The Rome Prophecy

27

Valentina Morassi’s start to the day isn’t going much better than Louisa’s.

She planned to take this week off as holiday, but the incident in Cosmedin has scuppered any hopes of spending much time with Tom.

She forces herself to leave him naked in bed, sleeping off the wonderfully numbing effects of another night of excessive sex and the great bottle of Barolo they shared after getting home from a local restaurant.

Dozens of doubts and hundreds of hopes jangle like wind chimes in her mind as she drives from the apartment to the office.

Federico is already at his desk, and he looks even worse than she feels. Wife problems, he calls it, solved by half a bottle of brandy and a night on the couch. It’s not something Valentina wants to discuss.

Love is meant to bloom, not wither and die.

He gets his act together after several long slugs of tar-black espresso and a sneaky cigarette in a toilet cubicle. ‘I’m going to the labs to see what they’ve done with that bloodstained robe we got from the crazy woman. You want to come?’

Valentina certainly does.

It’s not long before Federico soon regrets asking her. All the way to the offices of the Raggruppamento Carabinieri per la Investigazioni Scientifiche, she pushes him for progress reports on every aspect of the inquiry.

‘Please stop busting my balls,’ he pleads as they’re ushered through reception and climb some stairs. ‘It all takes time. You need to learn that in Rome things move at a certain pace.’

‘Snail’s pace – and it’s not fast enough,’ says Valentina. ‘I want to bury this case quickly. I’ve got a feeling that if it hangs around, it’s going to cause us all kinds of problems.’

Federico doesn’t fight her.

He leads the way down corridors with walls as brown as tobacco. They finally reach a door to a small office filled by a very fat middle-aged man in a white coat. He’s sitting on a swivel chair that’s way too small for him. Valentina notices that he has a telephone tucked between his left shoulder and ear and a dried waterfall of croissant crumbs down the front of the black T-shirt he’s ill-advisedly wearing beneath his lab coat.

Federico does the introductions with a wave of his hand. ‘Professore Enrico Ferrari, this is my boss, Capitano Valentina Morassi.’

‘ Buongiorno. I am charmed to meet you, Capitano.’ He looks at his friend. ‘And I must confess, I am somewhat surprised. I have never known Federico to venture out this early in the day.’

Valentina shakes his hand and resists obvious remarks about him not looking like any Ferrari she’s ever seen. ‘I believe you have the clothing and weapon recovered from the case in Cosmedin?’

‘I have.’ He struggles off his chair and brushes some of the crumbs from his chest. ‘The sword is actually in this locked cabinet over here. We are going to take some more photographs of it this morning. An amazing object.’

He opens the top drawer of a three-box cabinet and lifts out a heavy chunk of metal wrapped in brown paper. ‘It’s been fingerprinted already and there are several latents on it, but we don’t have any direct matches as yet.’ He places it on his desk and moves papers, a stapler and laptop to one side so he can unwrap it. ‘It’s very old.’

‘Bravo!’ mocks Federico. ‘All your training and very old is the best you can come up with?’

‘Okay. Then it’s very, very old.’ Ferrari smiles at his friend. ‘I know you want facts, but until we’ve X-rayed and carbon-tested it, I’m not even going to guess at a date. What I will say is this is not a replica. It is an ancient Roman weapon forged several centuries ago.’

Valentina struggles to picture Suzanna with it. A frail Italian woman in the twenty-first century wielding a heavy Roman sword in a church is an insane image. Almost as crazy as the thought of how it could have come into her possession. Family heirloom? Stolen from her husband, boyfriend or lover? ‘And this thing could actually cut a hand off?’

‘I believe it could.’ Ferrari lifts it so the blade is close to Valentina’s eyeline. ‘I haven’t chopped anything with it, but the metal has probably been tempered. That would make it sharper, stronger, even deadlier, but ironically a little more brittle. Against a heavier weapon it might shatter, but it would slice through flesh like a hot knife through butter and, with several hacks, would go through bone.’

Despite Suzanna’s mental problems, Valentina really can’t envisage her cutting off another woman’s hand.

Maybe Tom’s right.

Perhaps there’s more to this than she first imagined.

Ferrari dispassionately continues his run-down. ‘The clothing is in the evidence store at the end of the corridor. Let me call through to my assistant and she’ll have someone find it for us.’ He opens a door and jabbers a message to his secretary.

‘Rome is full of artefacts,’ says Federico to Valentina, ‘but one as well preserved as this is extremely rare. It must have been stolen from somewhere, a museum or private collector. It should be easy for us to trace.’

Ferrari returns to the desk, wraps up the weapon and carefully replaces it under lock and key in his cabinet. ‘Shall we go to the store?’

‘Please,’ says Valentina.

The scientist can’t help but stare at her.

‘I’m sorry. Forgive me gawking at you. I was just thinking that you’re remarkably young – and pretty – for a female captain.’

Federico barks out an embarrassed cough.

Valentina treats Ferrari to a well-practised look of indifference.

Ferrari tries vainly to dig himself out of his hole. ‘They’re unusual – female captains; in fact, the only other one I’ve met must be twice your age, and come to think of it, I actually suspect she’s a he.’ He laughs nervously and turns to Federico. ‘What do you think, is Giovanna Ponti a man or a woman?’

‘Neither,’ interrupts Valentina coldly. ‘She’s a senior Carabinieri officer and you’d do well to afford her the respect she deserves.’

‘Quite.’ Ferrari frowns at his faux pas, then moves slowly ahead of them. ‘I didn’t mean to be sexist, Capitano. Federico will tell you, I have a sad knack of saying the wrong things when it comes to ladies. I’m sorry if I upset you.’

They make the rest of the short walk in silence and enter a cool storage room full of freezers, shelves, drawers and wall cupboards.

‘We’re still compiling the DNA profiles,’ explains the scientist, grateful to change the subject and get back on a professional footing, ‘but I can already tell you something interesting about the blood samples taken from the dismembered hand, the weapon you recovered and the clothing that your prisoner was wearing.’

Valentina’s patience is short. ‘And that is?’

‘They don’t match.’

He watches their faces as they struggle to absorb the significance.

‘ None of them?’ queries Federico.

‘None of them,’ he confirms. ‘The blood from the victim’s hand is different to that found on the weapon – and from the blood on the clothes of the woman you arrested.’

Valentina feels like she’s doing Sudoku.

A young female lab assistant arrives on cue, holding a hooded white gown covered in a transparent evidence sheet.

Ferrari takes it from her and turns it round so they can see the stains and spatters on the front. ‘Just so you’re really clear, the blood on this garment is not from the severed hand and not from your suspect.’ He pauses, then explains: ‘The blood on this gown is AB. The blood on the sword taken from your prisoner is Rhesus positive and the blood on the severed hand is Rhesus negative.’ He gives them something to grab on to. ‘Rhesus neg is present in only about fifteen per cent of the population.’

Valentina lets out a long sigh and realises she’s been holding her breath. ‘That at least is helpful. We have a victim with unusual blood. If she got a transfusion, we should be able to trace it.’

‘Let’s hope she did,’ says Federico ruefully.

Valentina picks up the transparent bag. ‘If this blood isn’t from the victim with the severed hand, and it isn’t from our prisoner, then who the hell is it from?’

No one answers.

They don’t have to.

They all know that it’s only a matter of time before another victim turns up.

At least one more.