it's him? Can't it be . . .?'
'I'm afraid there's no doubt about it. I'm truly sorry'
'But how did it happen? Who was it?'
'That's what we have to find out. Prosecutor Giulietti, who's coordinating the investigation, has ordered us to carry out a search. I know this may not seem like the best time, but we can't waste a minute if we want to find the culprit.'
The brother and sister did not object. A search of their house was carried out in their presence. They found a diary and various papers, which would need to be examined carefully. What they did not find, though, were any more pornographic magazines or any other indications that the victim had been gay.
Sergi asked the Biaginis to come with him to Headquarters and left a couple of men to question the neighbours. They needed to found out as much as they could about the dead man as soon as possible.
The questioning of the brother and sister yielded no significant information.
They were interviewed together. Sergi had thought it would make things easier. Their names were Antonia and Filippo, and both were older than the dead man.
'How was Giovanni yesterday? Did you notice anything unusual about him?'
'No.' Filippo Biagini glanced at his sister, who was still very upset. 'Do you mind if I answer the questions? My sister knows exactly the same as I do. Neither more nor less.'
'No problem. So there was nothing unusual?'
Absolutely nothing. Giovanni was exactly the same as always. I really don't understand . . .'
'Did he have a
girlfriend? Did he stay with anyone?'
'No, he lived with us, he didn't have anyone. My sister and I don't have anyone. We're loners. We prefer it that way. Our parents, who are both dead now, were very much of the old school, very strict. We got used to living alone, and now . . .'
'As far as you know, did he have any problems? Could anyone have had a reason to kill him?'
'I doubt it. If there'd been anything he would have told us. We had a very close relationship. We trusted each other.'
'So you knew he had . . . "special friends" - male friends?'
The man seemed astounded. 'How dare you, Superintendent?' he protested, looking anxiously at his sister, who was still weeping quietly.
Serpico ignored the outburst. 'Thank you for the promotion,' he said, trying to play things down, 'but I'm only an inspector.'
'Sorry, I don't know the ranks. It's the first time I've ever found myself in a situation like this. I've never been in a police station in my life, not even to apply for a passport.'
'That's all right. It was just a joke, but I realise this is not the right time. And I'm sorry about the question, but we have reason to believe that —'
No, no, no! It's not possible, I tell you. Giovanni had lots of friends, but not that kind.'
All right. I understand.'
'It's the truth, Inspector. Don't you think I'd have noticed?'
He did think so, which made it all the more unlikely that the man had not even suspected it. But he knew that some gay men hid their leanings very carefully, and that their families often preferred not to see what they did not want to accept.
'But you knew that Giovanni often went to the Parco delle Cascine?'
'Yes, he went there from time to time. He was fond of nature.'
'What time did he leave home yesterday? When did you last see him?'
'After dinner, about ten, I'd say. He told us he was going to drive around to unwind. We didn't hear him come back, but that's normal because he slept downstairs and the two of us sleep on the first floor. And last night we went to bed straight after dinner and fell asleep almost immediately. He suffered from insomnia; we don't. In fact, we were still asleep when you rang our doorbell.'
'But when he went for a drive in his car, did he usually go on his own or did he have a friend with him?'
'I really wouldn't know. He belonged to a local sports club, and knew quite a few people there. I don't know if he went there last night and met someone. You'll have to ask at the club.'
'We will. One last question and we're finished. At least for today'
'Go on, Inspector.'
'Do you have any explanation for your brother's murder? Someone killed him. There must have been a reason, don't you think?'
'I wouldn't know, I told you. Giovanni was a quiet man, who never got in anyone's way. It must have been a case of mistaken identity, or else someone trying to rob him. I can't think of any other reasons. Believe me.'
The sister, Antonia, who had nodded every time her brother answered a question, opened her mouth for the first time. 'That's what it was. Mistaken identity or a robber. It's more likely to have been a robber. In Florence these days, we're not safe in our houses any more. It's not like it used to be, we used to leave our front doors open. But with all the crime these days . . . Not to mention the drug addicts, who'd do anything to get money. Even kill. But I don't have to tell you. You know it as well as I do. Florence has changed. It's become as dangerous as any other city'
True, Sergi thought. Unfortunately that was how it was. Florence wasn't just a picture postcard image. It moved at the same speed, and had the same concerns and the same vices, as every other major city in the world.
A similar picture had emerged from interviews with Giovanni Biagini's neighbours. All this was reported to Ferrara, who in the meantime had sent out teams to gather what information they could in the area where the murder had taken place.
It was an area notorious for the suspicious characters who frequented it, and this wasn't the first time it had been the subject of police attention. The Parco delle Cascine was a long strip of land, bounded like an island by the waters of the Arno, whose territory was very strictly divided according to the various sexual 'specialities' on offer.
