Viper

17

Parco Nazionale del Vesuvio Chief of Homicide Capitano Sylvia Carmela Tomms stood outside the crime scene in the damp clearing of parkland and blew cigarette smoke high into the evening air.

A local man walking his dog had found blackened human bones and now it seemed like half a forest was being excavated. An age-old murder was the last thing she wanted just before Christmas.

The 35-year-old was one of only a few female captains in the carabinieri, an organization that until the new century hadn't even admitted women into its ranks. She certainly looked the part. Striking black hair and dark eyes, good cheekbones and trim enough to turn heads whether she was in or out of uniform. She was also multilingual and had her sights set on the top. Sylvia was her German grandmother's name, chosen for her by her father, a diplomat from Munich working in Italy. Carmela was her Italian mother's name, a classical musician who'd met her father in Rome. And Tomms, well that was the marital name that she was about to get rid of, as soon as her divorce came through from the no-good Englishman she'd been foolish enough to marry.

The cigarette break was her first since arriving at the scene and cranking up the slow engine of a murder inquiry. It was probably something and nothing. A domestic, no doubt. Angry husband kills unfaithful wife and buries her body in woods. No big deal. Nevertheless, Sylvia was determined that it be investigated every bit as thoroughly as if a rich politician had just been killed. That was her style. Never cut corners.

The site had been taped off, an officer was in place to log visitors and a photographer had just arrived. An exhibits officer was on standby. A medic had pronounced death and the ME was on his way. The CSI had already established a safe corridor down which every man, woman and dog that had a right to be there could freely walk without fear of contaminating anything.

She'd also instructed officers to grid the scene, mark it off in zones with tapes and poles, so that the whole area could be scrupulously searched and accurate notes kept of whatever was found.

The crime-scene photographer began clicking away on the other side of the tape, getting wide shots of the location where forensic scientists were seemingly panning for bone.

Sylvia's Number Two, Lieutenant Pietro Raimondi, swigged from a small, green plastic bottle of Rocchetta Natura. 'In case we find skull fragments, you will want an orthodontist. Shall I contact Cavaliere?'

'No. Talk to Manuela in the office. She told me she found a hot new guy who studied at the UCLA School of Dentistry. Married, but gorgeous and prone to straying.'

'Remember we are carabinieri!' teased Raimondi. 'Our motto is Nei Secoli Fedele.' He melodramatically thumped his fist against his heart as though making an oath.

'Well, Pietro, let me tell you, I stayed faithful throughout the centuries that I was married to that English dog. Now I'm free and I need some fun. And as for the dentist, well I think he probably took the Hippocratic Oath, and that means he's sworn to secrecy.'

She relaxed a little, blew the last of her cigarette away. 'As well as DNA profiling, let's get CT scans on those bigger pieces of bone. And we'll need some anthropological and archaeological experts to look in detail at what we've got.'

Raimondi, who at six-four was what Sylvia deemed 'unnecessarily large for an Italian male', reminded her of a problem. 'We have no state forensic anthropologists available at the moment. Bossi and Bonetti are both still in Rome.'

'Great! When are they going to be free, do you know?'

Raimondi shrugged. 'Not for some time. I think they have other work backing up.'

Everyone had other work. Cases were backed up as far as Sicily. It seemed to Sylvia that you could double police resources and within a month they'd still be understaffed.

'What about going private? Sorrentino or De Bellis?' suggested Raimondi.

Sylvia thought for a moment. Sorrentino was a top anthropologist and archaeologist, meaning he wasn't just a bone man confined to the labs, he had expert field skills and could supervise the excavations. But he was also a bag of trouble. De Bellis, on the other hand, was probably a better osteologist, his anthropology was superb, but he was older than a dinosaur and could never be rushed to a deadline. 'Sorrentino, but stress the confidentiality. Tell him we don't want to be reading his report in La Repubblica before it's on our desk.'

Sylvia dropped her cigarette butt and ground it into the hard earth with the heel of her boot. She looked again at the excavation site and had a bad feeling. Something in her gut told her this wasn't going to be routine. She shivered for a second. Sure, it was cold. But that hadn't been what chilled her. What she'd felt wasn't the weather. It was the presence of evil.