They were a pair of bastards who ruined both my life and my stupid wife’s life forever!”
“This seems to me like half a confession, tell me the truth. Did you kill them?” The DI looked him straight in the eye, trying to penetrate his soul with his stare.
“No, absolutely not. I can swear to it, on the grave of my son!”
There was a brief pause, and then he continued “I can’t hide the fact that I would like to have been the killer” and a tear of pure rage mixed with the pain that showed clearly on his face, ran down his cheek.
“What you are saying is very serious. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you. I know what happened to you and I’m sorry. Anyway, this is not an interrogation.
Leave me the receipt of your hotel and, if you have it right now, give me your wife’s telephone number and address.”
Anselmi placed the receipt on the table and wrote a couple of numbers on the back.
“Ah, Velden. Is it nice there?” asked Veronesi.
“Yes, really pretty, I like Carinzia as well, there are lots of lakes, all stunning. You ought to go there sometime.”
“ I might do that, thank you for now. Keep where we can get in touch with you, we may need to talk to you again.”
Once they reached the car Saturno said conclusively “That’s not him, he doesn’t look like a killer or someone who steals from dead bodies. And he doesn’t even have the body of an athlete who could jump over a gate, even if it isn’t very high like the one belonging to the Barone house.”
“I don’t know. He seemed sincere, but there’s something not quite right. Anyway, check out his alibi.” Then, glancing at the number Anselmi had given him he realised it was the same one found amongst Mauro Ridolfi’s calls made and on the cheque in Dr. Barone’s safe.
He had forgotten to get information through the operator, but there was no need now. He now knew whose number it was and had another reason to make a quick visit to check one of his suspicions which had already started a mechanism in his brain.
30
As Valeria Anselmi’s telephone was continually off the hook, the only solution was to go with Saturno to the house in Corrubio where she lived.
The house still belonged to Anselmi and it was the same one they had both lived in happily years ago. She still lived there, after Giulio’s custody case, according to the agreements following their separation. She would soon have to return it to her husband, whose name was still on the doorbell. Saturno rang the bell.
They heard the sound echo inside the house.
No sign of life.
Veronesi rang it again insistently and at long last, at the third attempt, a tired, sleepy voice came through the intercom.
“Police. We need to talk to you.”
The small gate clicked open and while Veronesi looked around at the neglect evident in the small garden, a woman wearing a light coloured dressing gown appeared in the doorway, rubbing her face as if she had just woken up.
She had blondish hair and light blue eyes, but the dark shadows under her eyes were a sign of disturbed sleep.
What must once have been a delicate beauty in the past was now a sort of ghost which moved like a robot.
Veronesi went in, closely followed by Saturno. She indicated they should sit on the sofa in the middle of the living room which was also the entrance hall.
Veronesi sat down, while Saturno remained standing to observe the apartment.
Valeria sat down in one of the armchairs in front of the DI, who felt uneasy at the sight of that sweet but sad face, a sadness which made him loathe the life which Valeria had probably fallen prey to, believing in the fairy stories of a high life she dreamed of as a child.
Veronesi tried to imagine her past.
“When was the last time you saw your husband?” he asked her
“Last year, on the day of our son’s funeral. I go to the cemetery to visit Giulio’s grave early in the morning, when I know he goes to work, and then I come home and sleep. I don’t go at all on Sundays, in case I meet someone.
I don’t want to see anyone anymore, my telephone is almost always turned off and I live like a vegetable, sleeping in the day and staying awake at nights, in front of the television. That’s where I heard about the murders of the last few days.”
Veronesi thought she was sincere and that she had no need for an alibi, seeing the state she was in.
“Can you tell me something about Ridolfi? Seeing as you admitted you keep the telephone switched off, why did you call him the evening he was killed?” Veronesi demanded, staring into her dead eyes.
“I’ll have to move out of this house soon and I needed a favour. I have no money and no job. As he once had a soft spot for me I thought he might have helped me.”
“Like, for example, your old friend Patrizia Barone?”
“That viper. Yes, once I did think she was my friend. It was through her that I met Mauro, but then.. it’s all over now. I have nothing left, above all I no longer have a son, but now even with all the money she had, she’s dead too.
Now she won’t be able to hug her children again either.”
She uttered the last words with a gesture of sadness laced with a vein of hate which Veronesi saw flare up in her eyes for a second.
“But were you having or did you have a relationship with Ridolfi?”
“Yes, once, during a holiday. A long time ago he started to court me thinking he could buy me like all the others, but it didn’t work with me. But he didn’t give up and he used to take me home. I was going through a crisis, as since I got married I stopped working. My husband preferred it that way, he neglected me but when Mauro started paying me attention he became jealous, even violent, he always shouted, even in front of Giulio. Then Patrizia and another friend of hers convinced me to go away with them.