On one side there were the transsexuals with their clients and those drawn there by curiosity. This was the most crime-ridden part of the park. Bag-snatching and other robberies were common, as were violent assaults, often with no discernable motive. Another area, closer to where the murder had taken place, was frequented by gay men and rent boys. The rent boys were often young men from the provinces, from other towns in Tuscany, or from abroad, and men from all walks of life and social classes cruised there more or less regularly. This part of the park was the most isolated.
Near to the main entrance was the traditional spot for female prostitutes.
Lastly, the far end of the Cascine, the least well lit and the hardest to keep an eye on, was the area chosen for gay sexual encounters that weren't necessarily mercenary, and was frequented by couples of all ages. This was where the murder had taken place.
For a while now, Headquarters had been compiling lists of all those who frequented the park.
The purpose was not so much to eliminate the phenomenon, which by now had reached such proportions it was impossible to suppress, as to find ways of preventing criminal acts, especially senseless acts of violence.
When the officers had left, Ferrara called for Inspector Venturi, who was the best in his squad at searching through the records, and gave him the job of carrying out a thorough check of the computer files on the Cascine. Then he sent for Ascalchi.
'I have a particularly tricky job for you.' 'Yes, chief.' 'Are you religious?'
'Well, I was baptised. But I have to say, my first communion was also my last.'
'There's a priest in Greve in Chianti . . . Do you know where that is?'
'Quite near here, isn't it?'
'Get one of the drivers to tell you how to get there. But I'd like you to go alone. Have them give you an unmarked car. When you get to the parish, ask for Don Sergio, the young priest. Don't let on that you're with the police, understand? You have a Roman accent, pretend you're a tourist, make up some story or other. I'd like you to find out where the priest was last night. If he spent the night there, if not where and why. Think you can do that?'
'Don't worry, chief, we Romans are natural actors.'
'All right, go. And don't forget, I'm trusting you.'
The idea had come to him through force of circumstance. All his best men were involved with the latest murder, which obviously had priority. And besides, the fact that Ascalchi was Roman might really trick Don Sergio into revealing something.
In another room in Headquarters, Venturi was at the computer. He had opened the Cascine folder and the sub-folder Names.
Then he'd typed in Biagini, Giovanni and waited while the machine carried out the search.
In a short while, lists of files containing the name began to appear. Venturi, who had not been expecting to get results, felt a rush of adrenaline.
He opened the files, selected the relevant details and printed them.
He hurried back to Ferrara's office, almost colliding with Ascalchi who was on his way out.
'Positive result, chief!' he cried as he entered. 'Very positive!'
Proudly, he placed the bundle of printed sheets on Ferrara's desk and then stood as if to attention.
'Don't just stand there,' Ferrara said. 'Sit down.'
The name had not shown up in the records at the Ministry of the Interior because Biagini did not have a record, but it did feature quite often in the Squadra Mobile's own databank. The licence number of his car had been entered many times. It had been spotted in the Cascine, especially late in the evening, parked very near the scene of the crime. Biagini had also been stopped many times by the police and checked out, but he had always been on his own.
'Congratulations, Venturi,' Ferrara sa
id. He noticed another interesting thing: Biagini's car had often been sighted in the Cascine at the same time as a number of other cars, always with the same licence numbers.
But then Venturi saw Ferrara's face darken.
Ferrara was reading a report from a few months earlier. It had been written by two officers reporting back to their head of section some information they had received from an informer, whose name was, of course, omitted.
The information concerned the techniques used by the drivers in the parked cars. They would flash their lights at potential partners passing by, and not get out of their cars until contact had been made. But the informer had added something important. 'In the past few weeks groups of young men have been seen going up to motorists pretending to make contact with them for sexual purposes, but in fact with the intention of extorting money from them in return for being allowed to park there. Sooner or later, this is likely to lead to a serious incident.'
Could it be that Biagini had nothing to do with the supposed serial killer? That he had been killed by these young racketeers for refusing to pay, as a lesson to others?
It was pure speculation, of course, but it couldn't be ruled out, the way they could rule out a robbery because of the watch and the personal objects in the dead man's pocket.
Just then Rizzo and Sergi got back from the sports club Biagini had frequented. Biagini had not been in the previous night, not even briefly, as he usually did. No one had seen him.
Rizzo had taken a seat in the other armchair in front of Ferrara's desk, and Serpico had pulled a chair over from the nearby table.
Rizzo presented his idea of what had happened. 'Biagini must have entered the park on foot. At a certain point he was stabbed in the back. There were no signs of struggle or of the body being moved, so it's quite likely he knew the killer and was walking ahead of him along the path. It's speculation, but I think it's valid.'
'We might get information about Biagini's activities in the Cascine from the drivers of the other cars that were parked near his,' Sergi suggested. 'Fabrizi's men took down the licence numbers.'
A Florentine Death Page 19