‘The one thing that we must not allow to become buried beneath our theories is this. Science has consequences and they are our responsibility. May I therefore thank Dr Horton on the behalf of all scientists everywhere. You have shown us where our work might lead and for that we will be forever in your debt.’
Then the applause began. Horton grinned joylessly and began to laugh as if he hadn’t meant anything that he had said to be taken at face value. James saw DeClichy staring at Horton, not with dislike but some other emotion – alarm perhaps? It wasn’t surprising, thought James. Horton would worry anyone. He fought his way through the crowd to DeClichy.
‘Doctor?’
DeClichy turned and looked at him in surprise. ‘It’s Dr Murray, is it not?’ he said in perfect English. It seemed strange to James to hear his native tongue spoken in this alien environment but it was welcome.
‘I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed your arguments. They were very well put.’
DeClichy bowed slightly in acknowledgement. ‘Thank you. It is much appreciated. But I think you may be in somewhat of a minority.’ He smiled wryly.
‘Dr Horton should not have upstaged you like that. It was badly done!’
‘You are kind, Dr Murray, but it is my own fault. I should not have allowed his interruption to go on for so long. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go. There is something I must attend to. Perhaps I will see you later at the reception?’
James nodded and watched him push through the crowds almost unnoticed, almost as if he had never spoken at all. A decent man, he thought, self-effacing, the kind of person one could trust.
The applause had died away and people began to assemble in groups to chatter about what they had just heard. Lombroso came down from the platform and made his way over to James and Ottolenghi. It took him a while for it seemed that everybody in the hall wished to speak to him, offering words of encouragement and congratulation. Eventually he reached them.
‘So, Murray, what did you think of that?’ he asked.
‘I thought it was . . .’ He paused trying to think of what to say. ‘. . . extraordinary, Professor.’
Lombroso stared at him for a moment, as if wondering how to take this. Then he smiled. ‘Thank you, thank you – but more importantly, dear boy, did you learn something from it?’
James nodded. ‘I think so but I still am unsure about one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Was Dr Horton sincere in what he said or was he really teaching us all a lesson?’
Lombroso looked over to Horton who was standing on the other side of the room with Borelli. Most were giving them a wide berth, presumably because they had the same question in their minds as James. A few did seem to be approaching him, although whether or not that was because they agreed with his views was difficult to work out. Between them Borelli and Lombroso had ensured that no one knew exactly what it was that Horton really stood for.
Lombroso sighed. ‘That is a question only Dr Horton can answer but I hope that Borelli was right and he was merely playing games. Now I must go over and rescue Borelli from Horton’s clutches. I will see you both at the reception later.’ With that he started to make his way over towards them, again being complimented and congratulated at every turn.
Ottolenghi grinned at James. ‘That was quite a show!’
James smiled to himself, remembering that that was exactly how Horton had described it during their first encounter at the museum. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘but it was not entirely fair, was it? It was supposed to be a debate between the professor and DeClichy. Horton completely took it over!’
‘True,’ Ottolenghi said, ‘but Horton was far more interesting, don’t you think? And the professor’s reply was so very clever!’
James shrugged. ‘If you say so, but still . . .’
People were starting to leave. He saw Borelli and Reiner escorting Madame Tarnovsky from the room, chatting animatedly. Suddenly Borelli turned and looked over towards Lombroso and Horton. The expression on Borelli’s face as he stared at them was not what James expected. It seemed somehow out of character; it wasn’t exactly malevolent but there was something cold about it, as if he was willing something unpleasant to happen to one of them. James assumed that he was angry with Horton. Suddenly he caught Borelli’s eye. Borelli gave him a beaming although strangely soulless smile before leaving.
Ottolenghi yawned. ‘I don’t know about you but all this has made me tired. I wouldn’t mind a bit of a rest before we meet Tullio.’
James readily agreed. It had been a long day and it was far from over yet.
8
Nearly all criminals have jug ears, thick hair, thin beards, pronounced sinuses, protruding chins and broad cheekbones.
