The Monster of Florence

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The Monster of Florence Page 32

by Magdalen Nabb


  The Marshal couldn’t help wondering why, if he’d had no scruples about killing both the first wife and Belinda for daring to leave him, he didn’t do the same to his second wife rather than going out to kill fourteen strangers with a pistol that was bound to leave a trail back to him. He was wise enough not to say so but he must have looked unconvinced.

  “You don’t follow?”

  “Oh yes … I—perhaps I’m just amazed at how simply he got away with it all. To be that simple, you’ve got to be clever, I think.”

  “Well, remember, he was always hiding one thing: his homosexuality. Without knowing that, you’d never suspect him.”

  “That’s true …”

  “You’ll find a name and address and phone number amongst my notes. Margherita’s younger sister, the one who lives near Como now. Talk to her. She’ll tell you what Silvano is. She was only twelve when Margherita was murdered, but if you aren’t convinced that Silvano’s the Monster after you’ve talked to her …” He got up and the Marshal rose to follow him.

  “There’s another thing.” Di Maira stopped on the threshold and turned. “There was a rumour going about—and the papers, of course, made the most of it—that the real Monster would never be revealed because he was some Florentine bigwig. I don’t know if you remember that?”

  The Marshal thought for a bit. “Was that about the time they were saying he might be an eminent surgeon and so on?”

  “That’s it. Two separate rumours rolled into one. They came from two separate sources, one of which matters, the other doesn’t. The surgeon thing came out of an autopsy report saying the excisions were so precise, etc., but so is a butcher precise when he joints chicken—all rubbish, in my opinion. I saw the bodies and I can tell you that any Sardinian who’d ever skinned a dead lamb … You know what I mean?”

  “Yes, yes, I do …”

  “Well, be that as it may, the other story, the Florentine VIP one, does matter so don’t get your fingers burnt.”

  “But if you think it’s Silvano?”

  “It is Silvano. That rumour—and I don’t know how it got into circulation—was distorted. We were checking out the Peeping Tom brigade at the time and, I can tell you, we were all taken aback by what we found out. In the first place because it wasn’t a hobby we were dealing with but a business. Control of each section of countryside around Florence was divided between the various bands. Permission to watch had to be asked for and paid for. On top of that there were audio and video tapes made of unsuspecting couples. Now, a business has clients. Do you follow me? That’s where your Florentine VIPs came into the story and, as you might expect, that information was classified. Something leaked, as something always does, and that’s what started the rumour of the Monster being some big shot whose name would never be revealed, especially when Sassetti was arrested and wouldn’t talk. The Scandicci car was under his control and he must have accompanied a client there that night. It’s rubbish as far as it goes, but even so, keep well away from that area of enquiry. You would fall foul of some very powerful people, all of them masons, you know what I mean? And it’s not worth it. Silvano was a loner and nothing to do with those gangs.”

  “Yes … unless they came across each other …”

  “How d’you mean?”

  “The gangs were well organized and covered every country area outside Florence, you said?”

  Di Maira’s face changed. “How do you mean? We checked them all, you know. If they had come across him we’d have got wind of it.”

  “Unless they had a good reason for keeping the news to themselves.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like profit. They were, as you said, in business.”

  “Ah, you mean blackmail. There was a lot of that going on, but no. Silvano hadn’t money, not their sort of money.”

  “No. But those VIP clients had. Didn’t they buy films, tapes and so on?”

  “Christ Almighty! You’re not serious? You are. You could be right, at that! They were after him to film him. Do you know what a piece of film like that would fetch in certain circles?”

  “I hate to think.”

  “Well, the price of your snuff films going round this city now would be nothing compared to it!”

  “Well, well … we might as well forget it. In fact, from what you say, we’d better forget it. But was that what Nenci wanted twenty percent of? Had he been left out of some deal?”

