City of Devils

by Diana Bretherick

‘Who knows? Perhaps it was a ghost, playing with you. Or a shadow,’ Lombroso replied, sighing. ‘Shadows seem to be all we have.’

  ‘It might just have been some children or drunks leading us on a merry dance for their own amusement,’ James said, though he knew this was as implausible as it having been a ghost, but he was trying desperately to keep a sense of perspective.

  ‘Perhaps, although it is late in the night for that; it is past midnight, after all,’ Ottolenghi said.

  ‘So where are we?’ James asked, looking around him. There were some stone arches cut into a bank, forming a kind of shelter. It was from one of these that they had just emerged.

  ‘Don’t you recognise it?’ Tullio replied, pointing behind him.

  He turned and immediately saw that they were by the river. ‘The Po?’ he asked.

  Tullio nodded. ‘Not only that, but this is the scene of the second murder – just there.’ He indicated a stone pillar to his right where the body of Pietro Mancini had been found.

  ‘We were led here, then,’ Lombroso said thoughtfully. ‘That is interesting, although I confess I am not sure how it was done. Obviously someone is trying to tell us something.’

  ‘Or trying to make you think one thing, when something else is the case,’ Borelli added.

  ‘That too is a possibility, but at least we have some kind of a clue. It is something to think about, don’t you think?’ Lombroso said.

  There was a long pause as they all stood round in a kind of semi-circle like a dejected witches’ coven, unsure of the spell its members wished to cast. James suddenly felt exhausted.

  ‘Whatever the truth of it, it is certain that the killer is long gone, so we might as well leave it until morning,’ he said firmly.

  Tullio yawned and nodded his agreement. ‘What was it that you wanted to tell me, by the way?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing that will not keep,’ James replied, too tired to explain Horton’s activities.

  He wandered slowly home through the chilly damp streets, hunched into his coat against the cold wind. As he was passing Sofia’s home, he paused, then made up his mind. He could not leave it a moment longer. He had to find out what she knew.

  21

  Statistics show fewer criminals among atheists than among Catholics and Protestants, perhaps because atheists in Europe tend to be highly educated.

  Lombroso, 1896 p 324

  James hammered at Sofia’s door. A moment or two later she came down the stairs and opened the door, peering at him through bleary eyes.

  ‘It’s late, James, and I am tired. Come back tomorrow.’

  He shook his head and barged past her, taking the stairs two at a time in his determination to make her see him. She followed him, scowling.

  ‘What do you want at this hour?’

  They sat down on the settee and he took her hands in his.

  ‘What is it? You are scaring me,’ she asked.

  ‘Sofia, Rosa Bruno has been murdered,’ he said evenly and held her tightly in his arms as she wept.

  When she stopped, she looked up at him. ‘Who is doing these terrible things?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wish I did.’

  Sofia seemed to almost shake herself free of him and sat up straight. ‘Then we must find out,’ she said with determination, wiping her tears away. ‘Let us go through the suspects. Would that not help?’

  James looked at her. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

  ‘We have no option. These crimes must be solved.’ She got up and lit a candle. ‘I will make some coffee. Begin! Who is on your list?’

  ‘List? I don’t really have one.’

  She stood before him, her arms folded. ‘Well, how else would a scientist go about solving a crime? The professor is always making lists. I find them everywhere.’

  Sofia sat at the table, James opposite her, a pot of coffee between them. She nodded formally as if she was about to interview him. ‘So, the first suspect?’ she said.

  ‘Oskar Reiner,’ declared James firmly. He looked at her. Her face coloured slightly. ‘Sofia, I have seen you with him and Rosa. It is time to tell me why.’

  There was a pause. ‘This is nothing to do with the murders.’

  ‘I think that I had better be the judge of that,’ James said firmly. ‘Rosa is dead. There may be a connection.’

  ‘Rosa works – worked, as a maid at Madam Giulia’s.’

  ‘That’s a brothel, I take it.’

