‘I don’t think that we should get too carried away,’ Lombroso said. ‘After all, he does not fit my new criminal type – not exactly, anyway. But there is certainly enough to indicate that he might well be our man.’ He paused. ‘All we have to do is find him.’
Lombroso withdrew to his study shortly after this, saying he wanted to find some notes on the criminal type and do a further comparison with what they knew of Horton to see if they tallied.
James took the opportunity to slip upstairs to see Sofia. Madame Tarnovsky came with him for the sake of propriety. James thought that she might have guessed how much Sofia meant to him.
James gave a gentle knock at the door and poked his head around it.
‘She’s not there!’ he exclaimed.
Madame Tarnovsky followed him into the room. ‘Perhaps she has recovered a little and decided to dress. Silly girl! I did tell her not to.’
James heard a rustling coming from an adjoining room and went to see if he could find her. Instead it was the maid making a bed.
‘Where is Sofia?’ he asked nervously. A terrible suspicion had arisen in his mind and he hoped against hope that he was wrong.
‘She was taken away earlier, sir, by an ambulance.’
‘Taken by whom?’ he almost shouted.
The girl stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘I don’t know! But there was paperwork and everything left for the professor. Oh, signor, did I do wrong?’ With that she burst into tears.
Madame Tarnovsky went over to the girl and began to comfort her. Hearing the commotion the others came up and James quickly told them what had happened.
Lombroso’s brows furrowed. ‘I certainly did not order an ambulance.’ He sighed and sank down onto Sofia’s empty bed. ‘It seems that the Pilgrim has decided to get to me through other means.’
‘Horton,’ James declared.
‘Speaking of which, did I hear you mention paperwork?’ Ottolenghi said.
James nodded. ‘Yes, the girl here said some was left for the professor.’
The girl fished an envelope out of her pocket and handed it to Lombroso. He opened it and gasped.
‘What does it say? Tell me, Professor, please.’ James could hardly contain himself.
Lombroso looked at it gravely. ‘It asks me to go to the top of La Mole Antonelliana at five-thirty this afternoon if I wish to see Sofia again. And then it says . . .’ He paused as if he could hardly get the words out. ‘It says that this is the last Tribute to Lombroso.’
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Murderers affect gentle, compassionate manners and a calm air among those they do not know. While they are not great wine drinkers, they love gambling and sex.
Lombroso, 1876 p 73
They dodged Machinetti’s men easily enough by the simple device of leaving the house through a back entrance.
‘So much for round-the-clock protection,’ Lombroso had remarked, sardonically.
La Mole Antonelliana was, at 548 feet, the tallest building in Turin. When they arrived they stood for a moment or two looking at it. It was fenced off because the building was not yet completed. They found a side door in an alley, but it was locked.
‘How are we going to get in?’ James asked.
Lombroso pulled some keys from his pocket. ‘Crime sometimes pays, gentlemen. We should always remember that.’
He jiggled each of them in turn in the lock until finally there was a click and the door opened into a large central atrium.
‘How do we get to the top of the building?’ Ottolenghi asked. James looked around but there didn’t seem to be a lift of any kind.
Lombroso sighed. ‘We’ll have to take the stairs.’
They helped themselves to some builder’s lanterns left in the stairwell and began their ascent but their progress was slow. Lombroso was fit for his age but James could see that he was finding it a challenge. He stopped occasionally and leant on his silver-topped cane for support. Even James and Ottolenghi had to pause every now and again in order to catch their breath. Occasionally there was a creak and they stopped.
Ottolenghi smiled at the look of alarm on James’s face and informed him that the earthquake that had hit Turin earlier that year had caused some structural damage. ‘We should be all right though. It’s still standing.’
Once he had heard that, the higher they got the more James thought that he could feel the stairs actually moving. None of this deterred them, though. They all knew what was at stake. The killer was Horton and he had taken Sofia. He had to be stopped. James tried to put from his mind what they might find when they got to the top but it was hard. All he could think of were the mutilations that he had witnessed over the last few weeks.
