The Ancient Curse

5

DR LA BELLA put out his cigarette in the ashtray, took his glasses off with a slow, studied gesture and began to clean the lenses with an immaculate handkerchief.

‘Well?’ asked Lieutenant Reggiani in an almost impatient tone.

‘It’s just as I said, my dear Lieutenant, isn’t it? Remember? “If you don’t find the animal I’ll have more maimed bodies on my autopsy table.” And here we are.’

‘I want to know whether you’re sure this death can be attributed to the same cause,’ said Reggiani.

‘I have no doubts about that,’ answered La Bella, ‘although that statement cannot be made with absolute certainty. Would you care to take a look yourself?’

He got up and walked towards the cooler.

Reggiani wanted to say no, he would not care to take a look, but he obediently followed the doctor. It was his job, after all.

La Bella grasped the handle of one of the drawers and pulled it towards him until the top half of the corpse, covered by a sheet, was out. He lifted the sheet.

‘Dear Christ,’ murmured Reggiani, looking away in disgust. ‘It’s worse than the last one.’

La Bella closed the drawer and locked it.

‘Have you spoken to the public prosecutor?’

‘You bet I have. He’s been calling me every two or three hours to get an update on our investigation.’

‘And what might that be?’ asked La Bella mechanically.

‘We don’t know shit, Dr La Bella. That is the update. I have two corpses that have been ripped to shreds and not a single clue to go on. The story’s bound to break, which means that in the wink of an eye this town will be besieged by a horde of reporters and TV cameras dying for a slice of the blood and mystery. Until now, I’ve managed to convince the prosecutor that it’s best to keep this quiet to prevent the spread of panic. As luck would have it, the guy who found the second body has agreed not to spill the beans and I know I can trust my men. But I also know this can’t last for long. It’s bound to leak out. At the same time, I have to put maximum security measures into effect to protect local people. It’s not been easy.’

As the two men neared the exit, La Bella stared into the officer’s eyes with a discouraged expression and said, ‘I know it’s stupid to ask, but have you sent dogs out?’

‘It’s the first thing we did. But we didn’t get anywhere. We used our best trackers, but it was crazy. They’d run off in every direction, double back, take off like wild things through the bushes and then come back again. Absurd.’

‘I understand,’ said La Bella. ‘But you can’t not warn the residents. They have a right to know, to take precautions, to protect themselves . . .’

‘You don’t think that’s on my mind! Listen, at the start I was hoping that the first case would remain an isolated occurrence. That animal, or whatever it is, might have run off or ended up elsewhere, or have been caught or killed off, damn it. I’m about to go to the public prosecutor and submit my plan of action.’

‘If I’m not being indiscreet, can you tell me what that plan is?’

‘It’s not that I don’t trust you, Doctor, but I have to consult with the prosecutor first. Basically, we have to strive to achieve the impossible: inform the townspeople, ask the press to keep a low profile, solve the case by giving it all we’ve got.’

Dr La Bella patted him on the shoulder. ‘I don’t envy you, Lieutenant. Good luck. I’ve never met anyone in all my life who needed it more.’

REGGIANI got into his car with Sergeant Massaro and drove to the public prosecutor’s office. The official was exceedingly agitated and didn’t even ask Reggiani to sit down.

‘Maybe you don’t realize this, Lieutenant,’ he began, ‘but from one moment to the next this situation could slip totally out of our control. The government authorities may step in and take it out of our hands completely.’

Reggiani instantly lost his temper. ‘That, God willing, is the least of my problems! They’re not in harm’s way and have plenty of their own headaches to worry about. As far as this situation is concerned, it has already slipped out of our control! We have two cadavers at the mortuary that have been clawed to pieces and no reason to think there may not be more coming.’

‘That’s impossible!’ shouted the public prosecutor. ‘It’s only an animal, for Christ’s sake. You’ve got dogs, vehicles, helicopters, scores of men.’

Reggiani lowered his head to hide his anger and took a deep breath before he answered. ‘You see, sir, all of the means that you’ve just mentioned have been used without achieving the slightest result. I’ve put my best men out in the field and on investigations. This is not just any old case. There are other matters that concern me as well and I need your help.’

The public prosecutor nodded, with an air of condescension.