  Sofia nodded. ‘Yes. She looked after the girls, made sure that the clients behaved themselves, that kind of thing.’

  ‘And Reiner was a client?’ James tried to imagine him in a place like that. Somehow it did not seem likely. He was too fastidious – or that was the impression he gave.

  ‘No, not as far as I know,’ Sofia said.

  ‘Then why were you and Rosa in La Capra with him?’

  ‘He wanted to interview some of the girls.’ Sofia smiled at him. ‘It happens more often than you think. The professor has been there too, with Madame Tarnovsky.’

  ‘Really?’ James simply could not picture it.

  ‘They were measuring them.’

  ‘Ah, I see. But Reiner wanted to talk to them.’

  ‘Sì.’

  ‘About what?’ James asked.

  ‘About their experiences. He wanted to know about any clients who had asked them to do anything . . . strange.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘He was particularly interested in the infliction of pain, both by and on the girls.’

  ‘And what was your part in all of this?

  Sofia sighed. ‘I was just in the middle, arranging a meeting, nothing else. He wanted to keep it quiet, as did Rosa, in case Madam Giulia’s clients got to hear of it.’

  ‘I think I’d better talk to Herr Reiner,’ James said. He thought back to their conversation at the salon and Reiner’s interest in lust murder and post-mortem mutilation.

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’ Sofia asked.

  He took her hand. ‘Of course I do. But he might have found out something, or perhaps Rosa did.’

  ‘And what of the other suspects?’ Sofia asked.

  ‘What about Horton?’ James suggested.

  ‘He has been to the museum several times. I do not like him at all, but why is he a suspect?’

  ‘He disappeared from the dinner last night and there is no love lost between him and the professor.’

  ‘Sì, si, and there is something else, I think.’ Sofia poured the coffee.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Well, does he not match the professor’s “criminal type”. He has very sharp teeth and his hair is dark and bushy, like a dog.’

  ‘That’s true, and from what he said in his debate speech he seems to hate criminals so that would give him a reason to target them as victims.’

  Sofia looked thoughtful. ‘I have met men like him. They cannot be trusted.’

  James looked at her and wondered who these men might be and how she had met them. He did not enquire. Some things were best left alone. For the same reason he neglected to tell her about the warning, or perhaps it had been a threat, that Horton had issued at the dinner. Why would he do that unless he had something to hide?

  ‘Who else?’ he asked.

  ‘Gemelli,’ Sofia said. ‘Lombroso has many enemies and Gemelli is one of the loudest.’

  ‘Why does he dislike the professor so much?’ James asked.

  ‘He is jealous,’ Sofia said simply.

  ‘That is not enough to make him a suspect.’

  ‘Ah, but he is obsessive. I have observed him when he has visited. The way he looks at Lombroso is strange. He stares at him with such hatred!’

  ‘Do you know why?’ James asked.

  ‘I know a little,’ Sofia said. ‘According to his housekeeper, years ago when the professor first came to Turin, Gemelli was about to be promoted. The professor stole his job – or that is how Gemelli sees it.’

  ‘Would that make him capable
of killing?’

  ‘The professor would say so. I think he calls it moral insanity, when a person seems normal on the outside but doesn’t know the difference between good and evil. If you were obsessed about something, might that not make you kill?’

  James looked at Sofia in a new light. She was as much of an expert on crime as any of the delegates at the symposium, perhaps even more so because she had her own experience to draw on.

  ‘In that case we must not forget Father Vincenzo and all his talk of the Devil and demons,’ he said. ‘He seems to think the professor’s work is evil. Who knows what lengths he might go to in order to stop it?’

  Sofia nodded. ‘Sì, he is a suspect too, and he has influence in all kinds of places.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll put him on the list and we need to add DeClichy.’

  ‘He does not seem the type to kill,’ Sofia protested.

  ‘I know, but he has been acting strangely for the last day or two. Also, he too disappeared last night. If anyone had a motive to discredit Lombroso it was him, and he had no alibi.’

