The DI was dumbstruck.
“I think we’re dealing with a samurai dressed as Zorro, going around with an antique sword worth thousands who steals from his victims” Renzi continued, on the other end of the line, with his ironic air, mispronouncing the “R”.
“This is no common thief or disguised madman. I thought he wore the mask, but he doesn’t, we can rule that out. He or she, and don’t forget it could be a woman who works out, does not wear the mask. There are no traces of contact with skin and it is too small. Add to that the fact that the elastic has not been stretched at all and it’s evident that the killer keeps it in his pocket and leaves it on purpose. I don’t know what he wants to make us understand, but maybe it’s a cover-up or a way of misleading us. The fact that he takes money means he probably needs it, that he does not scorn money if he finds it.”
The DI continued to listen in silence.
“Veronesi do you understand what I am saying? Do know what those swords are like, the ones that samurai wear in their belts and are their symbol?”
“Of course I do. I own a pair, they’re in my sitting room” and he ended the conversation angrily.
A memory briefly flared in his mind, but at that precise moment the door burst open and Agent Saturno entered, out of breath.
“They’ve found another body signed by Zorro. This time it’s an ex dancer, a certain Susanna Chiari, known as Suzy.”
DI Veronesi felt a shiver run down his spine, his pulse increased suddenly and sweat began to break out on his forehead.
“Let’s go!”
He tucked his pistol into its holster and put on his jacket, and left his office with the most serious expression he had ever had.
33
The scientific squad agents were already at work at the scene of the crime, frozen in time presumably just as the killer had left it.
Suzy’s body was in the same position in which Gianni Veronesi had seen and abandoned it for the last time, naked, on her bed, with the hands tied to the edges of the brass bed with scarves. The head however, even if it was still attached to the rest of the body, seemed to be bound up like a mature fruit about to fall off the tree, immersed in a lake of blood that covered her snow-white silk sheets.
The agent who was examining the body turned as the DI entered.
“The body was discovered by the cleaner an hour ago, completely rigid, indicating that death took place at least an hour before midnight.
She had rung the bell but no-one answered and so she opened the door with her own keys as she usually did when no-one was home. She started cleaning the ground floor, and then she noticed bloodstains on the stairs and she found this” - he indicated Susanna’s body - “ we’re dealing with a maniac, perhaps an expert in martial arts, but this time it was someone that the victim knew well. There are no signs of a forced entry on the front door. They drank something together and then… at first sight it looks as if she allowed him to tie her up. It was a game she must have played often; from records we have received from the vice squad it seems that Suzy was an expert in SM. Maybe the killer was a client of hers. The fact is, there are no signs of struggle. He sodomized her, and then they must have played with this scarf. Then something must have gone wrong, or maybe the man suddenly had a new idea, who knows, if it was part of the game. He suddenly strangled her, and then he slit her throat from left to right, breaking her neck.
Then finally he cut part of her groin.
It should be noted that if we think it is the same person, now we know for sure that it is a man, but while he stole money from his other victims, he paid this one” he pointed to the left hand still tied to the head of the bed, in which a 100 euro note could be seen, together with the inevitable mask which was swinging from the still fingers.
“It seems he wants to provoke us, or perhaps humiliate us, humiliate the police. It’s possible. It’s part of the psychology of a serial killer who wants to play with us” continued Pighi, one of the experts of the scientific squad.
Veronesi was petrified faced with the scene.
He ran a hand through his hair.
He was wet with sweat.
His gesture did not escape the notice of all the agents present including Saturno, whose glance was magnetized immediately by the scarf.
He looked at it and then his glance turned to Veronesi, who had turned as white as a ghost.
Gianni Veronesi took the agent who had spoken by the arm and gestured to his closest colleague.
He led them both to a corner of the attic, while the other members of the specialist squads continued their task of photographing and measuring.
“Listen Pighi, and you too Saturno, I saw you recognise that scarf. In fact it is mine and my fingerprints will be everywhere, even on the whisky glass downstairs. There are my drops of sweat and even the sperm you will find inside the condom is mine. I was here last night with the victim, until about 10pm and I left her the way you see her now, when they called me from headquarters. But I didn’t kill her!”
The two men looked at each other in complete shock.
“Pighi” said Veronesi to the scientific expert “carry on with your investigations on the body and whatever you find, please let me know straight away. You have my numbers. I will inform the Head of Police and the prosecutor myself. You, Saturno, take me to HQ now.”
He pronounced the last words with a dry throat, with increasing despair.
The short drive by car was as silent as the grave, interrupted only by an angry outburst from Veronesi towards Saturno.
“Say something, anything. Christ!”
“What do you want me to say? You’re in a real mess, because apart from admitting and declaring that you were with the.. ehm.. lady until a few minutes before she was killed, you practically have no alibi for the first crimes either, you knew all the victims and .. “
“They’re not MY victims! Do you think that I go around killing my acquaintances and then nipping off to have fun with a .. prostitute, leaving my signature on top of her. Ok , Ok! I forgot my scarf I’ll admit, but my prints are everywhere anyway and it wouldn’t have taken the scientific squad long to connect them to me. I preferred to solve a riddle that would have turned up later.”
