The Curious Case of the Missing Head

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘There’s a lot more behind all this,’ said Tristan, speaking for the first time. ‘I could feel it on the Caritas.’

  ‘Can you be more specific?’ asked Grimaldi.

  Tristan shook his head. He realised this was not the time or the place to disclose what else he had felt in the presence of Stolzfus’s body. That would have to wait for another more suitable occasion because if he were to disclose it now, he knew for certain he wouldn’t be believed.

  ‘So, where to from here?’ demanded Grimaldi. ‘What do you suggest, Cesaria?’

  ‘So far, we haven’t told MI5 or the CIA anything about this. Before we do, we should try to secure the body. Once we do that, we have all the evidence we need to go public with this story and blow it sky high. As you can imagine, this would be an international sensation and put huge pressure on the Giordanos and on Malta generally. Something we’ve been waiting for ...’

  ‘And how do you suggest we do that?’

  ‘You would have read in the report that the body was being prepared for vivification,’ said Jack, stepping in.

  ‘Ah yes, that too sounded quite bizarre,’ said Grimaldi. ‘More science fiction?’

  ‘The process is complicated, takes a long time – several months in fact – and will be carried out on the Caritas. It is therefore unlikely the body will be moved as long as we don’t rock the boat and spook those involved. That’s why keeping a lid on this for the moment is so important. Fabry told us the Caritas is about to return to Africa on another mercy mission. The ship’s departure appears imminent ...’

  ‘What’s on your mind?’ asked Grimaldi.

  ‘I think we should ask the coastguard to intercept the vessel and search it,’ said Cesaria.

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘Illegal trafficking in body parts would be a good start. Possible immigration breaches, people-smuggling – the whole crew appears to be African – perhaps even slavery. In any event, if we can identify and secure the body and link it to our investigation, we would have sufficient grounds, surely.’

  ‘And how would we identify the body?’

  ‘Jack and Tristan could help us there and guide us to the body on board the Caritas. With the body secured, we have everything we need to expose a monstrous crime. And with Jack identifying the body, we have the chain of evidence that would stand up in court. The international pressure would be enormous, and we stay a step ahead of MI5 and the CIA. If we can implicate the Mafia in this and put the spotlight on Malta, it would be a big coup, don’t you think?’

  Grimaldi nodded. He liked that angle. As usual, Cesaria was pressing all the right buttons. Pursuing the Mafia had become far more complicated recently, and a huge international case like this could be just what was needed to close in on the Giordanos and smash their hold on Florence. ‘Let me think about it.’

  ‘Is that a yes or a no?’ asked Jack.

  ‘It’s a maybe.’

  ‘We haven’t much time.’

  ‘I realise that. But enough time for an early lunch perhaps? Usual place across the road?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ said Jack, and stood up.

  31

  Somewhere off the coast of Sicily: 28 June

  Jack had always found waiting the most difficult thing to do. Restless by nature, enforced inactivity was incompatible with his personality and grated on every fibre of his usually sunny and optimistic disposition, making him irritable and cranky. Yet, enforced inactivity was precisely what had been thrust upon them by Grimaldi’s decision to give them only forty-eight hours before he would have to disclose the location of Stolzfus’s body to MI5 and the CIA. He said beyond that, he couldn’t justify sitting on this vital piece of information any longer without causing an international incident.

  What that meant was that unless the Caritas left Malta within that timeframe, intercepting the ship to secure Stolzfus’s body would not be possible. Jack had spent most of his time at the Squadra Mobile HQ, hounding Cesaria and her colleagues as they waited for news from the port authorities in Valletta about the supposedly imminent Caritas departure.

  ‘You know we are running out of time,’ said Jack, sipping his fifth cup of coffee that morning.

  ‘I am just as anxious as you,’ replied Cesaria, running her fingers nervously through her hair. ‘But there’s nothing further we can do. The coastguard vessel is standing by in Palermo. From there, it’s only a short distance to the intercept point off the coast of Tunisia. Everything is ready.’