  In fact, James thought to himself, DeClichy was the only one without an alibi, assuming that Horton had actually gone to a brothel, which seemed more than likely, given what they knew about him. Could DeClichy’s calm demeanour be a cover for something more sinister? After all, it was odd that he had been so serene in the face of Horton’s upstaging of him at the debate. What normal person would react like that? He sat back and shut his eyes.

  What about the people, if there was more than one, in the tunnels? What was the significance of the drawings in the dust and the animal organs? Of course there was still Lombroso himself. Could it be a double bluff – making his involvement so obvious and therefore casting doubt on his guilt? It would be a clever ruse, but then he was a clever man. But again, why? Would he really commit these savage killings just to promote his own ideas? And then it could be the work of a woman if she was strong enough – or two women – or a man and a woman – or two men. The possibilities seemed almost endless.

  Sofia yawned. ‘It is late. Let’s go to bed, caro.’

  James opened his eyes and allowed her to pull him to his feet and be led into her bedroom. Before long he was lying next to her, listening to her breathing steadily. She had gone to sleep almost immediately but he lay awake, his mind racing with thoughts of the murders.

  Sofia moaned slightly in her sleep and he put his arm around her. He had to make the most of each precious moment with the woman he loved for who knew when and indeed how ‘this’, whatever ‘this’ was, would end.

  The following day was a Sunday, although that meant little to Lombroso, being as immersed in his work as he was. He had asked Ottolenghi and James to come to the museum and complete their cataloguing and measuring of the Madagascan skulls although, given the lateness of the hour when they had left him, the professor had conceded that they could arrive mid-morning.

  This meant that as it was also Sofia’s day off James was able to linger with her a little, and as he lay with her in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, he dared to imagine what it would be like if they could be together always. He thought of them sitting around the breakfast table, him reading a newspaper and drinking coffee as Sofia gazed fondly at him. Perhaps there would be children. He could see them strolling though a city park, arm in arm as the children played. The infants would be handsome like their mother, with dark hair and dark eyes and people passing would remark on their beauty.

  But unless he sacrificed everything for Sofia, they could never have a future together, and it was not a sacrifice that was his to make. His sister would be part of it and he could not do that to her. He would have to make the most of what they had now and leave the future to take care of itself.

  Suddenly he was jolted out of his daydream by shouting from the street outside Sofia’s rooms. He could not hear clearly what was said. There was the sound of running feet going past but it soon faded into the distance and all was peaceful again. Sofia, however, had stirred during the disturbance and she gave an almost feline stretch.

  ‘Che cos‘è, caro? she murmured.

  ‘Sshh, my love, it is nothing,’ James replied. He thought about the murders.

  He was wide awake now. Pulling a blanket round him, he got up quietly and went to the next room to fetch a glass of water from a jug on the table. He sat down on the settee and began to think. The door to the bedroom opened and Sofia emerged, yawning, a shawl draped around her bare shoulders. She looked like a native from a Pacific island – beautiful and exotic.

  ‘Che succede?’

  ‘Nothing, my love. Go back to bed.’

  She ignored him and sat next to him in the darkness, pulling her shawl round her. He enfolded her in his arms.

  ‘You are still thinking about the murders,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I am – I can’t help it. Four deaths and all connected in some way to the professor. There must be something that we have missed.’

  Suddenly Sofia sat up. ‘You know, there is something that no one has mentioned.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Well, the killings, they started so suddenly.’

  James frowned. ‘That’s true but what are you getting at?’

  ‘Even the most skilled person has to practise, do they not? Whatever their art?’

  James leapt to his feet. ‘My God! Sofia, you are a genius!’

  She smiled bashfully. ‘I do not think the professor would agree.’

  ‘In order to get the mutilations so clean, of course the killer must have practised! All we have to do is to find out how and where and then we have him.’