‘I would like you to make a personal call to the directors of all the local papers and ask for a news blackout. I’m sure you can convince them that this is necessary due to the unique, extremely serious nature of the matter. I will arrange to inform local residents regarding the nature of the threat and the precautions to be taken. A lot of unverified stories are already going around. I’ll tell them the truth. Luckily, this isn’t a big city. There are a given number of families that must be informed. At the same time I will reorganize my investigation, starting from another angle.’

‘What angle might that be?’ asked the public prosecutor.

‘I want to start from the tomb,’ replied Reggiani. ‘From the man who opened it and excavated it. I think that’s where all this began.’

FABRIZIO took a bunch of keys from the hook and went down into the storeroom. Sonia had been so excited at seeing the pictures that she was eager to start immediately. He wanted to make sure that all the material would be ready for her to begin her work. If he got this out of the way, he’d be free to return to his own studies and forget about the rest. If that was an option.

He descended a couple of floors from street level and realized he was in the middle of the ancient city: tufa walls, old substructures in ruins, foundations made of huge blocks, surely from the Etruscan age. He switched on the light and walked down a long corridor covered by a barrel vault ceiling. On either side lay the dusty odds and ends typical of the cellars of the museums and NAS facilities all over Italy: chunks of marble and stone, column segments, fragmented sculptures waiting patiently to be restored, handles and necks of vases, floor tiles and boxes. Hundreds of boxes. Yellow and red plastic stacks, each with its own label reporting the name of the excavation, the sector and the layer where the finds contained inside had been found.

The materials from the Rovaio dig, except for the alabaster sarcophagus, which had been taken to another warehouse outside the city, were at the end of the hall, sitting on top of a shelf carved of stone which created a niche in the wall. Fabrizio laid a plastic sheet on the floor and started first of all to pick out the more scattered and splintered pieces of the human skeleton. He taped to the wall an enlargement of the digital shot he had taken inside the tomb, then switched on a portable mechanic’s light and began to gather the fragments, one after another, piecing them together with difficulty, seeking the lines of recomposition of a body almost disintegrated by a ravaging fury.

He patiently reconstructed shoulder and collar bones, lined up the phalanges of the fingers which were strewn in every direction. Every now and then he would glance at the blown-up photo on the wall and that awful image, that horrible tangle of bones and fangs, created a mounting sense of anxiety in him that he tried in vain to overcome. His fingers seemed to move on their own, brushing the man’s skull, part of the temporal bone still bearing a strip of the sack in which his head was enclosed during the cruel ordeal. The emotion that had been simmering inside of him exploded with uncontrollable force. Those bare bones electrified him, filled him with a clear, distinct vision of those atrocious moments: suffocated, breathless panting, the crazed beating of a heart gripped with terror. Fangs sinking into live flesh as the man screamed in pain, writhing about blindly, futilely wielding the sword tight in his fist. Blood that with every bite spurted out more copiously, soaking the ground, blood that made the animal more and more excited and aggressive, feeding its thirst for slaughter. He heard the sinister crunching of bones, yielding abruptly to those steel fangs, smelt the nauseating odour of intestines ripped from the man’s belly and devoured still throbbing, while he was alive and screaming, shaking violently in the throes of agony.

Dripping with sweat, Fabrizio could not control the furious beating of his own heart, nor the tears that were pouring from his eyes and running down his cheeks, nor the convulsive fluttering of his eyelids, which were fragmenting that tragedy into thousands of bloody shards that were pricking every centimetre of his body and soul.

He cried out in a hoarse, suffocated voice, the scream of a man dreaming, and he had the impression that his cry had snuffed out the bulb, abruptly plunging him into the gloom of the underground chambers. But soon that silent darkness was pierced by a mournful dirge and became animated by shadowy, sinister presences: ghosts cloaked in black carrying a litter which bore the bloody tatters of a large dismembered body. Behind them growled the beast, its eyes phosphorescent in the dim light and its mouth foaming, held tight by ropes and tethers, yanking its keepers this way and that with immense strength. They were dragging it to its final destiny: to be buried alive with the human meal that would have to satiate it for all eternity.

Fabrizio screamed again and then, tired of fighting it off, let himself sink into a well of silence.

HE WAS unaware of how much time had passed before a light stung his eyes and a voice shook him fully awake: ‘Professor! Professor! Good Lord, what has happened? Are you ill? Shall I call a doctor?’