Lombroso, 1876 p 53
It was dark by the time James arrived at La Capra. A thick fog had descended upon the city and he could only just see the figure of Ottolenghi through the gloom. He could smell drains and a slight whiff of sulphur as if they were about to wander into hell itself.
As they pushed their way through the door James noted that the smell coming from within had not improved since that morning. In fact, it was worse. Now, as well as stale beer and tobacco, there was an overwhelming stink of sweaty bodies. This was unsurprising, given that the place heaved with a mass of drinkers. Quite why it should be such a popular venue, he simply couldn’t work out. He would not have come here by choice, that was for sure.
Grotesque-looking women with brightly rouged cheeks sat around the rickety old tables with their various male companions, cackling raucously at jokes and calling out to one another. The old man, Pietro, was still in his place in the corner, a half-full tankard before him, sitting staring into the distance, muttering to himself.
The crowd fell silent as they made their way to the counter, where Tullio was waiting. James looked around and saw hostile glares everywhere. It was clear that they were not welcome. He had some sympathy. This was not their territory and the regular patrons would not have known the reason for their presence. It probably looked as though they were looking for a thrill or two by visiting insalubrious areas of the city to view its inhabitants as if they were exhibits in a zoo. He’d done it himself, as a student back in Edinburgh, and he wasn’t proud of it. At the time he had told himself that it was in order to broaden his horizons. But the truth was he was just curious to see how others lived.
Tullio looked James and Ottolenghi up and down. They were both dressed formally as they had to go on directly to the reception.
‘I see you’ve done your best to blend in,’ he said dryly. ‘It’s just as well we’re not working undercover.’ Ottolenghi looked at James and shrugged. James personally thought that Tullio was being a little unfair. He hardly blended in himself with his starched collar and carefully shined boots. He looked every inch what he was, indeed what they all were – young men out of their depth. Suddenly he smiled at them and James thought that he detected a look of relief. ‘Still, I am glad to see you.’
Ottolenghi nodded. ‘Has the old woman shown up?’
‘Not yet. The barman, Gambro, was surprised she wasn’t here. Normally she’s here every night without fail. Maybe she’ll turn up later. I’ve asked him to point out who was here on the night of the murder. He thinks that man over there would be worth talking to. His name’s Vilella.’
Tullio indicated a white-haired man with hooded eyes, who was having an animated, if one-sided, conversation with old Pietro. His skin was wrinkled and leathery but his expression was alert, as if he was waiting for someone to leap out and attack him.
‘Shall we?’ Tullio suggested.
Ottolenghi looked at him thoughtfully. ‘That name’s familiar. I’m sure the professor has mentioned it.’
‘Could be relevant, I suppose,’ replied Tullio. ‘Let’s talk to him.’
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ James asked nervously.
‘I’m a policeman. I have authority,’ declared Tullio in a voice that d
id not sound as if he entirely believed it.
They went over to the pair and sat down next to them. James almost retched as a curious, sour smell from Vilella assaulted his nostrils. He caught Ottolenghi’s eye as he moved away slightly, hoping that a couple of inches might provide olfactory relief.
Vilella glared at them. ‘What do you want? You’re not from round here. Bugger off!’
Pietro whispered in his ear and his eyes narrowed to hostile slits as he scowled at them malevolently.
‘Police! I might have guessed. Well, you can get lost. I’m no snitch. I’ve nothing to say to you.’
‘We have something to say to you. Some questions,’ Tullio said firmly.
Pietro whispered into Vilella’s ear once more. He nodded.
‘Soldati . . . well, I don’t know anything. He was a dirty scrounger who no one really liked. He obviously pissed off somebody. That’s all I can say. I didn’t see anything.’
‘Do you know Professor Lombroso from the university?’ asked Ottolenghi.
James thought that a connection between Lombroso and this old reprobate was unlikely and was surprised when Vilella nodded.
‘That bastard used my uncle’s skull in an experiment. He didn’t pay my family a penny. What’s he got to do with Soldati?’