  “You’re right. It’s a separate issue and you’d need a lot of power and protection behind you to tackle it. You stick to Silvano. Just get that bastard for me, will you? You’ll be doing us all a favour.”

  Sixteen

  TO THE TRIBUNAL OF FLORENCE

  -Instructing Judge ROMOLA-

  TO THE PUBLIC PROSECUTOR OF FLORENCE

  -Dr. SIMONETTI-

  Report on the death, filed as suicide, of Margherita VARGIUS, née MELIS in 1960 in the province of Sardinia, presently being investigated in connection with the double homicides committed in the province of Florence between 1968 and 1985.

  1. The marriage between MARGHERITA MELIS and SILVANO VARGIUS took place in 1958. The marriage was arranged on behalf of Silvano by GIUSEPPE MELIS, Margherita’s brother, when she was eighteen and Silvano was twenty-three years old. A homosexual relationship had already existed for a number of years between Silvano and Giuseppe. Margherita at this time had a fiancé, Amelio Cangio, whom she intended to marry. Cangio was threatened and separated from his sister by Giuseppe whilst Silvano was allowed by him to frequent the house in the absence of his parents and to constrain Margherita to enter into sexual relations with him until such time as she became pregnant and was obliged to marry him. The resulting child was born in February 1959 and named Amelio.

  2. During the following year Amelio Cangio returned to the village and resumed his relationship with Margherita Vargius, who described to him the severe physical ill-treatment she was suffering at the hands of Silvano and declared her intention of leaving him as soon as she could find a means of survival.

  3. After requesting help from her obstetrician, Margherita found a residential job as a cleaner in an orphanage. A letter was found in her possession confirming she was expected, with her child, at the orphanage the day following her death.

  4. Silvano, aware of his wife’s relationship with Cangio, went to considerable lengths to inform the entire village of Margherita’s betrayal, including reporting her immoral behaviour to the local Marshal of the carabinieri.

  5. On the evening of her death Silvano and Giuseppe went out—

  Lorenzini buzzed the Marshal on the internal phone.

  “That call you asked for: I have Ida Melis on the line.”

  “Put her through.”

  He put the papers to one side and picked up the other receiver.

  “Signora.”

  “Has something else happened? He hasn’t—?”

  “No, no, signora. Nothing’s happened. I just wanted a word with you. It was Sergeant Di Maira who gave me your name. Perhaps you remember him?”

  “Yes, I do.” She sounded relieved. “It’s about Silvano, then.”

  “Yes, signora. He suggested I talk to you about the death of your sister Margherita. I hope it’s not too upsetting for you to talk about.”

  “Upsetting? I haven’t had a day’s peace of mind or an uninterrupted night’s sleep since then. I left Sardinia as soon as I was able to and I’ve never set foot there since, except for the trial in eighty-eight, but even so … That man—”

  She had a great deal to say about “that man.” As she talked, the Marshal tried to imagine what she looked like. Twelve, she’d been in 1960 when Margherita was murdered, so she’d be forty or so. She sounded older. Perhaps because she sounded bitter.

  “It wouldn’t be until eleven, eleven-fifteen.”

  “I’m sorry …?” He’d been doing his usual trick of listening to her voice instead of what she was saying. “Can you hold on and I’ll get my diary? Yes, so what date?


  “The day after tomorrow. I don’t know the date without getting out the letter from the clinic. The migraine clinic, do you know it?”

  “No, I don’t think I do.”

  “Well, it’s in Careggi, near all the other hospitals, so I can easily come in to Florence on the bus afterwards. I go there once a month and I’ve Silvano to thank for that, too. I’d never had a problem before that night but I’ve had it ever since. Do you want me to come to your office?”

  “No, I—no. I’ll find the clinic. I’ll be there before eleven. You’ll see a car waiting for you when you come out.”

  “A police car? Or are you with the carabinieri?”

  “Carabinieri. But I’ll come in my own car. If you’ll just stand still a moment as you come out I’ll find you. Thank you for talking to me.” He hung up.