Finally, after what must have been at least an hour, they arrived at their destination. It was already dark and, as they stepped out onto the topmost section of the building, an observation area surrounded by stone pillars, James was momentarily struck by the beauty of the city, its lights glinting in the evening gloom. He was about to say something but Lombroso put a finger to his lips to hush him then beckoned them to follow him as he slowly made his way round the circular balcony. James looked up for a second and saw the angel at the very top of the tower looking down on them as if protecting them. He was known in the city as the ‘winged genius’ and James fervently hoped that he would live up to his name.
Suddenly Lombroso stopped and then James gasped as he saw her. He almost did not recognise her at first. Sofia was still alive but her beautiful hair had been shorn. She was bound to one of the pillars and a cloth had been tied round her mouth. The lack of hair made her eyes look even bigger than before. They were full of fear and James wanted nothing more than to run to her and set her free. Ottolenghi stopped him with a restraining arm and he followed his glance to the floor beside Sofia.
A figure lay there and James could just see, in the light of Lombroso’s lantern, as the candle flickered in the icy wind, that it was surrounded by a pool of what looked like blood. Ottolenghi went over to the figure and felt for a pulse. He looked up and shook his head briskly. Lombroso joined him and examined the body briefly. James could see then that the cause of death was clear. He had been shot in the face. He turned away for a minute, revolted. There was almost nothing left of the man’s features. But even that had not been enough for the killer. The corpse had been further mutilated as the other victims had been. This time the heart had been removed and placed carefully on the stomach. Underneath it lay a note. Lombroso took a deep breath and lifted the congealed mass of flesh and blood in order to pull the note away. He got to his feet.
‘The last tribute,’ he murmured.
‘Well, not quite . . .’ The voice came from behind Sofia and James saw a figure in a hooded cloak standing behind her. At first his eyes were drawn to the cloak’s golden clasp that glinted in the fading autumn light, then he saw that the figure was holding a pistol aimed at Sofia’s head. He did not seem to be on the balcony itself and for a second James thought that the figure was floating in mid air but then he saw that the man was standing in a builder’s cradle suspended at the side of the tower.
‘Horton, why have you done this?’ James cried, unable to contain himself.
‘Ah, a case of mistaken identity,’ the figure said. ‘It’s getting to be somewhat of a habit, is it not?’
‘Then who are you?’ Lombroso asked. ‘What do you want?’
‘Don’t you recognise me, Cesare? Does our friendship mean so little to you?’
James heard Lombroso gasp as the figure threw back its hood.
‘What I want is much simpler than a man like you could ever imagine,’ Borelli replied. ‘You killed my brother.’
‘I have killed no one! You are mistaken!’ Lombroso protested. He appeared to be genuinely puzzled.
Borelli looked at him and shook his head. ‘You don’t even remember, do you? My brother was convicted of murder. He died in prison, a broken man. You testified against him. You said that he was a born criminal, an habitual killer wh
o could not change his nature. He kept telling you that he was innocent but you did not listen.’
‘What did he say?’ Lombroso asked.
‘ “Nothing can harm a good man, either in life or after death.” ’
James heard himself catch his breath. He remembered where he had heard those words before. Not only had Sighetti repeated a version of them but earlier Lombroso himself had quoted them exactly during the prison demonstration, as the words of the young man he had helped to convict of murder.
Lombroso sighed deeply. ‘He had killed someone. How was I wrong?’
‘He was innocent,’ Borelli cried, ‘but your vanity would not allow for that.’
‘He may have told you that – but habitual criminals rarely admit their own deeds, even to themselves.’
‘I know he did not do it.’
‘How could you know, Adolfo?’ Lombroso asked.
Then there came a great roar of pain, ‘Because it was me!’
There was a terrible silence as they tried to make sense of this confession.
‘I murdered the old woman who lived next door to us, the miserable cow.’ Borelli paused and shook his head. ‘Don’t you see, Cesare? I am the habitual murderer. I’ve been under your nose for years but you couldn’t spot me, could you, for all your theories.’
‘You killed all those people just for that?’ James cried out in fury.