  The only one who appeared calm was Tristan. He had assured them several times that morning that all would be fine. Rebecca had decided to stay in Florence and wait for the outcome. If her brother’s body was in fact recovered, she would take it home for burial. She had gone to a museum to take her mind off the disturbing subject and the tense waiting. With their participation successfully completed, Isis and Lola had returned to London.

  Moments later, one of Cesaria’s colleagues, a young woman, burst into the room. ‘Just had a call from the harbourmaster. The Caritas will sail at three pm this afternoon and head for Gibraltar.’

  ‘Okay, guys, this is it,’ said Cesaria. ‘We’re on! We have five hours before the Caritas is due to leave Valletta. Let’s get to the airport.’

  ‘See? I told you so,’ said Tristan, reaching calmly for his jacket.

  ‘He can be very infuriating at times,’ said Jack, following Cesaria to the door.

  ‘Yes, being right can be infuriating, but also helpful, don’t you think? You have no idea what Grimaldi had to go through to get this approved. I know he made all kinds of promises about the Mafia. Thank God it’s coming off.’

  ‘Look at it this way: if we pull this off, Florence and its law enforcement agencies will be in the spotlight – worldwide. A very favourable one.’

  ‘And this will put the wind up the Mafia here, for sure,’ added Cesaria. ‘And that is precisely what Grimaldi is counting on. The Mafia hates the spotlight just like a frightened rabbit hates headlights.’

  Jack had kept Celia informed as promised, and she was standing by in New York to break the story. She hadn’t left her desk in two days, which had kept her editor on edge, as he could sense a big story in the making. As a high-profile, multi-award-winning journalist at the New York Times, Celia was well known for her tenacity and legendary contacts around the world. When asked how she was able to get access to people and stories others could only dream about, and open doors that remained firmly shut to her competitors, she answered with only one word: trust. And it was because Jack could trust her implicitly that he had kept her in the loop.

  This was an excellent arrangement that had worked well for them both in the past. Both understood the power of the media and how to keep a step ahead of the establishment, in this case the CIA and MI5. This added further excitement and danger to the unfolding story.

  The flight from Florence to Palermo on a plane provided by the Italian navy took less than two hours, and they were on board the powerful coastguard vessel, the Alberto Condotti, by two pm. The captain had been fully briefed and had received his orders. They would intercept the Caritas off the Tunisian coast on its way to Gibraltar and search the vessel. This would happen sometime during the night, which would further add to the drama.

  The Alberto Condotti had taken up position just off the western tip of Sicily and was waiting for the Caritas. At that point, the distance between Sicily and the Tunisian coast was less than three hundred kilometres. It was a clear night with good visibility and the sea was calm.

  ‘There she is,’ said the captain and pointed to a cluster of lights on the horizon. He put down his binoculars and gave some orders. It was just after one am.

  ‘What happens now?’ asked Cesaria.

  ‘We sail towards the Caritas and should intercept her right here.’ The captain pointed to a spot on the map in front of him. ‘We will make radio contact shortly and ask her to slow down because we are coming on board. We will then ask her to st
op altogether, which will take a little time. Then we launch one of our inflatable boats and board the vessel. That’s the protocol.’

  ‘And if they don’t comply?’ said Jack.

  ‘We have a protocol for that too,’ said the captain, smiling. ‘But I’m sure it won’t come to that. Ships are searched in these waters all the time. The asylum-seeker and people-smuggling problems here are very serious, some would say out of control. The Caritas will assume we are coming on board for that reason.’

  ‘And you would like us to come with you?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Of course. Apparently you will show us where to find the body. We carry body bags and have a morgue on board, so transporting the body won’t be a problem. You will be supplied with suitable clothing and, of course, life jackets. These are my orders.’

  ‘Understood. I suppose we better get ready then?’

  ‘Yes, you should do that. One of my officers will explain everything.’

  ‘Thank you, Captain,’ said Cesaria. ‘You have been most helpful.’