  6. The body of Margherita Vargius was found in the bedroom. The kitchen gas canister, with its tube still attached and the tap open, was standing by the bed. The tube had been placed on the pillow. Witnesses disagree as to whether the body was on the bed or on the floor beside it. The body was naked except for a pair of knickers. There was a patch of whitish liquid on the stomach, blood between the legs, a bruise in the shape of a thumbprint on the left side of the throat and numerous scratches on the face. The baby was standing in its cot, screaming.

  Silvano. The Marshal pondered the problem of Silvano for some time, sitting alone in his office, staring, as always, at the map on the opposite wall without seeing it.

  Di Maira was a good investigator, a much-respected one, and rightly so. Not only that but he had seen all these people face to face, talked to them.

  “It’s him. It’s him.”

  He was a murderer, he had sexual perversions—a photographic file at the back of the report he’d been reading showed a hair-raising collection of sex aids and pornographic comics. A note signed by Di Maira himself stated that the subject was totally deaf in his right ear and should always be interrogated from the left and that his deafness was a result of his being viciously beaten around the head by his father at the age of ten.

  Silvano …

  There was a photocopy amongst Di Maira’s papers of a clinical report dated April 1981, made out in the psychiatric ward of a Florence hospital.

  Patient is deeply anxious and suffering from acute depression. In answer to questions, he states that he has no particular financial or work problems at present and that, though recently separated from his wife, he doesn’t consider this the cause of his problem. He is not abulic—on the contrary, he claims to be always full of plans and ideas for the small firm he runs. Asked if he has other causes for worry he says: “The real problem is the boy.” He is unwilling to enlarge on that remark. Not, in general, very communicative, though here by his own request.

  Patient left the hospital after 10 days.

  There was a doctor’s signature and the date. Nothing more.

  According to the books sitting there on his desk, Silvano was too old, too dominant, too successful at getting what he wanted. But what did the Marshal know that he could seriously pit generalized information from these foreign books against the first-hand experience of a man like Di Maira?

  What, if it came to that, did any of them know about this type of crime, including Di Maira? The day’s papers were on his desk, too, with all the latest news about the Suspect. Wasn’t it just the same story? A murderer, a pervert … It’s him, it’s him!

  Why shouldn’t Silvano just have murdered his second wife the way he did his first and then Belinda? He was getting older, that was why. His reactions became less, not more, violent …

  If only Ferrini …

  The phone rang.

  “Salvatore, old thing! All right, are you?”

  “Ferrini!”

  “Were you expecting somebody else?”

  “I—no. No!”

  “Listen, I’ve got hold of a little bit of treasure. I can’t get away tonight, we’ve got people to supper—come along if you want, but we won’t be able to talk, you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, but in any case I’m a bit tired …”

  “Tomorrow I can’t … the night after, then. I’ll bring you this stuff over—I tried to find you yesterday, but your man there said you were over here with the Captain and when I went to look you’d vanished.”

  “Yes … I didn’t wait to see him in the end …”

  “You sound peculiar. What’s up?”

  “Nothing, I just—well, I thought from what you said the other day that you didn’t want to be bothered with this business any more, that’s all.”

  “Come on, Guarnaccia, I was just pissed off. Doesn’t that ever happen to you?”

  “I suppose so …”

  “You do take things tragically.”

  “That’s what Teresa’s always saying.”

  “Well, if she’d been here she’d have said it this time, too. Is she not back yet?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “That’s what’s wrong with you, then. Get a decent meal down you and cheer yourself up! I’ll tell you what, when we get together I’ll take you to this place of a friend of mine—it’s a bit far out in the country but it’s worth it and we needn’t linger …”

  Ferrini chatted on for a good quarter of an hour and the Marshal intoned the responses contentedly. Afterwards, he felt so much better that he decided to get through at least some of the paperwork Lorenzini had left for his signature and to look through the post and the newspapers. Lorenzini himself put his head round the door at eight o’clock.