Borelli looked at him and sneered. ‘People? They’re not people. They’re criminals. What do they matter? Lombroso treats them as subjects and so do I. I used to them to prove my hypothesis, like any good scientist.’ He turned to Lombroso. ‘Did you not recognise your work? Noses, ears, jaws, tongues for criminal jargon, tattoos, feet, a shifty gaze . . . you named them all as criminal characteristics of your beloved type and yet you could not recognise the criminal who was standing next to you. How does that make you feel?’
Lombroso was silent.
‘But DeClichy was no criminal,’ Ottolenghi protested. ‘Why did you kill him?’
Borelli frowned for a moment. ‘You are right. He was no criminal. He was a decent man with decent theories, if only someone had listened to him.’ He glared at Lombroso. ‘I did not kill him. My victims, if you must call them that, were sacrificed in the name of science.’
‘And Rosa Bruno?’ Lombroso said quietly. ‘You did not kill her either, I think.’
Borelli looked at him. ‘I did not, though I might have done, given the opportunity. But someone beat me to it. I admit I was lucky. Even with your bumbling about, Cesare, you might just have got to me sooner than was convenient if it hadn’t been for Signor Horton.’
‘You framed him, didn’t you?’ James said.
Borelli smiled and pulled something from his coat pocket. It shone even in the meagre light available. ‘Would you like a cigar, Murray?’
James gasped. ‘Horton’s cigar case – you took it at the first salon.’
Borelli laughed. ‘I did. It was what gave me the idea of framing him. There he was, flashing his case round, handing out his largesse as if he owned the place. It was too good an opportunity to miss. I decided that he would be an excellent candidate to be your murderer, so I took the butt of the cigar he offered me and went back to the scene of Soldati’s death after I left the salon and left it there in the hope that it would be found. I must thank you for your efforts, young Murray. It was largely down to you that I succeeded. You were so busy picking up the cigar butts, the little piles of ash and pieces of paper I left for you that you didn’t give me so much as a cursory glance. Your scientific policing is indeed useful for providing evidence but don’t forget that I am a lawyer. It is my job to persuade people to think black is white – and I am a master of manipulation.’
James stared at him. ‘Of course! “The finest lawyer in Turin” and Sighetti was your client.’
‘Ah, finally the penny drops.’ Borelli turned back to Lombroso. ‘You know, Cesare, that if I had killed either Bruno or DeClichy I would have followed your list of criminal characteristics, the list you so thoughtfully left lying about in your study. It was a template for my work. It wasn’t easy to get hold of – I had to organise a burglary – but it was worth it.’
‘I suppose your support at the meeting discussing my dismissal was all part of your plan,’ Lombroso said, almost wearily.
Borelli sneered. ‘Well, I would not want my challenge to be over so soon, now would I? It was almost too easy. You even helped me yourself. I had to intervene because I wanted your downfall to be complete – not just a suspension based on tittle-tattle. I had so much more up my sleeve.’
‘Like the carvings?’ James asked. ‘What significance did they have?’
Borelli looked at him and gave an empty laugh. ‘None whatsoever – they were just – now what is the expression? – red herrings, I believe. I simply wanted to make it interesting by leaving a little clue. It was the same with the so-called Solomonite scrapings in the tunnels. A little research was all it took – oh, that and some help from my accomplice here.’
He indicated the body that lay nearby. ‘He did a good job for me; in some ways it is a pity he had to die.’
‘Who is he?’ James asked.
‘All in good time, Murray. I see you are as impatient as ever. A final clue though – you know him.’
James looked down at what was left of the body, hoping that it was not Sighetti.
Borelli continued. ‘I led you all a merry dance, did I not? It was so very entertaining to watch you, Cesare, with your ridiculous ideas. There you were, puzzling over this clue and that and still you got precisely nowhere. Criminal expert, my eye!’
‘And the letters?’ Ottolenghi asked.
‘I wrote to you, Cesare, but not to the newspapers. That was someone else’s doing,’ Borelli replied. ‘But I’m a generous man, I don’t mind lending, or borrowing for that matter, if it helps another in their work. Besides, I rather enjoyed being the Pilgrim.’
‘So your experiments have disproved my theories,’ Lombroso said. ‘Well done. You’ve got what you wanted. Now it’s time to stop this.’