Tullio ignored Vilella’s questions and continued with his own. ‘Tell me more about Soldati. Did he have any serious enemies?’
‘I don’t know. I barely spoke to the man. Still, what a way to go! Nowhere’s safe these days.’
Ottolenghi gave an ironic laugh. ‘Not with the likes of you on the streets, no.’
Tullio looked at him disapprovingly. He clearly didn’t want his interrogation interrupted.
Vilella scowled. ‘Look, I don’t have to answer your questions. In fact, it’ll cost you if want to ask me anything else.’
‘You’ll get a drink out of it but that’s all,’ Tullio said firmly.
Vilella nodded. Clearly it was better than nothing.
‘Did you notice anyone unusual in here that night?’
Vilella thought for a while. ‘Well, there was the bloke in the corner. I couldn’t see his face though. Pietro would probably remember him, wouldn’t you?’
He turned to Pietro who looked at them with a terrified expression on his face. He shook his head vigorously and whispered into Vilella’s ear.
‘He says he saw nothing.’
‘Where were you when Soldati left?’ Ottolenghi asked.
‘I was still in here when they found the body. Carlo had had a bit of luck and was buying a few drinks. You don’t leave when someone’s feeling generous.’
‘Why did Soldati go?’
‘He never bought anyone a drink, tight-fisted bastard. Carlo didn’t include him so he got the message and buggered off. Speaking of which, I want my drink now. I reckon I’ve earned it. I’ve told you all I know.’
Tullio nodded in resignation and they got up and went back to the bar.
‘So we’re not much further forwards,’ Ottolenghi said.
‘No,’ agreed Tullio. ‘Anyway, I don’t like Vilella for this. He’s a thief – as simple as that. He hasn’t got it in him to kill anyone, not like that, anyway.’
They ordered more drinks, including one for Vilella, and found a quiet table. There they sat and discussed the case. Tullio suggested that they ask Lombroso to advise them on what sort of person they might be looking for.
Ottolenghi shook his head, glumly. ‘We can’t. Don’t you remember? He doesn’t want us to investigate.’
‘Perhaps we could ask him again – or maybe just one of us. We’re only trying to help, after all,’ James suggested.
Ottolenghi looked at him. ‘I’m not sure. Let’s wait and see if the right opportunity arises.’
James nodded his agreement; after all, they had little choice. Neither of them wanted to lose their positions with Lombroso.
Tullio looked at his watch. ‘Shouldn’t you two be getting to your reception? It’s almost eight.’
‘You’re right. We’d better go. When do you want to meet again?’ asked Ottolenghi.
Tullio sighed. ‘I’ll contact you when there’s something to investigate. We seem to have reached a dead end so far.’
James and Ottolenghi both rose to leave but Tullio stayed in his seat.
‘I’ll wait a while in case the old woman turns up. You never know, perhaps she’ll have something useful to say.’
Bidding him a subdued goodbye they were headed for the door when Ottolenghi placed a hand on James’s arm. ‘Look, over there, isn’t that . . . ?’
James followed his glance to the corner of the furthest of the small rooms at the back of the tavern where, in front of the door with the carving on it, the chair with the goat’s head stood. In it sat Rosa Bruno, head bent towards a woman who was wearing a hooded cloak. They were in close conversation. A man stood next to them, in the shadows, his hat pulled over his eyes and a scarf around his mouth, hiding what was left of his face. James thought he caught a glimpse of colour beneath the man’s large coat.
‘Where did she spring from?’ Ottolenghi said. ‘And who’s the man with them?’
‘Go and tell Tullio,’ James said. ‘I’ll make sure they don’t get away.’
Ottolenghi did as he was asked and James began to make his way through the crowd towards the old woman. Unfortunately his clothes made him stand out and he was subjected to some jeering as he pushed his way through the tables.
A large woman who could only have been Fat Maria, as described by Gambro, got up and barred his way. She shook her enormous breasts at him and winked.