  ‘My job.’

  Everything unfolded exactly as the captain had described. The Caritas slowed down and then stopped completely to allow the coastguard to come on board.

  Caritas’s captain waited on deck with two of his officers and watched the boarding party come up the temporary gangway that had been lowered. He didn’t look particularly concerned, as the Caritas had been searched before in these volatile waters. In fact, on one occasion a year ago, the Caritas had been involved in the rescue of African asylum seekers whose boat had capsized during a storm just off the Libyan coast.

  Everything changed when the coastguard officer in charge advised the captain that he had information to suggest that the body of Professor Zachariah Stolzfus, who had recently been abducted in London, was on board the Caritas illegally.

  The captain became quite agitated. He protested and strongly denied the accusation and assured the officer that he had all the required paperwork to explain everything that was carried on board, and that included bodies and body parts that were regularly treated on board as part of the charity’s Our Bodies exhibition program conducted by Professor Fabry of Valletta. That’s when he noticed Jack standing behind the officer, and paled. At first he hadn’t recognised him in the dark-blue waterproof jacket and life vest, the coastguard baseball cap making Jack look like one of the boarding party.

  ‘Good morning, Captain,’ said Jack and stepped forward to lead the way. ‘We meet again, and so soon. Thank you for your help the other night. It made such a difference! Please follow me, gentlemen.’

  Not surprisingly, the laboratory next to the engine room was deserted. The polished steel table in the middle was empty, and the truncated body was nowhere to be seen. The entire lab looked tidy and appeared to have been scrubbed clean recently, as parts of the floor were still wet.

  Cesaria walked up to Jack. ‘What now?’ she asked.

  As Jack looked around the dimly lit chamber, he remembered Fabry’s explanation of the complex vivification process. The acetone bath. He must be in the acetone bath, he thought, searching for the large, cylinder-shaped container Fabry had shown them. That’s when Jack noticed Tristan walk across to one of the large vats in the corner. Tristan pointed to a blue light flashing on a panel. ‘He’s in here,’ he said calmly.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Cesaria.

  ‘Let’s find out.’

  The captain, who had overheard the exchange, walked over to the coastguard officer in charge and began to protest. ‘Yes, there are body parts in there being treated right now, but we have a register that can clearly account for them all. Everything we do here is strictly legitimate.’

  The officer held up his hand. ‘Please open the vat.’

  ‘This is preposterous! I can’t do that! It would ruin the process.’

  ‘Please open the vat,’ repeated the officer.

  ‘All the technicians are asleep.’

  ‘Wake them.’

  ‘I will lodge an official complaint about this. I can assure you, everything we do here is strictly legitimate,’ the captain said again, looking indignant.

  ‘Just like the rendezvous with the Nike in the middle of a storm off the coast of France the other day?’ said Jack.

  The captain’s jaw dropped, a look of utter disbelief on his face. ‘I ... I have to make a phone call,’ he stammered.

  ‘The phone call will have to wait,’ said the officer. ‘You have to wake one of the technicians and open the vat – right now! One of my men will go with you.’

  The captain and the officer returned a few minutes later with a sleepy looking man in white overalls. The man walked across to the vat and punched some numbers into the blinking panel. As soon as the blinking stopped, the lid opened all by itself. Jack climbed up a ladder attached to the vat and looked inside. ‘He’s in here,’ he said, covering his nose. The potent fumes drifting out of the vat were overpowering.

  ‘What I want you to do right now,’ said the officer, addressing the technician, ‘is to get that body out of there and place it on that table.’

  ‘That isn’t easy. This is an acetone bath ... I will need help and it will take some time.’

  ‘Get help. We are not leaving without it.’

  ‘This body was donated to us in Valletta a few days ago,’ said the captain. ‘It belongs to a fisherman who drowned. I have all the necessary documentation to prove it.’

  ‘Show it to us by all means, but my decision stands. You can take this up with the relevant authorities in due course,’ said the officer, remaining firm.

