His eyes, still tired, could hardly follow the movement of the balls on the green felt and certainly did not notice a person wearing a dark raincoat who suddenly appeared in the doorway who, catching sight of him, immediately withdrew, as if they did not want to be recognised.
He suddenly retched.
Saliva started to rise in his throat and, realising what was about to happen, he jumped up and ran towards the toilet, moving people in his path out of the way with a movement of his hand. He closed the door rapidly behind him and vomited all traces of the sandwiches he had eaten too quickly and soaked in too much grappa during his afternoon inventory.
While the acid churned in his stomach he opened the window which looked out in the direction of the Adige to let the smell out of the tiny space. The cold night air mixed with rain made a shiver run down his spine. He looked outside and a sight made him jump. In the distance he saw a couple he knew well, disturbing his digestion on that strange Sunday.
His hated loan shark, the money lender who possessed his cheques, was walking, or rather running, under the ever-increasing rain, swearing at her husband who was following a little way behind her.
17
It was just past midnight.
Silvio Barone and his wife Patrizia were going home, walking as closely to the buildings as possible to avoid the thick, persistent rain after a sudden storm and which gave no sign of ceasing to fall on the city.
Patrizia, languid and slightly over-weight beauty, past forty, the bronzed face a symbol of her wealth, was as elegant as always in the light coat she wore. Her hair was still dark, but her waist was not as defined and her physique was heavy, despite hours spent in the gym and weekends dedicated to evening dancing.
She swore habitually at her husband, about her same height and as rounded, with glasses, a few grey hairs, the air of a tranquil employee who has had the courage, or luck, to marry a rich heiress.
“I asked you before we came out. Will it rain again? And you, all calm, can’t you see it has already stopped, it has rained all day, it will be finishing soon, let’s not take the car, let’s have a nice walk. In fact, it’s a deluge!”
“You were the one who wanted to go out at all costs; we could have stayed at home watching TV”
“Yes, thinking about poor dead Mauro: I haven’t been out since yesterday in case I get robbed by some … foreigner. That’s it! It must have been one of them, one of those types who hang about rich houses, always ready to attack you, and we have to pay for them. We even hand out benefits and up go the taxes. I know who is right, sooner or later we’ll make a border, but the Po is too far south. The Adige should be the border, without doubt”
“Well we would then have to move, as we are south of your river” her husband answered sarcastically, waiting for a reaction which did not come.
“Ridolfi got what he deserved” he thought to himself with satisfaction. Now he wouldn’t be able to clown about with his wife and would also stop his underhand games of money lending, which had become worse than he thought and had got him involved too.
At the beginning those dealings had seemed a sort of plaything which Patrizia needed to satisfy her flighty nature, but lately the games had become heavier and more dangerous.
He had already told both of them that he could no longer cover them through the studio, but as usual she just shrugged and told him she would carry on with or without him, but with the help of her Ridolfi.
He had consented to keep the peace in their relationship, but now Ridolfi was dead, finally…
Whoever did it (he had many enemies for one reason or another), he would have loved to have been there while they were killing him, to see the expression on his face as he died, as he had to put up with the sight of it for years.
Silvio Barone had been the accountant for the rich family that Patrizia belonged to, youngest child and only daughter, after a run of three boys. She was the wildest, most spoilt, most expensive and intriguing woman he had ever met.
Silvio loved money and from the very first day that Patrizia, curious about his affairs, accompanied her father to the studio where he had worked ever since he completed his degree, he had started to court the young heiress, picking up on her instinctive love of money.
Ignoring the age difference between them he had courted her in the way which came easiest to him, insinuating his way in with the calculating adoration of the servant knight, willing to be her slave or chauffeur, her confidante or counsellor, ready to receive her every order and forgive her every wild action.
And he was successful.
When they got married his father-in-law bought out the old owner of the studio and signed it over to his daughter, leaving the running completely in the hands of his new son-in-law.
Silvio, in realty, had always been his wife’s employee in everything, even in bed!
He never got involved in her special friendships; his non-interference was an unspoken agreement.
All Silvio needed was the love of his two children; he had probably changed more of their nappies than Patrizia.
Let her go on holiday with her friends, travelling with Ridolfi, Friday night in discotheques or even getting laid by some dancer, he couldn’t care less.
Ridolfi’s death had not effected him in the slightest, in fact he would gain from it. He was his accountant too and for that reason he had often had to put up with the odd stupid joke at his expense.
“Listen!? Can you hear someone?” his wife hissed in the darkness.
There was only the sound of rain against the roofs of the house and buildings.
Silvio saw a couple of people on the other side of the river who were walking home holding their umbrellas bent against the drops which were getting heavier.
“There’s no-one, it’s almost 1”
Patrizia started walking more rapidly, and then she stopped suddenly.