‘Oh no, I don’t think so. Did you really think it would be that easy?’ Borelli said. ‘I have not quite finished my work.’ He looked at James and sneered. ‘How do you like your amante now? Not so beautiful inside or out, is she? She gave herself her to me only too willingly. She’s just a whore after all. What is it you say, Cesare? “Where criminal women differ most markedly from the insane is in the rich luxuriance of their hair.” I’ve taken that. And now, unless you accede to my final request, I’ll take her pretty eyes to go with it.’
Again James went as if to rescue her but was restrained by Ottolenghi.
‘What is it that you want?’ Lombroso asked.
‘I want you,’ Borelli said, ‘in return for Sofia – a fair exchange, don’t you think?’ He beckoned at Lombroso. ‘Join me here and you can have her, if you think the whore is worth it.’
Borelli moved closer to Sofia and removed her gag, leaning towards her as if he was going to kiss her. She turned her face away from him and he began to caress her body with the pistol. James wanted to kill him there and then but he held himself back, afraid of what Borelli might do. The way he was looking at her reminded him of something. He struggled to bring back the memory and then all of a sudden it came to him. He had watched in an alley way as Lombroso had paid Sofia what had looked like a clandestine visit. Since then he had been haunted by the possibility that there was something between them. Now he realised how wrong he had been. It was not Lombroso but Borelli he had seen that night. James wondered then what hold he had over her that would induce her to entertain him in such a way. Despite what Borelli claimed he knew she would never give herself to such a man willingly.
Borelli looked directly at them. ‘I’m waiting. We don’t have time for you to produce one of your theories, Cesare.’
Lombroso moved towards him, his hands raised up as if in supplication.
‘Profe
ssor, no!’ Ottolenghi shouted.
Lombroso looked at him and shook his head as if to silence him. When he reached the edge of the building Borelli began to assist Lombroso to climb into the cradle. As soon as they were safely inside he nodded at James and he ran over to Sofia and began to untie her. Borelli started to lower the cradle and looked over the balcony for a moment. Suddenly James saw Lombroso take his cane and, with a well-aimed blow, manage to hit the gun out of Borelli’s grip. Borelli spun round and put his hands around Lombroso’s neck and began to throttle him while Lombroso waved his cane around wildly, trying to beat Borelli with it until the lawyer seized it and threw it down.
The cradle rocked precariously from side to side as Lombroso tried desperately to weaken Borelli’s grip and it looked as if both men would be tipped out. On they fought, with the lights of the city twinkling incongruously in the background, witnessing a struggle for life or death. James looked round for something, anything that he could use as a weapon.
‘Over there!’ Sofia pointed to the stairwell. There was a piece of metal lying in a corner. It was only a couple of feet long but it might be enough, James thought, as he grasped it and ran over to the cradle. He leant over and aimed at Borelli’s head but he was just out of reach. Again and again James tried until he was hanging right over the edge.
‘Hold me!’ he cried out to Ottolenghi and felt him grab hold of his legs. ‘Now push me over!’
‘James! Be careful!’ Sofia shouted.
Each time he swung the metal bar it came tantalisingly close to Borelli. Then Borelli felt it just brush the very top of his head. He looked up at James and snarled and Lombroso took the opportunity to loosen Borelli’s hands from around his throat, allowing him to recover slightly.
Then James was finally close enough to make proper contact. He swung the bar back for all he was worth and then brought it down as hard as he could onto Borelli. But instead of hearing a satisfying thwack he felt the bar stop just short. Borelli had seized it. He pulled at it and James felt Ottolenghi’s grip on his legs weaken slightly. For a split second he relinquished his grip on the bar – but it was enough. Borelli grabbed it and promptly hit Lombroso across the head with it. The professor staggered slightly but recovered and then he too grabbed the bar. They wrestled with it in the middle of them, like two retired boxers desperate for a final shot at fame and fortune in the ring. And then suddenly it was falling away to the ground beneath in a sinister echo of what might befall either one of them. James could hear it bounce off the sides of the building as it crashed to earth and Ottolenghi pulled him up to safety. Again the cradle began to sway dangerously as Borelli and Lombroso struggled.
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