  Cesaria walked over to Jack. ‘Are you absolutely sure this is Stolzfus?’ she whispered, looking concerned.

  ‘I am. I saw the bullet wound, but the body has been changed somewhat since I saw it last.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The chest has been opened, exposing the heart and—’

  ‘How bizarre,’ interrupted Cesaria. ‘But you’re sure it’s him?’

  ‘I am.

  ‘I hope you’re right because if you’re not, this case will collapse and we are finished.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Didn’t you hear what Tristan said? That should put your mind at rest. He’s never wrong about matters like this,’ said Jack, a smile creasing the corners of his mouth.

  ‘A psychic assurance by someone who can hear the whisper of angels and glimpse eternity? Great! That should really go down well when I have to explain what happened here,’ said Cesaria.

  ‘Relax. Can’t you see? You have the spirit world on your side. It doesn’t come any better.’

  ‘And I thought Tristan was infuriating ... Ha!’ mumbled Cesaria, pretending to be cross, and turned away.

  32

  Villa Rosa, Lake Como: 29 June

  Teodora looked at Izabel lying next to her and gently stroked the hair of her sleeping lover, careful not to wake her. Why is it, thought Teodora, that the darkest hour of my past is trying to rob me of the happiest moments of the present?

  After Izabel had unwittingly provided that fatal clue about Fabry on their way home from Venice – causing Teodora to almost crash the car – Teodora had immediately instructed her Ukrainian hacker to investigate Fabry. What he had come up with in such a short time was astonishing and filled Teodora’s heavy heart with a mix of incredulity – and elation.

  It was a saga of ingenious deception and meticulous reinvention of a man who had gone to extraordinary lengths to hide all traces of his criminal past in Kosovo during the war, only to re-emerge as a celebrated surgeon living the high life in Malta. Apparently, he had been able to achieve this with the help of the Mafia, who had used his services for many years to conceal criminal activity. This involved the disposal of bodies without leaving a trace, treating gunshot wounds without the victim having to go to hospital, and even providing face transplants to give certain people a new appearance and identity.

  But despite all this, and despite forged identity papers, degrees and qual
ifications, and even a hushed-up name change – from Dritan Shehu to Ambert Fabry – rumours of a shady past had haunted Fabry ever since he had been investigated by a UN war crimes tribunal after the Kosovo war.

  At one stage, investigators had come close to exposing him as the notorious ‘Dr Death’ who had been responsible for the killing of countless Serbs for body-parts trafficking after the Kosovo war. Two witnesses had come forward who were prepared to testify, but they were both killed in a village on the Albanian border just as they were guiding investigators to gravesites that would have provided vital evidence in the case against Fabry. After that, the investigation collapsed and the case was closed. It was rumoured the Mafia had been behind the killings.

  Fabry went to ground and disappeared for a few years to work on the Caritas and let the accusing dust settle. It was during that time that he had established the controversial, but highly successful, Our Bodies venture, backed and financed by the Mafia.

  The information provided by the hacker was convincing. Teodora was left in no doubt that she had finally found her elusive Dr Death who had so brutally murdered her parents during that fateful night in Kosovo and harvested their organs to sell on the black market. Even the change of name from Dritan Shehu to Ambert Fabry was ingenious: Ambert meant ‘light’ in German, and the Albanian name Dritan meant the same – light. The choice of Fabry as a name was also significant, because Wilhelm Fabry, who had lived in the sixteenth century, was often referred to as the ‘Father of German surgery’ and was one of Fabry’s heroes and role models.

  Since that moment, Teodora couldn’t get the spectre of Fabry out of her mind. Even in her sleep, dark thoughts haunted her, robbing her of much-needed rest and preventing her from exploring feelings of long-lost love that had so unexpectedly been rekindled by meeting Izabel. Every waking hour was now dominated by violent visions of retribution. Nadia’s recent death only added more fuel to this all-consuming obsession that taunted Teodora’s mind and raced through her body like a fever.