The sound of another footstep stopping could just be heard behind her.
“I’m sure there’s someone following us… “
She turned round to look, but there was no-one there.
On the main road, a little further away, only cars moved under the steadily increasing rain.
Slightly panicking, Patrizia walked more quickly, covering her head with her handbag and leaving her husband behind.
“Come on, run, we’re almost there. Why is there never anyone around at this time of night?”
“You’re the one who wanted a house covered by trees, to hide away from the curious people’s envy, you said” her husband replied sarcastically, then, hearing a noise, he also stopped.
“Did you see someone?” Patrizia asked anxiously, turning round fearfully.
A pair of cats appeared from the lawn of the next apartment building, chasing each other under the rain, followed by the typical noise made by cats during the mating period.
“I can’t stand them.”
Patrizia ran the last part of the way which brought her to the private road leading to their house. As she reached the low gate she nervously took out a key from her handbag and while she was inserting it, she thought she heard the sound of footsteps again.
Her husband was right behind her, and she immediately slammed the gate shut violently.
Then, reassured by the fact that she felt safe inside the garden of her own home, she was unable to resist glancing back at the road one more time.
“Looks like he’s gone, I don’t’ know? Damn him” she said, her breathing now calming down.
Patrizia sighed, satisfied, and turned towards her husband who was still behind her, leaning against the gate.
Dr. Silvio Barone could not answer her; his body was beginning to crumple while blood gushed from his throat which had just been slit.
Patrizia turned and saw the slim blade of the assassin who was coming towards her at incredible speed, emerging from the night shadow surrounded by the thick drops of intense rain. She fended off the stroke badly with the bag she was holding, but the blow hit her in the
face, horribly mutilating her.
She fell to the ground with a dull thud, letting out a suffocated groan.
With an equally quick move the assassin was on top of her, slitting her throat and inflicting other rapid, almost geometric wounds all over her body, slashing her beautiful dress into shreds.
He then turned his attention to the husband, placing his thumb and fingers encased in white rubber gloves on the jugular vein of his victim to make sure that death had reached him too.
For a brief second he searched Dr. Barone’s body, looking for and finding cash.
He removed his gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of his dark raincoat, dropped a black mask, then disappeared into the rain.
On the upper floor of the villa a first light was turned on, followed by a second which illuminated the large window that overlooked the front garden.
The babysitter in her dressing gown who had been sleeping beside the couple’s children, opened the window and let out a scream which tore through the silence of the night, as she saw the two bodies laid on the ground, under the beating rain…
18
Sunday, a calm day of little use to the investigations following that tragic Saturday, had finished more than an hour ago.
It was practically Monday.
DI Veronesi gave a last glance outside the window before lowering the shutters of his bedroom.
Out there somewhere in his city there was a new assassin, one who had not just killed to steal, one who his intuition told him would strike again.
With an ear to the wall he tried to listen to the voices coming from the next room where his wife slept, she was talking to someone on the phone. He gave up trying and sat down on the edge of his bed, about to get undressed, looking at his mobile phone on the bedside table, secretly wishing he could turn it off.
He rubbed his chin with his left hand, it was prickly, he had forgotten to shave that morning.
The weather had been so bad all day that it had been no problem spending almost the entire day inside his office, putting together all the ideas that the death of Ridolfi had brought up, evaluating the proof that had been gathered and trying to coordinate the work of his team.
From the first evidence gathered at record speed, despite the two semi-work days of the weekend, nothing comforting had emerged which could help in the preliminary investigation which had just started.
The assassin moved like an expert, like a ghost, there were no recent cigarette butts or any other residue of his presence, but above all there were no traces that could be found.
He appeared to have walked with the lightness of a deadly angel, with shoes covered by surgeon’s boots, holding his breath and swallowing his own saliva:
a customer who appeared as cold and glacial as his knife.
In truth all the investigations that had taken place in those hours had brought up nothing new and the police were working completely in the dark.
There could have been doubts and suspicion about the world that the victim moved in, small businessmen mixed with a few dealings at the very edge of the law, luxury escorts mixed with more or less respectable women, like his own wife…
Giorgia had just come in after him and had turned on the television in the lounge, as she always did.
He had not asked her where she had been or who with.
Outside it was still raining; it was not stopping, it really looked as though spring was postponed, after a winter colder than it had been for long time.
His mind had memorized the melody of his mobile phone to such an extent that he did not even hear the usual “Mozart’s 40th sonata”.
“Are you going to get that or not?” Giorgia’s irritated voice distracted him as she went to turn down the volume on the television.
He looked at the display. It was Saturno.
“Are you still awake? It looks like Zorro has struck again..”
“Damn him. Who? Where and when?” Veronesi said in a voice which did not reveal his surprise.