It was destiny that I should end up sleeping with Mauro, but when we were together, intimately, I understood. Courting me in that way had been a moment of weakness for him. He saw me as a normal woman, outside his usual circle, a woman he could form a normal family with, a woman with the son he confessed to me he could not have. He was looking for a sweet, serious woman like me, separated and as deluded as I was: he had practically chosen me. But he had physical problems, he wanted abnormal sexual relationships, he took drugs all the time, even in front of me. He was completely.. burnt out.”
Telling the story had brought a note of anxiety into Valeria’s voice.
She continued.
“Then, even his promises evaporated into nothing. After a few days he fell victim again to his stupid friendships. Patrizia and that other Susanna pretended they were jealous, they said that it was my fault that he neglected them. So Mauro started to ridicule me, so that he didn’t look as if he had suddenly become a serious person. He said that I didn’t know how to dance, that I sulked and that evening he left me alone in the hotel room, crying, while full of cocaine he went to wait for sunrise on the beach with his friends. When we got back to Italy he gave me some money to make me forget everything and to make sure I did not go around talking about his problems, but it was the start of a nightmare for me. I had ruined my life for a stupid whim.
My husband did not accept any justification, what I had done was outside his logic and on the other hand I didn’t expect to be pardoned, and didn’t even ask him to forgive me.
Lorenzo wanted to send me away but then, for Giulio’s sake, we came to an agreement: but our marriage was over. There was no love to start with and so it was easy to agree.”
“…..then “ and she burst into a dismal, subdued tears.
“Please let me go back to sleep?” she begged him
Veronesi let out a long sigh, stood up and nodded at Saturno.
He held out a hand to say goodbye and noticed some scars above her wrists. That was certainly not the hand of someone who could hide in a garage, lie in wait for a couple in the night, jump over a gate and slit throats.
Valeria watched him drive away through t
he curtains at the window. She started to rub her hands up her arms, trembling; she scratched nervously at the marks left by recent injections; she walked to the table next to the sofa and picked up the switched off mobile phone. Still shaking she turned it on and composed a number.
“Come, come now. I need you.”
31
It was two in the afternoon. Veronesi was deep in thought and was examining the objects in front of him. There was nothing definite yet, but the two murders were obviously connected and not only because of the weapon used. The same technique and lack of evidence, apart from what the assassin wanted to leave and that was the masks.
He was missing something.
The telephone rang. It was Dr Renzi, head of the scientific laboratory.
“Veronesi, we’ve just looked at the tape recorded by the small camera at the entrance to the garage, but don’t expect a great deal.”
“I’m coming now.”
The DI went down the stairs and walked along the long corridor which led to his colleague’s office. Renzi was a sturdy type, elegant, with an intelligent, ironic expression, worn out by his job, his hair streaked with grey, but his eyes were dark and vivacious, full of life.
He was carefully applying fingerprint powder to several objects belonging to Patrizia Barone.
He pointed at the television in front of which one of the other experts was working.
“It doesn’t help us much. The caretaker who finishes at 8 pm says it doesn’t always work.”
“Fantastic! Let me have a look at least.”
“It’s not a continuous sequence but a series of out-of-focus stills. Anyway, an hour before the time at which the murder took place you can just make out half a black umbrella which comes in – can you see? If that is our man or woman he or she covered up the camera on purpose. You can make out a dark raincoat under the umbrella, like the ones that are in fashion at the moment.”
Veronesi thought about his own coat, on the coat stand in his office, it was dark too.
“It might not be him, it could be an employee going to collect his car he left there. There are no more cameras either at the exit or inside the garage” said Renzi.
“So at first sight we can’t make out whether he is thin or fat, if it’s a woman or a man?” Veronesi asked him.
“Who knows? Our Zorro leaves no prints; he’s a true crime professional who uses gloves and even covers his feet! During Sunday night’s killings even the weather was on his side, the rain washed away almost everything and none of the neighbours saw or heard anything through the windows. No witnesses.
He’s very careful, he appears and disappears into nothing like a ghost and leaves no clues apart from what he wants us to find. At this point I can’t help you any more.”
Renzi’s eyes moved and stared at the DI.
“It’s up to you to establish whether we’re dealing with a jealous husband, a victim of those money sharks or a psychopath.”
“Or all three!” Gianni Veronesi added.
“The psychological profile that emerges, in my opinion is a person who has a very precise plan, but in my opinion, he’s running.. he may be in a hurry, but he hasn’t finished yet. If we are dealing with a serial killer he will strike again” Renzi concluded.
32
The DI returned to his study.
Investigations into enemies of Ridolfi and the Barone couple would take a long time and could be complicated by involving financial interests outside the scope of the killer.
He was only interested in the killer.
His thoughts returned to what Suzy had told him, hers was the best testimony he had gathered so far.
He had learned that a policeman’s first instinct was always the best.
The longer investigations dragged on, the more complicated even the simplest of crimes became, testimonies disappeared like memories, evidence ran the risk of being compromised and everything became more difficult, then it all ended up in the hands of the lawyers and that was the end.