“I don’t know” Saturno replied perplexed “ you haven’t seen those films once too often, the ones about investigations on a citizen above all suspicion? Maybe you’ve taken on the role of Gian Maria Volonte’, who wanted to make fun of the institutions “ he continued.
“For fuck’s sake, all we needed was this bloody daft theory! You’ll just have to be another witness against me!”
The DI continued to glare at him out of the corner of his eye, still deep in thought, beginning to think he had made himself more enemies than he had thought.
34
It was almost 8 o’clock on Tuesday evening, and it was turning out to be the worst day of Gianni Veronesi’s life.
He was sitting in the prosecutor’s office, while the head of Police of the city paced up and down the room, wiping the sweat from his hands.
Suddenly, under the silent stare of the magistrate, the elderly Chief of Police burst out: “I’ve known you for years, and I don’t want to throw you into jail right now as you deserve. We would have a scandal that would wipe us out, but there is one thing you have to explain!” and he raised his voice, trying not to shout the way he felt the urge to “Is it part of your normal methods of interrogation to visit the witnesses or informers of a crime, to then go to bed with them in that way and freely admit it?”
“If it is any consolation, it was not a planned interrogation; the victim was not amongst on the list of suspects. At the time of the Ridolfi’s death she was in Switzerland. She had called me because she wanted to give me some information, which was very interesting. And then, I was not on duty.”
“People like us are always on duty” the older man thundered. “You are a civil servant and certain pleasures are denied to you! This is not only the end of your caree
r, but you run the risk of being thrown out of the Force. You did not know it, but you were about to be nominated Vice Superintendent, which makes the situation worse, considering the depths you have fallen to and the mess you have caused us all, who were backing you all the way!”
“I know I’m finished, but I am not an assassin, believe me. I spent 30 years in the Police, you could say that I have dedicated my entire life to it; I thought I was a good policeman. Maybe I made a mistake; I don’t know what happened to me. I’ve made mistakes before, but…here is my gun but please, leave me one more day, I had a lead and I would like to get to the bottom of it.” his voice held a badly disguised note of emotion and regret, but also bitterness.
The magistrate, still thoughtful, spread his arms saying “I refuse to believe that you premeditated everything, but in front of a jury we would only have your word against a mountain of evidence against you. All the other people on your list of suspects have alibis. The antiques dealer does not appear to have anything to do with this latest murder, he never moved from his shop. And that other man, the supermarket manager, went home after he came here, we’ve checked. He lives in the opposite direction to where the escort was murdered, and he only left his house the following day to go to work. You on the other hand… when the first murders took place you were racing about around Verona, with your mania of driving around to relax. Even at night?” he looked at Gianni perplexed.
The he continued “I could think, and perhaps a jury would too, that you had some sort of “raptus” and … ”
“It was nothing of the sort. If there was a raptus, it was only erotic, it could have happened to anyone and then, as you know, HQ called me.. and my wife did too! So I left in a hurry.”
“Fine! I’ll give you 24 hours as we need time to reflect, to face the situation caused by your behaviour. I don’t know what you’ll achieve in one day against a killer who seems anything but easy and who, it appears, has involved you. Keep in contact with us constantly, for this evening I will not arrest you, but I don’t know for how long that will last. News flies, especially bad news. Do I have your word?”
“Of course!”
DI Gianni Veronesi handed over his regulation gun and left the room, followed by the astonished and silently questioning eyes of the two men.
35
Agent Domenico Saturno was immobile in his chair, staring into the corner of the room at the photograph hanging on the wall of himself in uniform as a cadet at the Police school.
Not more than ten years or so had passed from that day, yet he must have aged considerably during his chosen career and realised that he looked at lot older than his actual age.
The DI had just left the office of his team of collaborators, giving him a swift and unconvincing handshake. Saturno had sworn to be faithful to the State; he had superiors and had always been inclined to respect the hierarchy. He was originally from Salerno and had been delighted to transfer to the city he had always yearned for.
He thought back over the events of the previous days.
He thought about the chief’s strange behaviour, his lack of reaction faced with the bodies of people who must have been his friends or acquaintances, even if he disapproved of their way of life.
He played tennis with Ridolfi to show that he did not listen to any type of gossip, but once he had confessed that people like that did not deserve to live. He must not have been fond of the Barone couple either.
He remembered the mania for Japanese films that Veronesi had a few years earlier, especially historical costume films. He often talked about them.
He had even confided in him about his passion for the long samurai swords, how he had bought a precious example from the antiques dealer who was a friend of his wife, who was also involved in the whole mess.
Yes, women. Saturno was single and had made the right decision not to get married, so far.