Fabrizio got to his feet and wiped his forehead. The confused image peering out at him slowly took on the familiar features of a person he knew well: Mario, the security guard.

‘No, no,’ he replied. ‘There’s no need. I must have fainted. There’s nothing wrong, I feel fine, I promise you.’

Mario looked sceptical. ‘Are you sure? You look pretty awful.’

‘Perfectly sure. I was working down here, but it’s so damp and there’s no air . . .’

‘You’re right. This is no place for you to be working.’ The security guard lifted his eyes to the blown-up photo on the wall. ‘Good heavens! What on earth is that?’

‘It’s nothing, Mario,’ said Fabrizio, swiftly rolling up the enlargement. ‘Just bones. Lord knows how many you’ve seen.’

Mario got the hint and changed the subject. ‘Listen, they’re looking for you upstairs.’

‘Who’s looking for me?’

‘That carabiniere lieutenant. His name’s Reggiani.’

‘Do you know what he wants?’

‘He says it’s just to talk with you . . . I’ll bet you anything it’s about that second bloke they found murdered. He’s already asked me not to breathe a word about it. I don’t know how he knew that I know.’

‘That’s his job, Mario.’

‘Anyway, I haven’t spoken to a soul, but people know about it. Word gets around. People are scared.’

‘That’s understandable.’

‘You said it. So should I show him to your office?’

‘Yes, do that. Tell him I’ll be right there.’

Mario walked back up the stairs and Fabrizio turned to look at what he’d accomplished. Only the upper part of the human skeleton was reassembled, and only partially. He realized he might have to ask for help from a technician with expertise in osteology or he’d never manage to finish the job. There was still a lot of work to do, especially on the small fragments that were difficult to identify, and he hadn’t even started on the animal, whose entire skeleton seemed to be present and was in near-perfect condition, except for some cracking and splintering probably due to exposure to freezing temperatures through the millennia. Fabrizio bent over the bones and saw that one of the four huge canine teeth had become detached from the top jaw, most likely jolted loose during transport. He picked it up and slipped it into his pocket, with the intention of observing it carefully and measuring it. He then walked up the stairs, switched off the light and closed the door behind him.

Lieutenant Reggiani was waiting in his office. When he entered, the officer got to his feet and held out his hand. ‘Dr Castellani,’ he started. His expression made it clear that this was no courtesy call.

‘Hello, Lieutenant. Please make yourself at home,’ said Fabrizio in greeting, forcing himself to appear normal. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee? From the dispenser, I mean.’

‘That’s fine with me,’ said Reggiani. ‘It’s not as bad as it used to be.’

Fabrizio left the room, then returned a few moments later with two espressos and two packets of sugar. He sat down at his desk.

Reggiani took a sip of the steaming coffee and began: ‘Dr Castellani, I’m sorry to be taking up your time, but the circumstances won’t allow me to do otherwise. You know what has been happening in the fields around Volterra . . .’

‘I don’t know all the details, but let’s say I’m aware of the situation.’

‘You don’t want to know all the details. Unfortunately, the situation is far from being under control and I’ve come here in the hopes that talking with you might give me some new perspective. Let me tell you briefly what’s been going on. On Wednesday at about two a.m., a Finanza police team surprised three individuals trying to break into an Etruscan tomb, the one that you have since become acquainted with.’

‘That’s right.’

‘One of them, a person that both we and the Finanza have been watching for some while, a certain Armando Ronchetti, was found dead the next day not far from the site of the break-in. The guy’s throat was basically ripped out. The coroner, who’s certainly used to seeing dead people, vomited his guts out.’

‘I can believe it.’

‘At first we thought he’d been attacked by a stray, but that seemed unlikely from the start, since Ronchetti had no doubt roamed those fields at night for years, given his line of work, and would certainly have known how to handle any dog. In fact, he had a torch with a flasher in his pocket, along with a pistol, a little 6.35-calibre Astra Llama.

‘As far as we can tell, whoever murdered him didn’t even give him the time to put his hand on the gun. Then, on Thursday evening, while you were completing your work at the excavation site, we found a second corpse in even worse shape than the first, slaughtered in the same gruesome way. According to the papers we found in his pocket, he was one Aurelio Rastelli, a resident of Volterra. Like his father, he had a market stall and sold items of clothing. Nothing in his background that could justify such a bloodthirsty murder, except pure chance.’