  “I’m off. Shall I switch the phone through or will you do it?”

  Calls coming through after the station closed were automatically transferred to the emergency number at Headquarters.

  “Do it now—I’m practically finished here …”

  There was a handwritten letter from Marco which he didn’t open but propped against the phone to remind himself to call him sometime tomorrow. The next letter he picked up was a long envelope with a number of typewritten sheets in it and a hurried note attached by a paper clip.

  Sorry to be so long about it—desperately busy on this case (and not sorry to be off the other). This comes from a research centre and has more to do with prevention than detection, but might help. You really need the whole FBI profile on your man but no hope of that, I suppose. Good luck. (Keep the books for now.)

  It was from Bacci. He hadn’t forgotten, then. The Marshal unfolded the typewritten sheets.

  SYMPTOMS OF SUBJECTS WHO SHOULD BE CONSIDERED HIGH-RISK POSSIBLE PERPETRATORS IN THE EPISODIC AGGRESSION CATEGORY.

  The first contact may come either through an attempted or successful arrest, whether for a major or minor offence or through the subject’s seeking psychiatric help. In both cases he may attempt to warn the authorities overtly of an urge to kill. Such warnings should always be taken seriously and the subject examined with reference to the following:

  1. Has the person already committed two or more crimes of violence, particularly rapes or assault?

  2. Does the person drink to excess? Is he a drug abuser? Chronic substance abuse can trigger innate violence and may also cause mental blackouts, which cause the person to forget having committed acts of violence.

  3. Manic depressive symptoms. Does the subject suffer from violent swings of mood which cannot be accounted for by outside provocation?

  4. Insatiable sex drive. There is nothing abnormal or unhealthy about a large sexual appetite. What is dangerous is an insatiable appetite which cannot be satisfied with sex alone but requires violence, even torture, to stimulate orgasm.

  5. An excessive interest in blood, horror and death, often fed by films and magazines, together with other symptoms, can be a sign of impending danger.

  6. Is the person cold and indifferent to the suffering of others? Such indifference caused by a lack of affectionate contact during infancy, is very dangerous.

  7. Has the person been convicted of arson or bee
n known to have amused himself by setting fire to things as a child?

  8. Is the person gathering an arsenal of weapons? This may be an unconscious preparation for the turning of fantasy into fact.

  The Marshal sighed and gave it up. Bacci was right. It was far too general. One minute he thought he was reading about Silvano, the next it was a portrait of the Suspect. And as far as the three younger men he suspected were concerned, what was the use when he had never seen them or talked to them? The information just wasn’t available. What was he supposed to do? Track down Salvatore Angius and ring him up to ask him what films he enjoyed?

  In any case, this was all psychiatrists’ stuff, it wasn’t police work. Disheartened, he decided to call it a day and take Ferrini’s advice. He was tired and hungry. He gathered up the newspapers, thinking he could glance through them after a cheering bowl of pasta, switched off the office light and locked up.

  “Blast!” he muttered as he felt for the key of his own door. He could hear the television going so he must have left it on at lunch time, which showed how tired …

  But the lights were on and the supper was cooking and the boys were skidding towards him helter-skelter through the tiled hall, shouting. “Dad! Da-a-a-ad! We’re home!”

  They had passed an evening that was as noisy as it was happy. The washing machine went on, then the television, then Toto’s tape player that he’d got for Christmas. Teresa bustled from room to room, cooking, unpacking, reorganizing, whilst the boys dashed about creating chaos out of her order. The Marshal wandered around happy and aimless, not wanting to let any of them out of his sight for a second. He realized he had forgotten it was the Epiphany today, only remembering when Giovanni got in a row with his mother for starting to eat a huge lump of sugar coal from his stocking before supper. The Marshal was told to remove it from him and he stared at his plump son with his huge eyes, which he thought were threatening.

 

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