“And how many- this time two, the Barone couple, in front of their own front door, a road off via-”
“I know it, I know where they live, I’ll meet you there in five minutes”
Sitting in front of the television, his wife watched him without speaking, while he left, silently, looking worried, turning up the collar on his dark raincoat.
19
Veronesi stopped a few doors away from the small villa where the Baroni husband and wife lived, remaining in the car to reflect for a moment on the melancholic and dramatic scene, the image of a tragedy already consumed.
Rain seemed to drip from the lights in the short street, where the scanty lighting mixed with the flashing lights of the Police and Carabinieri cars which were blocking off the area around the elegant home, hidden by the tall, thick ornamental plants in the garden.
The unceasing bad weather had contributed to keeping onlookers away, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening on the road, drawn by the glare of all the lights but staying dry inside their own homes.
“This is the work of a professional killer, no foreign thief. He wears rubber gloves as used in operating theatres, he wears shoes covered with plastic tied to his feet and strikes in fatal points. He is a killer who knows what he wants and this filthy weather helps him cover any traces he may have left” commented the criminal lab technician who was trying to collect any clues which could help establish the killer’s movements, even if it was under heavy rain which had become even heavier and more annoying, protected by the umbrellas of the other policemen.
Veronesi, who had reached him, looked at the horrendous slash which had practically split Patricia’ s face in two.
The nose and mouth were mutilated, making it difficult for even the most skilled undertaker to recompose, and the killer had inflicted another couple of blows to the stomach region.
The body of Dr Barone was next to her, like a shadow, depicted even in death in the same role as he had in life, ever since he knew her.
Before fleeing, the killer had the time to remove his wallet from his jacket and leave a black mask which had been found beside the two bodies.
“Maybe our Zorro is trying to tell us something or maybe make us believe that it is only a .. signature theft?” Saturno commented. Then, turning to his superior he looked at him in a strange way.
“Were they your friends as well?”
“Well, more or less. I knew them by sight, especially the woman who was friends with my wife, she even came to our wedding”
“Do you know if he, apart from being an accountant, also lent money?”
“That’s news to me. It’s more likely that he was covering for his wife’s needs, but you already know all this, why ask me?”
“Dead bodies don’t affect you any more eh ?! Even if they are your friends..” Saturno shrugged, immediately changing the subject without replying.
Veronesi did not react to the comment, but he became thoughtful, as if he had been daydreaming.
“I missed that? What did you say?”
He frowned, surrounded by the mute stares of the other police-men.
“Anyway three murders in one weekend seem too many. I’m going home, there’s nothing more for us to do here. Get some statements and let’s meet tomorrow in the office. Let’s hope that our killer goes to sleep too for tonight.”
“Do you still think it is a he, or could it be a she?” he paused, looking at the scene again and questioning the specialist from scientific squad.
“This took strength. Maybe it is a .. he” the agent replied.
“I am really curious about the type of knife he uses. Look here, sir” and he indicated the point in which the blade hit Patrizia’s handbag. “The lady tried to deflect the first blow with the strap of her bag, but the killer’s blade must be something really precise and cutting and as sharp as a razor, because it cut through everything. A blow which reminds me of something .. oriental”
“We will be able to establish the type
of.. blade he used?”
“We’ll try, we may not be as good as the infallible American specialists, but we’ll come up with something, even with this rain” he replied, using special tweezers to extract invisible particles of metal which were caught in belt of the bag.
“See you tomorrow”.
20
MONDAY
It was nine o’clock on Monday morning.
DI Veronesi was struggling to keep up with the younger and fitter magistrate’s rapid stride, the physique of the career man, used to regular training, who was hurrying up the steps of the headquarters carrying a pile of newspapers.
“Panic is already spreading through the city and we can’t afford to fumble around in the dark. We’re already full of unresolved crimes, of gangs of thieves who pillage the villas and psychopathic types who roam the city disturbing the peace, all we needed was .. Zorro!
One of this town’s most well-known professionists and his wife, a person like Ridolfi!
Get a move on, our future is at risk, even if recently you seem to be a little too detached. I have been told that you rarely coordinate investigations with your colleagues, you’re not a team player. I know that you are one of the best investigators in the region, but don’t keep it all to yourself, stop behaving like an American head of the murder squad, who reveals all at the end.”
“Unfortunately we have little or nothing. Only suppositions” Veronesi replied, alarmed by those strange declarations, rubbing his eyes, tired and sleepy because of the night interrupted by the murder of the Barone couple.
“I don’t like these Zorro masks or Robin Hood styles” the magistrate continued. “ I don’t want to create a new case that fills the newspapers for months. If this trail of blood continues and it turns out to be a serial killer who hunts the rich, slitting their throats and we don’t catch him before summer starts, we will have our work cut out. You know what I am referring to Veronesi, you have always had my full support, so don’t let me down now.
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