‘Evening, your Lordship. How about it? Interested in a little tête-à-tête?’
‘What about another drink, your highness? On you, of course,’ Vilella said, leering at him.
‘Drinks all round. The toff’s paying!’ cried someone and a cheer went up. Suddenly James was surrounded by sweaty bodies pressing themselves against him. Fat Maria ruffled his hair with one hand and he felt her other reach between his legs.
‘Do you mind?’ he said, removing her podgy fingers from his trousers.
She paid no attention, pushing her face into his. ‘Come on, darling, don’t be unfriendly . . .’
‘Madam, signora, I have no wish to be rude!’ he said in desperation, pushing her away.
‘Ooh, signora, is it? That’s a bit formal. You can call me Maria, sweetheart. Come on, m’lord Inglese. Show us what you’re made of!’
‘Actually, I’m a Scot,’ James said indignantly as he pushed and pulled in an effort to get way. Eventually he succeeded, although not before Maria had planted a damp kiss on his cheek. As he got to the edge of the crowd he saw that the man and the old woman had gone, leaving their companion sitting alone. She turned towards him and he took a step back in surprise as she threw back her hood. It was Sofia. She looked at him, her expression cold. It was clear she did not welcome his presence.
‘Good evening, signor,’ she said.
Before James could say anything they were joined by Tullio and Ottolenghi.
‘Sofia, where’s the old lady?’ Ottolenghi asked urgently.
Sofia shrugged.
‘You were with her. She can’t have just disappeared,’ Tullio said.
‘She left,’ Sofia said sullenly. ‘I do not know where she went.’
‘And the man?’ James asked.
‘What man?’
‘He was standing next to you,’ James said.
Sofia shook her head. ‘I don’t know who you mean.’
‘What were you talking about?’ Ottolenghi asked.
‘Nothing . . .’
‘You must have been talking about something,’ Tullio said. ‘How do you know the old woman?’
‘She is an acquaintance.’
‘Oh come on, you were deep in conversation. It couldn’t just have been gossip,’ James said, impatiently.
‘Why are you interrogating me?’ Sofia asked.
&nb
sp; ‘We need to find the old lady,’ James said. ‘It’s important, Sofia.’
‘I cannot help you,’ she said.
He grabbed her hand and looked into her eyes. ‘Please.’
She sighed. ‘Rosa Bruno is a “maga”.’
Tullio nodded his understanding. ‘A sorceress or wise woman.’
‘You believe in this nonsense?’ James asked Sofia, surprised.
Sofia pulled away from him angrily. ‘I do not believe in stregoneria – witchcraft – but Rosa is a healer.’
‘What do you need a healer for?’ James asked.
‘It is not your business!’ Sofia replied.
‘What are you doing meeting her here anyway?’ Ottolenghi asked. ‘I’m not sure the professor would be happy to know you frequent places like this.’
‘I work for the professor. He does not own me,’ Sofia said, coldly. ‘Now, may I go?’
Tullio nodded and she started to leave.
‘Wait, I’ll walk you home,’ James said. ‘It is not safe for you to be alone.’ He turned to Ottolenghi. ‘I’ll see you at the reception. Please offer Professor Lombroso my apologies and tell him that I will be there as soon as I can.’
Ottolenghi nodded his agreement and he and Tullio watched as James escorted Sofia to the door, amid further jeers from the crowd. Before they could reach it Vilella stood in front of them.
Tullio came over. ‘On your way now, Vilella.’
Vilella scowled and suddenly grabbed Sofia by the arm and whispered something to her. She pulled away and ran to the door with James following in her wake.
Once they were outside, Sofia stalked off into the night, leaving James to scuttle after her like an errant child following its mother. After a while, though, she relented and her pace slowed, allowing him to catch up and walk with her rather than behind.
‘Why are you so angry?’ James asked. ‘What did Vilella say?’
‘I am angry with you, not him. You should not have followed me,’ she replied.
‘We didn’t. It was a coincidence. I had no idea you would be there!’
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