  Barely an hour later, James was at the museum. His head was buzzing with Sofia’s idea and he couldn’t wait to share it with the others. Ottolenghi was already there, fully occupied with the skulls, and looked up to smile at him before getting back to his work. Lombroso was sitting at the other end of the room, reading.

  ‘Professor?’

  Lombroso looked up and smiled at him absent-mindedly. ‘Ah yes, Murray. Join Ottolenghi, would you? I have something to finish.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Just get on with it!’

  James sighed. It seemed his thoughts would have to wait. He took off his jacket and joined Ottolenghi to attend to the skulls. He was not yet certain as to why they were doing what they were, but he hoped that, when the work was completed, as it soon would be, Lombroso would explain. It seemed that the professor was not particularly anxious to hear about the events of the previous night, or indeed anything connected to it. He decided to wait until he could talk to Ottolenghi and Tullio alone. Perhaps they would see the merit of what he had to say.

  James had not been there for long before they heard the sound of the brass knocker on the great wooden door at the front of the museum, and minutes later there was a knock and a maid showed in a tall imposing figure.

  Lombroso stood to greet his guest. ‘Good afternoon, Father Vincenzo.’ He looked past him into the hall. ‘I was expecting the Marchesa.’

  ‘She is indisposed. I think that your connection with four murders was too much, even for her.’

  ‘Ah, I see. The news is out already. I suppose I should have expected it. Well, thank you for coming, in any event,’ Lombroso said.

  The priest looked self-assured as usual. ‘Think nothing of it, Professor, though I confess I was surprised to be included in your invitation to the Marchesa.’

  ‘Shall we be seated?’ Lombroso wandered over to a sideboard upon which a silver tray and some fine crystal decanters sat, glinting in the gaslight.

  ‘May I offer you some refreshment? A drink, perhaps, since it so cold outside?’

  Father Vincenzo accepted a glass of sherry and the two of them sat before the fire. James looked over to Ottolenghi and shrugged. The priest had not acknowledged their presence, which seemed to James both ill-mannered and odd at the same time. Clearly he did not regard either of them as being of sufficient importance
to pay them even the most fleeting courtesy. Lombroso was, of course, an entirely different matter. Further pleasantries were exchanged and then the visitor glanced over to a small table beside him.

  ‘I see you are a chess player.’

  ‘I am indeed. I find it helps me to think and to relax, on occasion. Do you play?’

  Father Vincenzo nodded. ‘I do. To my mind mastery of the game indicates an exceptional intellect.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Lombroso with some scepticism in his voice, ‘but also a love for strategy and even a little bluff. We must have a game some time.’

  ‘I would enjoy that very much indeed. So what can I do for you, Professor?’ Father Vincenzo asked crisply. ‘Is it to do with Pilgrim? I have been following the case with some interest.’

  Lombroso nodded. ‘I am glad to hear it. We could do with some assistance for I confess that these murders have been perplexing me, somewhat. I have only recently been in a position to theorise with any certainty as to the type of person responsible and even then I am not entirely certain.’

  ‘I would be most interested to hear your conclusions,’ Father Vincenzo said. ‘But you wish to consult me about something in particular?’

  Lombroso nodded. ‘There is some indication that the perpetrator may be influenced by some kind of black magic or Satanism.’

  ‘I see. What makes you say that?’

  ‘I cannot give detail at this point in the investigation, I’m afraid.’

  ‘So what do you want from me?’ Father Vincenzo’s tone had hardened slightly, James noticed. He clearly did not like to be excluded in any way. Either that or . . . could he be responsible? The possibility of a priest committing such atrocities was profoundly shocking. But if he had, then obviously he would want to know exactly what the professor had found out. James looked over at the two men and wondered if the same thought had occurred to Lombroso.

  ‘Are there any cults or covens that are particularly active in the city at the moment?’ the professor asked.

  Father Vincenzo placed his hands together, as if in prayer. ‘There are several. As you know, such people are drawn to this city as moths to a flame. Can you be more precise as to what you are looking for?’