‘What you mean,’ said Fabrizio, ‘is finding himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘We have evidence, nonetheless, that Rastelli, like Ronchetti, had been involved – although we don’t know with what frequency – in the clandestine excavation and marketing of archaeological artefacts. You see, in this area, raiding tombs is like a second job for a number of people; a way to earn a little extra cash on the side. We and the Finanza do what we can, but there aren’t enough of us – the territory is quite vast and the locals aren’t always willing to lend a hand. I’ve talked to our anti-trafficking squad down in Rome and they confirm that Rastelli was picked up a few years ago for possession of stolen archaeological objects.’

‘Which doesn’t necessarily make him a professional tomb robber,’ observed Fabrizio. ‘I’m assuming you have no proof that he was at the Rovaio site with Ronchetti that night. Or do you?’

‘I’ve had the soil from the soles of his shoes analysed and yes, it does correspond to the soil in that area. But, unfortunately, it’s the same soil you’ll find anywhere around here, including the neighbourhood where Rastelli lives.’

‘So you’re back to the starting line?’

‘Yes, we are. He might have been present at the break-in, but then again, he might not. But let us suppose for a moment that, since we can’t exclude the possibility, Aurelio Rastelli was at the Rovaio tomb site on Wednesday night with Ronchetti and with a third individual we have not as yet identified. At that point, the two murdered men would have something in common – that is, they teamed up in the attempt to plunder an Etruscan tomb.’

‘All you need to do, then, is uncover the identity of the third man. You put a couple of well-armed units on his tail and wait until the killer – man or beast – shows up. Then you capture him or take him out.’

‘I could hire you as an investigator,’ Reggiani complimented him.

‘Yeah, an archaeologist is a bit like an investigator, Lieutenant, but there’s a difference. You arrive at the scene of a crime a few minutes or at most a few hours after the fact. We don’t get there until centuries later.’

‘That’s true. I never thought of that. But, as I was saying, we are unfortunately not certain that the second victim is actually connected to the first and we can’t afford to wait until we find the third. I’ve got too many people breathing down my neck.’

‘How can I help you, then?’

Reggiani lowered his head as though he were too embarrassed to express his thoughts in words. ‘I don’t know how to say this . . . Well, I have the impression that all this originated from the opening or, if you prefer, the violation of the Rovaio tomb. I know this will make you laugh, but I can’t help but wonder if . . . somehow . . . if it’s not the fault of some . . .’

‘Curse?’ offered Fabrizio, without a trace of sarcasm in his tone.

‘Well, I don’t know how to explain this . . . but I can tell you that sometimes, when we don’t have a scrap of information to go on, we’ve resorted to consulting certain individuals – you know . . . psychics, to be blunt. I can assure you that the results have been astonishing at times. It’s done abroad as well, in France, the US . . .’

‘Confidentially speaking, Lieutenant, there are archaeologists who consult psychics as well, though I’m not sure with what kind of success rate. Personally, I’ve never believed in them,’ Fabrizio went on, ‘but I must admit you have quite a problem on your hands. You don’t know where to turn.’

‘You’re right. We have no trail to follow, no evidence to examine. Nothing to go on, in short.’

Fabrizio thought of what he had imagined while he was at work below and he felt a chill go up his spine. Reggiani noticed his shudder.

‘What about that chase the other night?’ asked Fabrizio to distract the officer from his own reaction. ‘You had your guys out in full force.’

‘Right, and that attracted a little too much attention. We tried to pass it off as a man hunt after a robbery. Anyway, we turned up nothing. Like looking for ghosts. There’s nothing we haven’t tried. This morning I saw an anatomopathologist and spoke to our medical examiner, Dr La Bella. He’s a man of few words but great experience, and the results of his autopsy were, simply put, horrifying. Both men were slaughtered by an enormously powerful wild animal with huge fangs. We’re talking six or seven centimetres.’

Fabrizio scowled and remembered the canine tooth he’d picked out of the box downstairs. He stuck his hand in his pocket and felt it there, long, smooth and sharp, as if twenty-four centuries had passed without making a dent. He pulled it out and showed it to Lieutenant Reggiani, holding it by the tip.

‘Like this one?’ he asked.