The DI’s wife was a right piece, she spent more time in the Casino in Venice with her girlfriend than in bed with her husband and he, so busy with his investigations, did not even know it.
Unwillingly or not, he had often overheard their telephone conversations, or rather arguments.
They had certainly not made love for years and that is obviously where his boss went to let off steam. The rage he put into his tennis matches was simply not enough for him.
He thought about the murder of Susanna, the rich man’s escort, as he liked to call her.
That murder was clear, all too clear.
Perhaps he did not intend to murder her, but something must have gone wrong, who knows what mechanism can click in the brain of a man used to seeing death caused by others. Could it be that someone used to hunting down killers could get the urge to replace them? He thought about the film he had seen in the 70s.
Recently the DI had changed, he said odd things, he said he couldn’t sleep because he was so wound up and then became even more wound up because he couldn’t sleep!
Had power gone to his head or did he simply need some rest?
He was annoyed at the fact that his career, which progressed so rapidly at first, seemed to be at a standstill since he refused the transfer, blaming his wife when he talked about it. And he did so often.
He was disappointed, deeply disappointed.
He said it would take an important case, a front page case to resolve quickly to give him that longed-for promotion. He had even half-heartedly started looking into the case of bombs that had exploded in other regions, a lead he had later abandoned.
He had thrown himself into the latest murders connected to Zorro, but the more he discovered the more he was involved, there were just too many coincidences. Initially the main suspect had been the antiques dealer, he had no alibi for the first murder and owned antique swords but he had been in the bar on the evening Susanna had been killed. He could have had a motive for the first two murders, but for the last?
He remembered that the agent he had placed to keep a watch on the antique dealer’s movements had reported seeing, amongst others, a figure with dark glasses wearing a raincoat, similar to the one the DI wore, enter the shop on Monday afternoon, the very day the escort had been killed.
He left carrying a parcel.
At the time Saturno had not thought anything of it, the agent may have been confused, the car he was in was too far away, seeing as he was supposed to follow the dealer’s movements, not sit in a chair inside the shop itself.
Veronesi had been in HQ during the afternoon, after the argument with his wife which had been promptly reported to him. Mind you, when he went out he often did not tell anyone and his movements were not recorded.
He also remembered the light in Gianni Veronesi’s eyes when one of the squad had mentioned that the killer may have wanted to challenge the police, perhaps play with them.
The DI’s suspicions then went in one direction; without any reason he had turned against Lorenzo Anselmi. He certainly did not look as if he had the courage to commit one murder, let alone four, even if he could have had a motive, but a motive does not create a murderer.
And then on the evening Susanna was killed he was at home in Montorio, Saturno had had him followed, while the DI had been with the prostitute, absolute fact.
He remembered the breathless tone of his voice when he called him, as if he had just..
Was it possible?
Recently he had become arrogant, his tone more and more domineering, even towards his colleagues. And then there was his strange obsession with the cinema. Saturno screwed up his nose. He had never liked the similarity with Panunzio in that film. He had to tell someone about his doubts.
He stood up, buttoned up the collar on his shirt, tightened the knot on his tie, straightened his jacket and walked towards the office of his highest superior officer.
36
On Tuesday morning Laura had gone to the studio as usual and then she came home in the early afternoon, finding Giorgia still in bed, intent on calling her son in London.
She was telling him about the latest developments in her stormy relationship with his father, but he didn’t appear to be particularly worried, the umbilical cord with both his parents had been severed a long time ago. Sad for his mother who, after all, was only 20 years older than her son, but it would make things easier.
Laura consoled her tenderly and promised that she would never share her with anyone.
Giorgia should however go home, at least to pick up her personal belongings and not leave the apartment in her husband’s hands and therefore she let her go.
It was already dark and in the shadows of the room the only things to be seen were the voluptuous lines of smoke drifting towards the ceiling, mixed with the tired notes of Bruce Springsteen’s latest CD. Laura was sitting on the sofa, a cigarette in her hand.
She had just been told by an acquaintance inside the Mobile Squad that Gianni Veronesi was in trouble, involved up to his neck in the murder discovered a few hours previously of an ex-dancer, caught up in the traffic of luxury escorts.
A cold and evil expression crept over her face at the memory of the first time she met Susanna Chiari. It had happened last year in a night club at the lake where she had gone with Giorgia. Suzy had been with Mauro.
They had understood each other immediately, there had been no need to talk to each other much, a mutual glance had been sufficient. They drank a lot, and Mauro had a couple of extra doses of cocaine which he handed round. Giorgia had not enjoyed the resulting atmosphere and had gone home early. The two women were then free to get to know each other better, ending up venting a sudden passion which exploded with the complicity of the drugs, exhibiting themselves in an unplanned performance in Mauro’s super attic, to the great satisfaction of all three. At first Laura had hidden the details from Giorgia, who herself still occasionally slept with her husband, even if she never talked about it.
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