He had to find the killer right away; his career was at a crossroads. Young career-minded inspectors were pushing at him from behind, he needed to quickly discover who had killed the three fairly well-known figures in his own city, even if he was not that interested in them.
He thought disappointedly at the squalor of the courting ritual that Ridolfi had probably used on Valeria, Rag Anselmi’s ex-wife.
He felt a little pity for her. He had already checked her alibi, it seemed perfect, at least as far as the first killing was concerned.
The inexpert new bride had her story with Ridolfi: all her trouble sprang from there, the end of her marriage and the death of her son. Recently Patrizia had lent her some money, a sum which did not justify a murder and which certainly her husband was unaware of.
On the other hand even he, who often had to investigate the behaviour of others, did not know of the fact that his own wife gambled money at the Casino in Venice and had also asked Mrs. Barone for a loan.
That fat, evil cow, who seemed to have time to waste and who amused herself by ruining families, was in fact a miserable money shark and who knows what deals she had with her great friend Ridolfi and why they had managed to get Cavasso so heavily involved. Maybe they had convinced him to purchase something that led him into debt?
He couldn’t concentrate; he had created confusion inside his head.
There were too many people he knew quite well involved in this investigation, and he could not make his usual detached critical analysis.
He tried to feel a touch of condemnation for the victims and a sort of disinterest in the end they had come to.
Was he trying to discover their brutal assassin or was he applauding his actions?
In his heart he loathed that part of so-called high society, which, snobbish by nature, lived in a world halfway between aristocracy and snob, accepting a series of interwoven affairs more or less kept secret, but open to public knowledge.
If Patrizia, with her perverse ruffian nature, had not been full of money from birth, she would certainly have become a prostitute herself.
He thought about Giorgia again, his practically ex wife.
The previous evening a female voice who claimed to be “the wife of DI Veronesi” had called headquarters asking where he was.
Upon his return he had called an annoyed Giorgia who told him abruptly that she would spend the night at her best friend Laura’s house.
He had now started to hate that cold beauty, she was the one who had stolen his wife’s affection, with her history of vice.
He had to accept the fact that they had probably had a sexual relationship, that they made love together and who knows when it had started.
To hell with his career, he would ask for a separation, he could not go on like this.
He thought about Suzy again.
Instead of bedding her he should have questioned her about her acquaintances in the world of drugs and escorts.
That sort of interrogation had taken a strange turn and he had shown a weakness which could cost him dearly.
He shivered at the thought that something could leak out about their meeting, but after all he was only out for one hour and had told no-one where he was going. And then he had left his scarf in her apartment, he must have lost his mind to let her drag him into her perverse game.
Then again he couldn’t deny that he had liked it a lot.
Perhaps there was a little of Mr. Hyde inside him which he never knew about, that is until yesterday.
He had to make sure, but if there was to be a next time, he would be more careful and more in control of his senses. Now it was better to make the relationship clear very quickly and anyway he could not leave his piece of clothing in the hands of a woman as dangerous as Suzy.
Who knows, she could blackmail him or even just ask him for a few favours.
He tried to call her again.
Did he just want to speak to her, or did he want to see her again?
He
called her number.
The usual message .. of an escort.
Lorenzo Anselmi had also suddenly appeared at the headquarters asking for him and then, just before he arrived, had left?
He was there just to be scrupulous, he had spoken to Saturno to declare that on Sunday evening he went to the cinema and that if the police wanted him to, he could produce several witnesses.
“The Barone couple also went to the cinema .. maybe they saw the same film” he thought again.
The killer waited for them inside their garden, he knew the time they would be coming home.
That crime could also have been catalogued as murder with the intent to steal, but he felt that in reality that was not the case, it couldn’t have been.
The weapon used was another message which linked it undoubtedly to the other two events, the same circle of friends, just as Susanna had told him herself.
Perhaps the serial killer had a plan.
Almost anticipating his idea the telephone on the left side of his desk started to ring.
Veronesi jumped up, it was Renzi, head of the scientific dept.
“Veronesi, I can confirm that the weapons used for the three murders are of the same type, or it may actually be the same weapon. We found tiny fragments on the golden chain of Mrs. Barone’s handbag. They could be hundreds of years old, from medieval Japan. They certainly come from a blade which is not a common knife and, even though antique, it has certainly not lost any of its murderous features. It’s made of steel which must have been tempered and re-tempered on hard stone by the maker.
Even today there are a few makers who adopt the old zen principle to produce sharp swords similar to the ones the samurai warriors once used.
The most famous and legendary are the Muramasa. They were so sharp that, according to legend, they could slice through dead leaves floating on a river. It could be either a katana, the long one, also known as daito, or the wakishazi or shoto, the short one with two slits on the point, the one used for ritual suicides and to kill jealous concubines.”
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